The Crumpled Report Card (3)

Only moments ago, the air between them had warmed—the chill beneath his hat melted away, a tender current blooming between mother and son.

But that warmth vanished before it could ever take root.

Somehow, it felt as though an icy wind had whipped suddenly out of Karsein himself.

All because of that single gesture.

Startled by it, Isabella asked again.

“Is it because you took offense at hearing those words? Karsein.”

“Not at all. What you said was entirely right.”

“...I see.”

It seemed the moment he pushed her hand away had given rise to the thought.

Why had she imagined such a thing? His attitude hadn't turned crooked or defiant in the least.

He had readily admitted his fault and accepted it—a sight unmistakably different from the boy of the past. Not a single word of excuse or complaint clung to his answers; he took each criticism exactly as it was given. There was nothing remotely objectionable in that. The last remark hadn't even been an invitation to rebel—it had been a simple question. Wasn't that all there was to it?

I must have grown a bit too sensitive.

Thinking she was fretting over nothing, Isabella shook her head inwardly.

Guilt pricked at her, so she changed the course of the hand that had been about to cup his cheek and gently patted his fingers instead.

“The truth is, the ducal house's businesses earn more than enough to cover such a sum. However it comes to be made, your allowance is drawn from the profits of countless ventures—far more than what our territorial subjects contribute. I only meant to instill in you a little caution about money, so pray don't take it to heart.”

“As I said before, madam, I harbor no hurt feelings whatsoever.”

“I see. You've grown remarkably admirable of late.”

Yes. He was different from before.

There was no Karsein shouting that his money was his and his alone. No Karsein raging that he couldn't even spend it properly, no Karsein crying out that he had less freedom than his two sisters or his little sister.

Karsein had grown into a proper Bagrand, and he was already far removed from that boy of years past.

Thanks to that, Isabella was able to relax, at least a little, and speak openly.

“As for the Eastern Noble Conference... I've become unable to help you directly. But worry not. You know what sort of people your sisters are. They'll be more than capable of aiding you.”

It was true that Arina had growled that she would strip Karsein of his right to participate in the conference by any means necessary—but she wouldn't be too merciless about it. She had already made certain arrangements, just as Isabella had now done.

So long as he accepted even a little help from his two sisters, Karsein could pass this trial without incident.

Which meant there was only one thing he needed to beware of.

“Don't concern yourself with the Shatren Territory. You need only focus on your own trial. Karsein.”

Shatren.

Old wounds might still linger there.

Unable to forget what had happened, he might be driven into a corner.

First, Isabella needed to dispel that anxiety.

“Even though things turned out as they did, Claire has been sending a portion of the money she's earned through her boutique as subsidies to Shatren. The territory hasn't raised any great outcry, so make your preparations steadily and carefully.”

There was no need to overcomplicate it—part of Claire's earnings was flowing into Shatren as support. The territory, receiving those subsidies, had been softening its resentment toward Karsein. Until the land recovered, that front could simply be left to rest.

But then, quite suddenly, Karsein said something strange.

“That reminds me of the old days. You were watering this garden once before, weren't you?”

“Watering it...?”

“Back then, I dug up the garden you'd tended with your dirt-stained hands. Do you remember?”

“Well... I do remember, but...”

It was the day she had waited in the garden, just like today, when her three children came to hand over their report cards.

But why bring that up now?

When Isabella left her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sentence unfinished and gave him a puzzled look, Karsein answered readily.

“The reason I dug up the ground that day was because I meant to bury my wretched report card there.”

Karsein's grades were a flawless, perfect-score report card—with not a single answer wrong. Unlike his two sisters and his little sister.

Of course, since he was learning material far beyond his years, simply getting everything right wasn't necessarily impressive in itself.

Simple arithmetic can't be weighed against quadratic equations or exponential and logarithmic functions—and even those pale before calculus, statistics, and geometry and vectors. Levels had to be considered.

But if a report card reflected all of it, learned and mastered at once—then how was that to be judged?

Measured coldly, I would say he stood far, far beyond those three.

He hadn't studied the same things in the same stretch of time. Within an utterly insufficient span of hours, he had absorbed everything they would ever be taught.

And the report card he earned that way.

The report card he clawed out of the ground while enduring discrimination on top of it all.

Was this very thing.

Karsein truly held a report card that deserved praise.

The words crammed into that crumpled ball of paper weren't shabby at all—they were dazzling proof of his effort.

And so, I am going to lie.

The people who would truly understand Karsein's efforts—these people are not among them.

No. They must not come to know.

Not to the very end. They must be made to remain ignorant of everything.

At least, that is what I believe.

“You meant to bury your report card in the ground... so that's what happened.”

Isabella shook her head and clasped my hand tightly in hers.

“People can make any number of mistakes. In learning, too, one may err plenty. I have no intention of viewing only the dark side of the way you've grown.”

Which meant, likewise, that she had nothing to scold me for.

She continued.

“You must have suffered a great deal over it at the Eastern Noble Conference as well. Yes. I'll speak to my Arina. If you tell her this old story, she'll come around soon enough.”

Under normal circumstances, the answer would have been number two.

Every so often, a choice would come with an unannounced hint written right into it like that.

Common sense dictated that if no one were looking after the Shatren Territory—the land Karsein had supposedly ruined—then a Dead Trigger would come knocking before long.

Which was exactly why that option was the correct one.

Claire was sending subsidies to Shatren to clean up Karsein's mess, so leaning on her would have made everything far smoother.

But I do not choose it.

“There's no need.”

“...Karsein?”

“What meaning is there in scraping through the Eastern Noble Conference by leaning on Arina or Claire? If that's how I resolve things, then I'll simply remain stuck in this position forever.”

“Karsein...”

“And the same goes for your power, Duchess.”

I slid Isabella's hands gently away.

“These are problems I must solve with my own hands. If I cannot lift those wretched grades myself, then I have no right to stand where I do. And this situation is no different. If I rise on the strength of the ducal house alone, on the strength of the people around me, then I haven't changed at all. Isn't that so?”

The faint parting of Isabella's lips narrowed.

There had been information tucked into the choices as well.

Without hesitation, I put it into words.

“The subsidies Claire has been sending to the territory—send all of it my way instead.”

“What? Whatever do you...!”

“Debts ought to be repaid properly, shouldn't they? When even my own money belongs to the ducal house, I'm smoothing over my affairs by borrowing Claire's private fortune. At the very least, it's only right that I resolve this myself.”

“If it proceeds that way, your entire allowance will vanish. Claire is spending far more on that territory than you realize.”

No doubt about it.

Shatren had been said to be beyond easy recovery.

If the subsidies flowing there were enough to keep such a land fed, then Karsein—without a single source of income—would have to pour in every last coin of his allowance.

Yet even that doesn't trouble me.

It is the ducal house's money—money that I, Karsein, must repay.

“Then I'll simply think of it as my wages and accept it.”

“Wages...? Karsein, you...”

“The right to participate in the Eastern Noble Conference, the trial that awaits me there—I'll resolve all of it on my own. I have no intention of remaining a beast that does nothing but eat the ducal house's bread until the end of my days.”

Having said my piece, I told her I would take my leave.

Isabella said nothing more to me.

Told that I could go, I turned my back at once—and what followed me out of the room, in place of Isabella, was the Status Window.

A Hidden Episode, again?

This time, a hidden episode I never even knew had begun had cleared itself automatically.

The reward screen could not have been more barren.

Because I, as the player, had chosen this option, I'd shaken off not only Isabella's help but even that of Arina and Claire.

And yet this single remaining entry in an otherwise empty reward screen was, in truth, the greatest reward of all.

Severing, thread by thread, my ties to the ducal house—that was the reward. What other reward could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there be?

Frankly, it was the reward I'd liked best of anything I'd received so far.

Though the fact that I'd apparently gone through this twice already was a bit damned annoying.

Meanwhile, I stole a glance at the progress window.

Ah, right. Arina's the one I'm supposed to resolve this event with, isn't she?

Meeting Isabella in the rear garden had not cleared that event.

Which meant that, most likely, one more bastard of an ordeal still awaited me.

Sure, my emotions had crept in and left me irritated—but that, too, was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠feeling of the passing moment.

Resolving to shake it off as best I could, I stepped out of the rear garden.

And then—

The instant I left the garden, someone seized my arm.

“Karsein. Why did you do that?”

Pink hair. Fiercely upturned eyes.

It was Claire.

Why was she meeting me here, of all places? The person I needed to see to resolve the event was supposed to be Arina.

At that moment, the Status Window lit up once more.

She overheard that, huh.

I had no idea what any of it meant, and the Status Window didn't care one way or the other—it was simply piling another event on top of me.

An event like this in the original script? Obviously not.

There was no telling what was what anymore, and now Claire had my arm in a death grip, demanding a conversation that would have to end with a choice. None of this existed before.

But honestly, the fact that Claire had overheard us posed no real problem.

I would simply give the same answer as before.

“Why do you even care about that?”