Chapter 98
Chapter 98
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Bisels
-----------------------------------------------------------------
◆
“⋯⋯It wasn’t a date, just practice, you say⋯⋯?”
“Yes. At least, that’s what Lady said when she dragged me along.”
That evening.
I’d finally managed to pin Vespa down and explain everything.
⋯⋯Though keeping her from darting away the whole time had been quite the ordeal in itself.
She seemed terribly bothered by the mere fact that Gray and I had gone out together, so I’d sat her down and just finished laying out the situation.
“So, no need to worry too much. You looked so upset about it.”
“I-I see. That’s a relief⋯⋯”
Vespa’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence.
Like she’d just realized something.
“But.”
Vespa clutched the front of her skirt with both hands as she spoke.
“You didn’t go out of your way to tell me about it, did you, Lady?”
“She’s not exactly the eloquent type. No ulterior motive there.”
Less a lack of eloquence and more she just doesn’t care what anyone thinks, but anyway.
“⋯⋯Right, no motive.”
Vespa forced a smile and nodded.
It was a smile shadowed with something, but I couldn’t blame her.
‘It must bother her.’
Vespa had always been hyper-aware of Gray and her relationships.
Back when we first met, she hadn’t been nearly this wary of me.
From Vespa’s perspective, always trying to stay by Gray’s side, someone else sticking that close to her probably wasn’t pleasant.
[⋯⋯Half of it’s spot on.]
‘Half?’
[Never mind. Explaining to a blockhead like you—]
‘No way Vespa actually likes me more than you, seriously.’
[⋯⋯⋯⋯.]
For a moment, I felt the Holy Sword go utterly speechless.
[⋯⋯Have I been stuck in this sword so long my head’s gone funny? Must’ve misheard.]
‘Misheard what?’
[How can you just casually talk about those kinds of feelings⋯⋯?]
‘⋯⋯.’
What’s that supposed to mean?
The trait open to Vespa is literally called ‘Archmage’s First Love’ or whatever.
Anyone who doesn’t know what kind of feeling that is would have to be an idiot.
[No, the idiot who knows that and still acts like a moron—]
The Holy Sword grumbled, but I kept my tone flat.
‘Still, I don’t think it’s the real deal.’
[⋯⋯What’s that supposed to mean? She’s not faking liking you like some fool—]
‘No.’
I replied indifferently.
‘Someone like me? No way she’d like me to the end.’
It wouldn’t last.
No one’s goodwill ever does.
-Can I call you Oppa?
⋯⋯Just like always.
[⋯⋯.]
The Holy Sword’s mouth clamped shut, words dying on its tongue.
Just now.
For the briefest instant.
A fleeting moment at the end of the sentence.
But unmistakable.
Rotted to the core.
Deeply gouged, festering and pus-filled.
⋯⋯The emotion, distilled through countless ‘lives,’ had brushed past.
[⋯⋯You, huh.]
The Holy Sword stammered as it spoke.
[You’re not clueless at all, are you—]
“But, Vespa.”
More pressing things than whatever the sword was about to say.
“What’s Bizil—no, what’s His Highness Bisels up to?”
We’d be entering the imperial palace soon. Time to get the scoop on that front.
He’d been a stepping stone between the 1st Prince and 2nd Princess. Probably had plenty of useful info.
‘Specifically, with her⋯⋯’
It had been ages since I’d seen Princess Ilia.
I recalled Dean Shea mentioning they were sticking together these days.
Heard she was studying this and that at the academy, but was she doing okay?
“⋯⋯.”
And at that question, a rare reaction poured from Vespa.
She whipped her head away, cold sweat beading on her brow.
Like I’d brought up something too awkward to touch.
“⋯⋯O-Oh, Bisels?”
Vespa scratched her cheek, avoiding my eyes.
“He’s probably at the cafeteria right now.”
“Eating there these days? Being royalty, I figured he’d be picky.”
The Bizil I remembered was just an arrogant prince full of himself.
No updates lately, but hitting the campus cafeteria? Guess the superiority complex has drained out.
“⋯⋯.”
But at my musing, Vespa’s forehead sweat even more profusely.
“N-No, it’s not eating⋯⋯”
“⋯⋯Not eating?”
Then what’s he doing there?
I tilted my head, and Vespa dry-washed her face before answering.
“Go see for yourself. And don’t freak out too much.”
“⋯⋯.”
What?
◆
The cafeteria in Cradle is always packed.
A place already bursting at the seams with people—add cheap, filling food, and it’s impossible not to swarm.
So working there is about as popular as the pay suggests: avoided by all.
Who’d want to work in a warzone every mealtime? Even nobles who can swing a bit hire personal chefs at ten times the price to avoid the chaos.
Thus.
Gliding effortlessly through such a hellhole with refined poise and beauty? Bound to turn heads, like it or not.
“Food’s here.”
“⋯⋯W-Wait, no order taken?”
“Eat whatever I bring.”
“⋯⋯.”
“Got a problem? Don’t order from me. Don’t boss me around. Shut up and scram.”
“⋯⋯.”
Everyone fell silent, eyes lazily half-lidded on the server.
Undeniably stunning. Perfect proportions, long blue hair, and curves no baggy uniform could hide.
Her name tag read ‘Bisels.’
“Um, Bisels.”
Someone sighed deeply at her attitude.
Famous for treating customers like trash.
Impossible to ignore.
“Could you treat me a bit more like garbage?”
“⋯⋯.”
“That’s why I order from you in the first place.”
Bisels’ eyes turned icy cold.
⋯⋯Customers loved it even more.
“Tip extra, and you’ll insult me harder?”
“Wanna die? One swing and I’d kill trash like you.”
“Five gold coins.”
“⋯⋯.”
Bisels’ eyebrow twitched.
“⋯⋯Upfront.”
Deal sealed briskly.
“⋯⋯.”
She cleared her throat.
“Wasting money on this? Your lives are truly pathetic—”
Contemptuous eyes and disgusted tone blended perfectly.
Five gold coins for dignity-shredding insults raining down—cheers erupted everywhere.
“Bisels, over here too!”
“Do me next—!”
“⋯⋯.”
Bunch of crazy perverts.
Bisels massacred the diners with verbal blades, dead-eyed.
No need to fake it—just pure sincerity made it easy⋯⋯
“Bisels, good work.”
“⋯⋯Yes, manager.”
Back from serving, the middle-aged manager at the counter greeted her with a wry smile.
A plain commoner diner owner. Normally beneath her notice, but now to Bisels, he was god, savior, light and salt.
Why?
“You always draw the weirdos during your shifts, but sales are weirdly booming thanks to it. I owe you.”
He slid over an envelope with her day’s pay.
“So, bumped it up. One-and-a-half times?”
“⋯⋯Thank you⋯⋯!”
Light, salt, savior, redeemer.
What else could this be but divine⋯⋯
Back when she was royal, this was pocket change tossed without thought. Now, with support cut off, it was her whole day’s labor in precious coin.
“Haaaah⋯⋯”
Bisels shed her waiter uniform with a deep sigh.
Quickly changed into women’s clothes she’d grown disgustingly used to wearing, then stepped outside.
Checked the cheap watch scavenged from the dump and fixed herself.
“Gotta hurry or I’ll be late for the bakery⋯⋯”
The next job was quite a trek. Move fast or clock in late.
‘At least I always score leftover bread.’
She unwittingly grinned, striding off briskly.
Sweet stuff tastes good. Cream-filled is better. And free. Last part’s key.
Can’t get better. Bakery gig’s non-negotiable!
Even on gloomy days, sugar fixes everything—
“⋯⋯.”
Suddenly, Bisels froze, clutching her forehead.
‘⋯⋯No, no, no—!’
Snap out of it, Bizil Leonhardt.
Mind follows body, sure, but a former prince acting like this? Pathetic.
Can’t help the side gigs to scrape by in Cradle. But dignity of the spirit? That you guard.
Fluttering over free bread? What a sorry sight. Not some common housewife⋯⋯!
‘If not for that bastard, that one bastard⋯⋯!’
Wouldn’t be like this if not for the scum who did this to her body⋯⋯!
“That son of a bitch, if I ever see him—”
Bisels’ mouth snapped shut.
“⋯⋯.”
“⋯⋯.”
Because the man himself stood right there.
She stared at Carlyle, who stared right back, and froze solid.
“⋯⋯You look busy.”
“⋯⋯.”
“So, who’s the son of a bitch?”
“⋯⋯.”
“Me, maybe?”
Carlyle beamed as he spoke; Bisels reflexively flashed her customer-service smile.
Pale as a ghost, but the effort to grin was admirable.
“⋯⋯No way, Sir Carlyle.”
“⋯⋯.”
Poor guy’s been through it.
Socialized, but barely.
◆