The Snowflower Festival (3)

"Everyone, this bastard—he hit me! He hit me!"

The rotund young lord's shriek seized the attention of the entire hall in an instant, and every gaze swung toward Karsein.

"Good heavens. Blood is coming from Lord Vitus's nose...!"

"How hard must he have hit him for blood to... Someone fetch a physician at once."

"Just look at that swollen red nose! Surely that betrays outright malice?"

The gossip spread without delay. As the fan-wielding young ladies embroidered the story and passed it along, it swept across the whole hall in the space of a breath.

"I thought this year might finally be quiet, but... he never disappoints, does he?"

"Lowborn is as lowborn does. Nothing about him has changed."

"How can one boy cause trouble so ceaselessly? Tsk. Utterly vulgar."

"At this point, shouldn't he simply be added to the banned list?"

They clicked their tongues, muttering that some ill-bred wretch had slipped into the hall. Naturally, those voices reached Claire, who stood nearby—and she strode toward Karsein's back without a moment's hesitation, heels clicking against the floor.

Passing him by, Claire faced the seated, sobbing nobles and asked with strained composure, "What happened here? Karsein hit you, did he?"

At that, three pairs of eyes crinkled sweetly, and they launched into a performance of their lives.

"Waaah, I—I only... I only asked if he wanted to play with us, that's all!"

"That's right! He's the same age as us, so we thought he shouldn't be stuck looking bored among the adults—we just invited him to play!"

"And then he hits him out of nowhere, telling us to stop picking on him!"

"..."

Claire's molars ground together until her jaw ached.

Meanwhile, the bloodied noble began to bawl in earnest, and the other aristocrats gathered around, clucking and murmuring.

"Hueee. I don't know what I did wrong to deserve being hit."

"At first we tried to stop him too. We asked why he kept swinging at us—if he didn't want to play, he only had to say so, but no, he went straight for his fists."

"We did our best to hold him back... but he was far too much for us..."

All the meaning behind bringing him out to the festival at last, all the care poured into preparing his birthday present—it had all been rendered worthless by this single act of savagery. Or so it seemed.

Heat flaring in her face, Claire whirled around and glared daggers at Karsein.

It was a frigid stare, the kind from which one half expected a laser of blue light to lance out at any moment.

"Hey. Did you not hear a word your sister said? I told you not to cause trouble. I told you if you just waited a little, you could enjoy the festival too. And yet—here we are, again?"

Karsein met her gaze with a perfectly blank expression. As always, he gave no reaction whatsoever.

That, if anything, grated on her nerves even more—so Claire seized his wrist in a vice grip.

"I must be an idiot for expecting anything from you. Come with me, you little—"

Smack.

But Karsein struck her hand away from his wrist in one clean motion. And then—

"There you go again, assuming I'm the one at fault. Nothing's changed, has it?"

"You...!"

"I didn't do anything. Shall I prove it?"

Folding his arms as if thoroughly wronged, he pushed back against her.

The choices had converged. Having sailed past the 10% threshold, Claire would no longer lay the blame on me in this episode—no matter what.

All that remained for me was to pick the correct answers in succession.

And that was, quite simply, far too easy.

-Ding!

"Hey, you. You said he hit you, didn't you?"

"That's right! You just attacked me out of nowhere!"

The oaf answered with brimming confidence, pressing the conversation forward.

"All my friends saw it. Are you calling them liars? Everyone here saw it happen!"

"Oh, really? Then I suppose you'd also admit that the three of you attacked me first?"

"What are you talking about?! We—we were trying to stop you!"

"We never attacked anyone!"

All ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠three flinched at once, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this too I parried with ease. After all, the party in a position to lie was them, not me.

Still, there were words I absolutely could not afford to say. Which meant the moment I'd been waiting for had arrived.

"We tried to stop you, and you still struck his face over and over! That's why his nose is bleeding!"

Game over, you idiot.

Swish. Swish.

Two thin white gloves, worn in separate layers, slid off my hands.

And I held them out, right in front of their faces, for all to see.

"If I'd struck him again and again, surely there would be blood on these. So—care to explain why both gloves are spotless?"

"Uh, uhh?"

"Th-that's...!"

To drive the point home beyond all doubt, I raised my voice for the hall to hear.

"Some of you may ask what a pair of gloves has to do with anything—but if so, the person here who knows these gloves best is Lady Claire."

"..."

At my single remark, every gaze in the hall swung toward Claire. She seemed to have taken a considerable shock, but she bit down on her lip and held firm.

That's right. No one knows better than you.

Since when have I been wearing these gloves? And why do they make for decisive evidence?

"Pray give us your answer, Lady Claire."

"Lady Claire, distinguish falsehood from truth for us!"

The crowd waited on her word, brimming with anticipation. Or perhaps—with a hunger for Karsein's condemnation.

At last, her tightly pressed lips parted.

But what came out was not what they had hoped to hear.

"These gloves... Karsein had them on before he ever boarded the carriage at the ducal estate."

Astonishment flooded the hall, and the three true culprits rushed into frantic rebuttal.

"W-wait a moment! He could have taken them off before striking him!"

"He might have put them on afterward—how are we supposed to believe that?"

"Ha... shut your mouths."

As excuses went, they were decent enough. But that only held true for ordinary gloves.

This second blunder of theirs was nothing short of a fatal self-destruct move—because their opponent was neither Arina nor Isabella, but Claire.

"If you're going to lie, at least do it properly. Who exactly are you trying to fool right now?"

"L-Lady Claire? What do you mean—"

"Those gloves are enchanted with a spell to prevent static discharge. They're so fragile that even the slightest impact shatters the enchantment. Did you really think I couldn't find a single trace of that?!"

How could anyone miss it, when he'd been walking around wearing such things all along?

In a sense, being called out like this had been a predetermined step in the plan.

That's right. These were the very gloves Claire had scolded me about on the way out—"who on earth wears something like this?"

I had acted precisely so that she would call it out. And by receiving that callout, I had secured a witness who could testify that I'd been wearing the gloves all along.

Because they were white, they planted the suspicion that no bloodstain should mar them; through a witness's testimony, I cornered the perjurers with no room to maneuver.

And finally, the gloves themselves were the centerpiece.

The Wellten static-prevention gloves I'd prepared in advance—stockpiled through countless retries during the outing branch so that this episode could be cleared—now served as the decisive evidence. In short, they were a special-order item, acquired before the Snowflower Festival ever began, for the sole purpose of unlocking additional choices.

"N-no way..."

"Wellten discharge gloves...?"

"I—I've used those myself, so I know. Their durability is so poor that a single punch would have shattered the enchantment on the spot..."

"Enchantment intact. No bloodstains. And a witness. There's... no escape from this one."

The mood of the hall shifted with startling speed. The three who had tried to pin a false charge on me scrambled to reverse course, but—

"We have our verdict. Imperial Guards."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

"Drag those wretches out of here at once. They caused a disturbance in this very hall."

A woman stepped forward, watching the scene with evident interest.

The third child of the imperial family. Princess Arsien.

"Inform their houses directly. They dared to smear an innocent stain upon the son of House Bagrand—see that their names are entered upon the banned list, never again to set foot in this place."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

"W-wait, please! No! It's a misunderstanding!"

"We were wrong! Please, please, show us mercy just this once!"

"It wasn't like that at all! Spare our houses, at least—!"

The three young lords were dragged out on the spot, their voices ringing through the hall—until a resounding thud! rang out, and even that fell silent.

Arsien spared no scorn for those dragged away in disgrace.

"A minor house without so much as a name or title worth knowing—yet even wretches like these are called nobility. How amusing. Wouldn't you agree?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Merely my impression, formed from watching events unfold just now."

...That was unmistakably aimed at me.

Then, with a smile of evident satisfaction, she approached Claire, whose head hung low.

"I know you have much you wish to say to Claire. However, I had intended to speak with this friend of mine first. Would you grant me that leave?"

Frankly, I was a little taken aback. It wasn't that I hadn't seen this scene before—but Arsien had unfailingly sought my permission before it.

"By all means."

"Thank you for understanding. From this point on, should anything happen, I have standing orders with the imperial guards—word will reach me at once. Do not worry."

Princess Arsien bore a faint smile and led Claire away.

A satisfying result. And yet—

...Was that supposed to rise?

I didn't think it had, before. Apparently, defusing the danger ahead of time with those pre-purchased gloves had made all the difference.

Last year, the year before, and every year before that, the Snowflower Festival had inevitably brought commotion in its wake. Karsein had struck someone yet again, or hurled insults at the nobility, or raised his voice at aristocrats—along with a litany of claims that he himself had been wronged.

And every single time, it fell to Claire to quiet the storm.

Even now, the memory remained vivid.

Claire, who had administered the scolding and then locked Karsein away in isolation. She was always the one flinging open the parlor doors, cold water in hand, venting her grievances before anything else.

And this year, too, commotion had erupted in the hall as surely as night follows day.

But unlike those years, the atmosphere now—the public opinion, the reactions—had been turned entirely on its head.

To Claire, who sat with her head bowed in silence, Arsien repeated the words she had spoken year after year.

"What did I always tell you? That you ought to listen to Karsein's side of things, just once."

Arsien knew.

She knew the shadowed malice of the aristocracy, the cruelty they practiced through quiet collusion. Those unaccustomed to noble society were always the first to be ostracized—and Karsein, not merely a commoner but a lowborn, would inevitably suffer far worse at their hands.

So each time, she had tried to dissuade Claire. She had sought to investigate, swallowing down her own anger on Karsein's behalf—but every time, the barrier in her way had been none other than his own family. Claire.

I've been there myself, come to think of it. When I quarreled with my brothers—it lingered for quite a long while.

Seeing Claire's slumped shoulders, Arsien felt for a moment as though she were gazing at her own past self.

"Claire. Even now, you could still go to Karsein and—"

"This... isn't actually the first time."

"Hm?"

The strange answer tumbled out as she cut Arsien off mid-sentence, and the Princess tilted her head.

Ordinarily, the words would have been—

Answers bordering on hindsight, ones that took suspicion as self-evident.

But instead—

"Today... no, the day before as well. There were several times I suspected Karsein and no one but Karsein."

An honest confession was spilling from her friend's lips.

Arsien sensed it immediately: something in Claire had changed. And this was a story that needed to be heard through to the end.

"What exactly did you suspect him of?"

"...Karsein once collapsed with a cold. But according to the physician, it wasn't just a cold—apparently he hadn't been eating properly for some time before that."

"I see. Go on."

"So I told the head chef to prepare him generous meals... but he wouldn't eat any of it."

Claire's fist clenched tight.

"When I asked why he wasn't eating and told him to just have it cleared away if he didn't want it... the physician said that in his condition, his body lacked the strength to digest it. That eating would... only make things more dangerous."

"Oh my. So something like that happened to Karsein..."

"O-of course, I rushed to have gruel brought to him right after. I... had the head chef do it, personally."

Arsien smiled, as if to say no excuse was necessary—she understood.

So it was, with patients in gravely weakened condition.

Most nobles, and even those in the imperial palace, were ignorant of it—but when commoners were asked, the answer almost always came the same.

It was knowledge Arsien herself had only gained after hearing it from her own palace physicians.

"Hmm. That's the sort of thing you might genuinely not have known."

"...But that wasn't the end of it."

"Hm?"

The Kelbia allergy. The birthday present.

Twice more, in succession, the same pattern had repeated. If she answered that she had merely suspected him out of ignorance, the matter carried implications too grave to dismiss.

And then—

The disturbance at this very banquet hall.

Claire was laying every last one of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her own faults bare, without a shred of evasion.

...This is not something to simply brush past.

The deeper Arsien listened, the clearer it became just how shattered the relationship between Karsein and Claire truly was.

And yet, the words that should have come first from Claire's lips—the words toward Karsein—still refused to surface.

Arsien's expression hardened further.

"Is that any way to treat your own brother—with suspicion? Your fault lies in never once choosing to trust him."

"I didn't want to suspect him! But after everything he'd pulled before, I couldn't help it—!"

"That is precisely what they call prejudice, Claire."

"...What?"

Claire's eyes went round.

"You condemned him without asking why, without ever hearing him out. You trust your own brother that little? You suspect him to the very end? And tell me—what guarantees that you won't do the same again next time?"

"..."

"Try taking an interest in your brother. Try stepping into his position for once. Ask yourself why he acted the way he did."

At Arsien's words, Claire turned the question over in her mind.

Nothing. Not once. Not a single time.

She had never once considered what Karsein might have been feeling. Not this time, not before.

She had never once entertained the notion that Karsein might have had reasons of his own.

That was why she had been so late in learning why he refused to eat. That was why the truth about Camilla had only reached her when it was spoken aloud.

The Kelbia allergy. The birthday present. The banquet hall commotion.

Every single time.

And yet—

"...If he had only ever asked me for help, I would have helped him. Any time. Without hesitation."

But that was where Claire's nature stood in the way.

Her towering pride played its part, but her fiery temper was the first barrier—and her strangely shy inability to say anything that sounded tender was the second.

In short, Claire's personality made it all but impossible for the word sorry to leave her mouth.

No amount of coaxing from me will ever tear those walls down.

Which meant the minimum measure would have to suffice.

"At the very least, apologize for suspecting him this time. Keep this up, and you really will break things with Karsein for good."

"Ugh, fine, fine. Enough with the lecturing already."

Just then, word arrived that House Bagrand had concluded its audience with the Emperor. Claire rose from the sofa at once and left the parlor.

She hadn't laid a hand on Karsein today, at least—but as Arsien, she worried for her dearest friend all the same.

"That temper of hers really does need tempering."

And with a long sigh, Arsien sank back into her seat.