A Faded Gift (4)

A single suspicion surfaced in Arina's mind as she gave her hollow reply, and a cold dread wrapped around her, chilling enough to turn her entire body to ice.

No. That can't be.

There was no way. How could something like that have happened?

And yet everything fit together too perfectly—so seamlessly that it almost seemed scripted.

Yes. It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't.

Arina slowly exhaled the breath that had caught in her throat, struggling desperately to keep her composure.

It was then that Claire spoke up.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"So, so you're saying, Heron... the things that should have been delivered to Karsein were never properly given to him, and instead they were sent to my sister like that?"

"That is correct, Lady Claire."

"Then... those documents...!"

The torn scraps of paper in the basket left outside Arina's room. According to Arina's claim, they were meant to be Karsein trampling all over her sincerity—an act of pure contempt.

But with the arrival of a witness, the truth had been laid bare before everyone.

He had entrusted the documents to the maids in the Servants' Utility Room.

That single statement turned the entire room on its head.

"So someone... did tamper with them. Just like Karsein said."

Just as Claire said, the certificate of release that Karsein had ordered Heron to deliver never made it into his hands.

"Who was it? Who dared lay a hand on their master's documents!"

"...My deepest apologies. The fault is mine."

Heron bowed his head.

Still, one thing had become undeniably clear: someone in the utility room had meddled. The moment it was confirmed that Karsein had not torn up those papers and planted them outside Arina's door, everything shifted.

Arina's breath caught in her throat once more.

"Got your answer now?"

Karsein said, his gaze fixed on Arina. His face, as ever, carried no trace of emotion whatsoever.

"I never received those documents in the first place. Before I could tear anything up—I never even received them."

"..."

"When I try to explain, I'm not even given the chance. I'm suspected from the start, and everything is already decided as my fault. Doesn't that strike you as a rather strange feeling?"

Arina wanted to say something—anything—but she couldn't bring herself to open her mouth, not after remembering what she had just done.

"Letters disappearing is just daily life for me. A Kelvia fruit ends up on my plate. In this duchy, I'm nothing more than an eyesore from the outside."

"Karsein, I..."

"It would've been better if it never existed at all."

"...What?"

Karsein cut her off, his voice flat and final. Arina flinched and slowly raised her head.

"That certificate lifting the Training Grounds ban. If only that one thing hadn't existed, I wouldn't have fallen under suspicion in the first place, would I?"

Watching her brother, his face cold as frost, blame the single sheet of paper that had started it all, something dropped heavily in Arina's chest.

Something surged up from deep within her.

She had been the origin point of everything.

She had written it out of a wish for him to be happy.

She had wanted, somehow, to make up for the birthday gift she'd missed.

She had hoped that adding an even greater reward—while letting him forget the surveillance incident at the Snowflower Festival—might wash away his simmering resentment.

"It was a misunderstanding. I... I didn't give you that with any intention like this."

Yes. A misunderstanding. That's all it was.

"I never dreamed one of the servants would do something like that... I never wanted any of this to happen."

I didn't do it to bring all this about.

"Your feelings... I just wanted, somehow, to..."

I only wanted to ease your heart, even a little.

That was what Arina tried to say, struggling to persuade him.

But Karsein severed her words cleanly in two.

"A misunderstanding? Every last bit of this—from beginning to end—came into being because of your intentions."

"...!"

"Spilled water can't be gathered back up, Arina. I did nothing. I slept, woke up, and did nothing at all—and yet I became the bastard who trampled your sincerity and spit on it."

A sharp blade sank deep into her chest.

It had been her, after all, who looked at the torn documents and decided she'd been mocked and deceived. It had been her who, unable to contain her fury at a gift she believed had been denied, stormed over and struck him. From the starting point to the final destination—every single part of it had flowed from Arina Bagrand.

"Whatever I receive from now on. Whatever attention comes my way. I'll always be suspected, always doubted. Just like today."

"The culprit—!"

BANG!

Someone right beside her slammed a fist down on the table, as if to seize hold of the argument.

"We will find the culprit. This house will—I swear it. Once we report this to Mother, a full investigation will begin, and this time we won't simply let it slide like before."

It was Claire, forcing her tightly pressed lips apart at last.

"Whoever committed this crime definitely exists. You said so yourself before, didn't you? Back with Camilla too—there was someone pulling the strings."

Swish.

Karsein's eyes slid briefly toward the edge of the room.

Two braids of golden hair were trembling visibly.

Then he turned his gaze back to Claire.

"So?"

"There will be a sweeping investigation. And if it comes to it, we'll replace the entire staff!"

That, most likely, won't be possible.

The servants included the children of trusted vassals, and a mere investigation alone was likely to breed resentment. Karsein knew that the estate's Recognition toward him would come crashing down all over again—which was exactly why he played the card he had been holding in reserve.

"No. There's no need."

"...What?"

"Just leave me be. Let them ignore me. I can live with that."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Because from today, my residence will be moved to the Annex."

At those words, all three sisters' eyes flew wide open.

"Hiccup!"

"Th-the Annex?!"

"...That's absolutely ridi—"

Flora hiccupped outright, Claire looked thoroughly stunned, and even Arina seemed shaken, as if she wanted to protest that this was going too far but couldn't quite finish the sentence.

"You're a master of this ducal house too! Moving your residence to a place meant for hosting guests—does that make any sense at all?!"

Claire surged forward, swallowing the breath that had caught in her throat all at once, trying to stop him.

But Karsein drove the blade straight into the heart of it, his face utterly frostbitten.

"A master of the ducal house, you say? Me—the one who isn't even treated as one? The one who's never been accepted as family, who gets suspected before anything else?"

Karsein let out a long, derisive breath through his nose and pressed on.

"You can look at this entire situation and still come out with that kind of idiotic nonsense?"

The room froze solid in an instant.

"Honestly, it's better for everyone—better for you, better for the servants—if I'm out in the Annex. You don't have to look at an eyesore. I don't cause any problems. Isn't that just perfect?"

"Don't be absurd! How can a high noble possibly reside in the Annex—a place for guests who aren't even honored visitors, mere trading partners...!"

"Then tell me, Claire. What's your brilliant alternative?"

"That's..."

"Within this ducal house I can't even receive a letter, let alone the things that are supposed to be delivered to me. This was a reward I only managed to obtain by hauling it through, step by step, while under surveillance—over a birthday gift, of all things. And then, on top of all that, I get suspected of trampling on that sincerity, of deceiving everyone, and I get struck for it?"

Under the relentless barrage of questions, no one could find a single word to persuade him.

"It's exactly like the Coming-of-Age Ceremony. So this really is the best solution—for you, and for me."

Rising from his seat, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Karsein walked out past his sisters, whose mouths had all shut firmly.

His point had been proven and his solution stated; there was no reason to remain.

Arina couldn't bring herself to lift her head, and Claire, battered by Karsein's unrelenting questions, pressed a hand to her forehead, cursing her past self.

And then—

In the very last seat.

Flora sat at the far end of the table, her face drained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gray, her hand clamped over her mouth.

When Karsein caught sight of her, a thin smile curled his lips—and the moment their eyes met, goosebumps rippled up both of Flora's arms.

"Arina, didn't you say something like this before too? Back when I kept causing so much trouble. You told me to sit still and keep quiet, like a dead mouse."

"...!"

He left one final remark.

"As you wish. I'll stay in the Annex, quiet as a dead mouse."

Heron's hand turned the meeting room's handle, and for a moment a cold draft swept through the greenhouse.

But...

Had the warmth of the greenhouse truly escaped outside?

The cold wind was still howling fiercely out there, so sharp that no one inside could even feel the chill anymore.

If anything, it seemed as though the air outside might be the warmer of the two.

Perhaps it was the frigid chill of the meeting room that had escaped out into the open air.

No one followed him out except Heron.

Naturally. It could hardly be otherwise.

Arina had cast suspicion on an innocent man.

Claire had watched it all unfold, and in doing so had no doubt seen a mirror of her own past.

And Flora was, brazenly and unambiguously, the mastermind behind this entire affair.

Not one of them could stand before him and voice an opinion with any confidence.

Which meant he had to exploit this advantage to the fullest.

First, let's check the results.

The alert chime had rung the moment he stepped out of the room, but he needed to know exactly how the incident had unfolded.

...

...

Familiar lines, ones he had seen before in the game, drifted into view. But among them, the most important were these.

Flora's transformation, above all. And the line directly beneath it.

This much is more than enough.

"Heron."

"Yes, my lord."

"What should I do for you in return?"

This scene had been manufactured entirely by his own hand. Which was precisely why he felt he owed proper repayment to Heron—the only person alive who knew that truth.

At the question, Heron stumbled slightly, then spoke with careful hesitation.

"If you should have need of such work again in the future... would you call upon me then as well?"

"Why?"

"Because I, too, am a butler of House Bagrand. Surely the grime that has festered in this duchy ought to be scrubbed away, should it not?"

"Grime, is it. Is that really the word you'd choose?"

"Not far from the truth, my lord. Until now, I have done nothing but twiddle my thumbs, unable to deal with what I could not touch."

So we share a common goal.

That was what Heron was, in his own subtle way, insisting upon.

And that common goal is Emma, obviously.

And yet perhaps because Heron was a man who stood in absolute neutrality, Karsein couldn't shake the feeling that his intentions ran deeper than that alone.

"Denied."

"...I beg your pardon?"

Confusion flooded the eyes of a butler who had never once doubted he would be accepted.

But unlike the other characters, Heron was not the sort to demand reasons, nor to bite and tear at an answer and twist it into a lie.

He left behind a single remark and turned on his heel at once.

"Understood. Should you require me again, do send for me."

It was a quiet message: if I can be of use to you next time as well, then use me.

Watching him recede into the distance, Karsein murmured softly.

"I doubt I ever will. You're far too perceptive, Heron. Sharp enough, in fact, to get in the way of my work."

Heron, too, was a butler of this ducal house.

A man who belonged to Bagrand—one who owed his service not to Karsein, but to the Duchy of Bagrand itself.

Whether or not he might turn on him someday was something no one could know until the very end.

"Besides, this is my business."

His business was his alone to settle.

The process of reclaiming his rights in this house and building his strength.

The process of amassing that strength, settling every score, and walking out through the gates for good.

As it had always been, these were things he had to accomplish by his own hand—not with anyone's help.

So until the day I leave, you must remain ignorant of all of this.

Absolutely.

Swallowing his disappointment, Heron turned away.

...So the young master's closed heart will not be pried open by something like this.

He had seized such a rare opportunity. He had believed it a chance to scrub away the duchy's accumulated rot and, at the same time, to turn the young master's heart back toward them.

But Karsein was no easy mark.

The slums and the ducal estate. Having been battered by every hardship imaginable in two utterly opposite worlds before the age of eighteen, the young master had changed at some point—and now he perceived even this.

In the slums, it seemed that only the sheer toughness forged to survive that brutal environment had sustained his resistance against the duchy's cruelty. But soon enough, a razor edge had settled into that toughness as well. Heron's intent—cracking open that closed door, if only a sliver—had been read through far too easily.

...Have his roots already taken hold?

It was a truly bitter thought.

There had been no trace of emotion whatsoever on the young master's face as he laid out his scheme.

He was becoming a man who could no longer even feel pain.

Because he had suffered something worse, here, in this very place.

"..."

Carrying that heavy weight in his chest, Heron stopped mid-stride and looked back. He wanted to turn around even now, to plead with the young master—but he knew all too well that he could not. He resumed walking.

Thud. Thud.

Heavy as his heart had grown, so too were Heron's footsteps.

And with the sound of those footsteps, a window materialized ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠above his head—one that would have made Karsein's eyes go round had he seen it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of that door, everything was unfolding exactly as predicted.

In the meeting room, the silence shattered as urgent discussion resumed. The matter of Karsein's residence, the culprit behind this incident—once such topics had been raised, they refused to fall away easily.

And then—

Crack. Crackle.

H-how? How did he find out...?!

Flora—now, truly and unmistakably, the culprit—trembled violently, gnawing at her fingernails.