The Crumpled Report Card (2)
At last, the earth had been dug up.
It was deep enough to bury a piece of paper.
Who in their right mind would do such a thing near the rear garden? Yet Karsein was dead serious about it. Burying something this useless was the only thing to do, he'd told himself — and now both of his hands were caked with dirt.
And yet, right at the moment he was about to drop it in, his hands had stopped.
If I show them this... would I be scolded less? Would they share even a fraction of the warmth they give my sisters?
At this level, wouldn't I finally be acknowledged too?
No — maybe not acknowledgment, but surely at least a brief word of praise?
That was why.
It lasted only an instant, but because he'd let such a weak thought take root, Karsein's hand had frozen in midair.
He had worked hard. Truly hard.
No — not just hard. He had worked desperately, wanting to be recognized the way his sisters were.
This was a vivid trophy he had earned alone, even while suffering massive discrimination in class from that garbage of a teacher. He had taught himself subjects far beyond his age and produced a perfect score — and when he first looked at that report card, how full of hope he had been.
Which was exactly why, if he truly dropped this crumpled paper into the pit, there would be no taking it back.
Lips bitten tight, he wrestled with himself.
And that was when Karsein got caught.
“Karsein? What are you doing out here—”
“...!”
The fierce voice of his eldest sister.
Karsein immediately lowered his arm and turned around, fist clenched tight.
The already crumpled report card crumpled further, crushing into a perfect ball in his grip.
The clench saved the paper's identity from being revealed — but for Arina, it never would have registered anyway.
“You. What exactly do you think you're doing to Mother's rear garden?”
Yes.
What Arina was looking at had nothing to do with what Karsein was holding.
It was the ruined soil of the garden.
That was what had sharpened her glare into blades.
“Arina? What's wrong?”
“What is it, Arina?”
When the other two sisters emerged at the sound of Arina's voice, she raised it deliberately, as if to make certain they heard.
“Karsein has done this to Mother's rear garden. I'd love to know why he's tearing apart a perfectly tended garden.”
“Honestly. Is this another one of his tantrums?”
Claire scowled deeply and looked at Karsein the way one looks at a habitual troublemaker. Arina heaved a long sigh, and Flora — as always — squinted at him with a crescent-eyed smirk.
Claire was the first to act.
Poking him squarely in the forehead with her index finger, she demanded in a voice sharp as a blade:
“Hey. Do you seriously not know what the rear garden is? Not even the gardeners are allowed to touch it. Mother has a hobby of raising the plants herself — she tends it personally. And you go and pull this?”
“Claire's right. Don't tell me you're planning to stand there and lie your way out of it, Karsein.”
“...”
Squeeze.
The fist tightened further.
Anger bled out of skin gone white from pressure.
It should have been brimming with hope. I thought if I showed them this, I'd be acknowledged. Praised. And instead I'm being scolded like this — and into the hollow of my chest, only cold water seeps.
And so, ironically, even the anger drained away.
Why had he come here? Why had he dug the hole? If not for those — did he have some excuse to offer?
The sisters closed in on him from all sides.
His dirt-caked hands were unbecoming of a noble, they pointed out. His reckless behavior earned a stinging rebuke. And whatever scheme he was plotting, they warned him outright, he would do well to stop.
That continued until Isabella, finishing her watering inside the greenhouse, witnessed the scene.
And even when Isabella finally laid eyes on it — nothing changed.
“...What is the meaning of this, Karsein?”
The dry question of the Duchess.
And hearing it, Karsein knew for certain.
The verdict had been delivered.
Expect nothing. Ever.
Do not even dream of being acknowledged.
Praise? What nonsense. Give it up, and give it up now.
Throw it all away.
For Karsein Bagrand. No — for Karsein.
The sun of the ducal house will never shine on me.
— Thud.
The secretly hidden report card fell, perfectly true, into the pit.
That was the conclusion the boy had reached in the rear garden.
▶ The Memorial of the Crumpled Report Card has ended! ◀
The miserable image of young Karsein in the rear garden faded away, and light wrapped around my surroundings as I returned to reality.
The garden hadn't changed much — not then, not now. A bright sunlit indoor greenhouse on one side, and a shaded corner pressed against the far wall. This garden was, unmistakably, a place split into light and shadow.
Looking at the Memorial — and at Karsein — sitting exactly where the shadow fell in that divided ground, I found myself remembering another sickening piece of the past.
“Ha... damn it.”
Karsein had been an idiot.
An idiot who nursed the hope that showing this report card to these godforsaken people might change something, who clung to the empty wish of being acknowledged, who held onto that damn paper out of nothing but lingering sentiment — all because he wanted to receive something as flimsy as praise.
And yet, paradoxically, I was an idiot too for saying that.
Because I had hoped, once.
I'd harbored that same empty wish of being acknowledged.
I'd gotten my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, I could receive something as useless and hollow as praise.
I wanted to put the third sister — who tormented me at every turn — back in her place.
I wanted to strut in front of the second sister, who found fault with everything I did, and say: see? I'm better than you at something.
I wanted to prove to the eldest sister — who treated me like a walking burden — that I wasn't what she thought I was.
And.
I had wanted to make my mother proud. Somewhere along the way after she brought me here, her illness had faded, and she'd become able to live a normal life again.
I'd been giddy with the thought of showing her a report card proving I had taken first place in the entire school on the mock exams — at a school people considered elite.
I'd dared to hope, imagining how my family's reaction might change when they saw it.
Even now, thinking back on it — how idiotic can you get?
If I could go back to the past, I'd scream that none of it was worth a damn, snatch that report card away, and tear it to shreds.
And yet — here it was, unfolding before my eyes, the exact same scenario.
The report card. The impossible wish. It was all the same.
Even the way he never revealed the report card in the end, and only accepted reality too late — no different from me.
Isn't that just bitterly ironic?
But maybe that was exactly why? A chill began to spread through my blood.
These weren't even my own scars — and yet through the past alone, I was experiencing this revolting feeling for the second time. My head went ice cold.
Only after feeling that chill could I finally steady myself.
🔔 Time will resume flowing in 5 seconds! 🔔
A timer appeared.
Five seconds, and time in this world would start moving again.
Fine. I suppose it means I should get on with the next episode properly.
I agree. My future self would probably tell my present self the same thing — that instead of babbling nonsense at my past self, I ought to go play out the episode like a normal person.
▶ Memorial effect has ended! ◀
▶ Please complete your choice! ◀
My frozen body began to move again.
This report card — the very embodiment of the ducal house's light and shadow for Karsein... I suppose I'd better carry it myself. At the very least, this was something I should take away and dispose of properly.
After brushing off what dirt I could, I folded the creased, crumpled report card carefully and tucked it into my pocket, then stepped into the indoor greenhouse.
There, just as I'd seen in the Memorial, Isabella was watering the plants with a sprayer.
“I was told you called for me.”
“...So you've come.”
At my flat greeting, Isabella's gaze turned toward me.
And at the same time, my eyes went to her affinity box.
Isabella Bagrand
Affinity: 58%
▣▣▣▣▣▣▣□□□
The last time I'd checked, Isabella's affinity had been at 50%.
I had no idea why it had risen, but now it sat at 58% — which, going by the game's internal logic, made it look as though Isabella wouldn't say anything significant to Karsein...
No. I'd stake my life on it — absolutely not.
Isabella's eyes were fixed squarely on me.
It was not a look of expectation.
It was not a look of acknowledgment, either.
Praise? Not a chance.
Right now, she was preparing to scold me.
“I know your feelings were hurt, Karsein. However, this time I must scold you properly.”
Figures.
My expectations hadn't been wrong at all.
You spent it so recklessly the moment you received it. That was truly improper spending, wasn't it? That's what this is about, isn't it?
That's the only reason she called me here, after all.
“By all means, continue.”
I answered without a flicker of reaction.
Whatever she said, I had no intention of arguing back.
Even if I could claim I'd done nothing deserving of a scolding — even if there were room for leniency.
After the ducal house's servants and knights had been completely replaced, Karsein had been paid his allowance in a single lump sum — the allowance Emma's embezzlement had denied him all this time.
At the same time, the house had tightened its financial management, determined that the same thing would never happen again — managed more thoroughly and meticulously than before.
Because of that, it had been easy to see how large a sum Karsein had spent recently.
A considerable amount had been paid out to him at once, and a matching sum had left the ducal house's coffers just as quickly — under Karsein's own name, no less.
Isabella had noticed, and resolved to call him here and have a word with him. She needed to give him a firm reprimand: the money had hardly been given to squander.
“I know your feelings were hurt, Karsein. However, this time I must scold you properly.”
The moment Karsein arrived, Isabella had opened with that — announcing the switch before the whipping.
But she must not simply pin everything on Karsein's fault, the way she once would have.
There had been a bad precedent. She had no wish to wound him the way she had back then.
And so, she had planned to wait a little.
To hear, once he'd had time to gather his thoughts, exactly how he had spent that money.
And yet.
“By all means, continue.”
Rather than offering his reasons, Karsein answered with utter composure.
“...You have nothing to say for yourself first?”
Isabella, her lips wavering, asked once more.
And then —
“No, my lady.”
Karsein affirmed it with another curt answer.
As if to admit that yes, he really had thrown the money away carelessly.
If he concedes so readily, then there's nothing for it.
In that case, she would simply have to deliver the reprimand.
As a noble. As a Bagrand. And as a lord who had once governed a territory of his own, he deserved to be corrected.
“Karsein. Do you know where your allowance comes from?”
“No. I don't, my lady.”
“Then learn it now. Your allowance is born of the territories and vassals under the Bagrand Duchy's rule. Above all, it comes from the people of those lands — from the blood and sweat they shed, which upholds and sustains our peaceful life.”
Setting the sprayer aside, Isabella continued.
“To you, it may be nothing more than pocket money. But to them, it is enough to live in comfort for months — for years — beyond their daily bread. To fling such money away on idle luxury is a deeply shameful thing.”
“...”
“I would say nothing if it were spent to uphold a certain dignity. But as a noble, the most disgraceful conduct of all is excessive extravagance. Reflect on this — and reflect again. Never commit such a folly again. Do not betray the loyalty of your people; embrace and protect them instead.”
That much should have been more than enough for Karsein to understand.
Isabella intended to end her scolding there.
She had decided not to ask where the money had gone. He wasn't denying that he had done wrong, after all.
Which meant it was time to extend a hand.
Having swung the whip, one must now offer the carrot.
She had called Karsein here for this talk — and to restore his right to participate in the Eastern Noble Conference.
Isabella stepped toward Karsein and reached out her hand.
She intended to stroke his hair, soothe him as any mother would, and then bring up the matter of the Shatren Territory.
But Karsein pushed her hand away.
“I understand perfectly, my lady.”
Isabella's eyes went wide with shock.