You Can See Me, Can't You? Pipit?
The sound of a hammer striking nails echoed through the predawn darkness, long before the sun had even thought of rising.
Though I wanted to sleep a little longer, Kenson had no choice but to drag himself out of bed.
After a long, luxurious stretch, he stepped outside only to find the world still pitch black.
One of the servants had stuck a torch into its holder and was hammering nails into a window in the dim light.
It was a hole made by a small bird.
"Master, you're awake."
"Working so early. Thank you for your trouble."
"Today is the day the peddler arrives. I need to finish my chores quickly, or I'll be the one suffering later."
The servant smiled brightly.
What a diligent man.
This servant and his wife handled nearly all the work in this household.
Originally, the head cook was supposed to be a man, but in this house, it was his wife who ruled the kitchen.
At first, it had been a reluctant choice because no cook was willing to come all the way out here. Now, Kenson thought it had been an excellent decision.
His wife truly was an outstanding cook.
"Were you all right last night?"
"...Well... she really drained me until I had no energy left."
Now that he mentioned it, even in the dark, Kenson could see how bruised and pale the servant's face looked.
"Tsk tsk. I knew this would happen the moment you started making a fuss about a pretty woman arriving."
The servant's wife was secretly quite jealous.
Whenever the peddler brought new brides to the pioneer village and the servant happened to praise them or show interest, his face would be half-dead the next day.
All thanks to his wife.
Specifically, because their nighttime activities became intensely competitive.
He had heard that she worked him so hard he wouldn't even have the energy to glance at another woman.
Since he had made such a big deal about how beautiful Marguerite was yesterday, this outcome was entirely predictable.
Today the peddler was scheduled to bring the new brides, so tonight would surely be even more exhausting.
Moreover, once Kenson left today, the mansion would be empty.
The servant would probably be half-killed tonight, whether he knew it or not.
That was why he was trying to get his work done early.
Even if he lived crushed beneath his wife's hips, the servant seemed perfectly happy.
With his bruised face, he grinned and went back to hammering nails.
Haah, I want to be happy too.
Kenson let out a small sigh.
He had been so busy with various tasks these past few days that he hadn't paid much attention to Marguerite.
There were simply too many things that needed to be handled before his departure today.
He worked frantically until the sun climbed high and noon arrived. Then someone knocked politely on the door.
The servant would never knock like that.
When he looked up, the door opened and Marguerite entered.
"The meal is ready."
"Wait, why is Lady Marguerite..."
"Well, I felt a bit guilty about eating for free, and I thought I should learn how to cook before arriving at the pioneer village."
"So you've been in the kitchen this whole time?"
Surprised, Kenson asked, and Marguerite beamed at him.
"Yes. The head cook was incredibly kind. She taught me all sorts of things, so I learned quite a lot in just a few hours."
Kenson's mouth fell open of its own accord.
What a spirited young lady.
She had been sent here as a slave for a ridiculous crime and must be anxious, yet here she was.
Any other noblewoman would have gone half-mad by now.
She was originally from a poor baron's family, so the refined manners and graceful movements she had shown at first had already loosened considerably.
In just one day, she had returned to being an ordinary—and rather poor—noblewoman.
She really is an incredibly resilient person.
Kenson thought so while making a conscious effort not to look above her head.
Above Marguerite's head, the Popcorn spirit was dancing in circles with its bottom tilted cheekily to one side.
He had no idea why it was dancing in that particular pose.
The other spirits seemed perfectly normal.
Many spirits followed her around, but all the others flew with elegant grace.
None of them struck such bizarre poses or behaved so strangely.
He hadn't meant to, had been trying so hard to avoid it, but his eyes suddenly met the Popcorn spirit's gaze.
The Popcorn spirit tilted its head, then flew straight toward him.
Still dancing with its bottom sticking out at an angle.
I can't see you, I can't see you, I can't see anything.
Kenson muttered the words like a mantra as he rose from his seat.
For the entire short walk to the dining room, the Popcorn spirit twirled in front of his eyes, occasionally peering directly into them.
It felt like it was asking, You can see me, can't you? and his heart clenched tight.
I can't see you, I can't see you, I can't see anything at all. So please stop looking at me like that.
By the time they finished eating, the peddler had arrived.
Two wagons loaded with goods, plus one additional cart carrying the brides.
There were only eight brides this time—far fewer than last.
Far too few.
The men of the pioneer village would undoubtedly raise a huge fuss demanding more brides.
"What am I supposed to do?"
He muttered without thinking, and the peddler's gaze shifted behind Kenson.
When they saw Marguerite, both peddlers' eyes widened dramatically.
The two were brothers, so their identical slack-jawed expressions looked remarkably similar.
The older brother, standing in front, recovered first and spoke in an exaggerated flurry.
"Lord Kenson, you've finally taken a concubine? What a stunning beauty. Well done, sir. It must get terribly lonely out here. Living alone is hard."
"What are you talking about? My wife would cry if she heard that."
Yes, although Kenson lived here by himself, he had a wife.
A truly lovely, adorable, and kind wife.
They had been engaged when she was fifteen. They should have married when she turned twenty, but at the time Kenson had been fully occupied as the administrator of the pioneer lands.
Unable to marry while stationed in a place like this, he kept putting it off—one more year, just one more year—until she had somehow turned twenty-eight.
In the meantime, her family had made a fuss about breaking the engagement, saying she would miss her chance to marry entirely and it would be disastrous.
Kenson himself had considered ending it, thinking it was too pitiful for her.
At that time, his feelings for her had been nothing more than those of a friendly fiancé.
But apparently she had wept and begged her parents.
She would rather enter a monastery than be separated from him—please let her marry that man.
With the dowry and other family circumstances involved, the engagement was maintained. In the end, Kenson's parents, who felt this situation could not continue, forcibly summoned him when she was twenty-eight and made them marry.
This place was no environment for a noblewoman to live in, so she still resided with her parents.
Still, once or twice a year he managed to make time to visit and stay with her. Now they even had a child.
Over time, affection had grown. The longing from being apart and the gratitude had turned into love, and now Kenson cherished her deeply.
He didn't want to hurt her, so even in this lonely life, he never so much as looked at another woman.
He was in a position where he could have taken any of the women sent as brides if he wished, yet he never turned his eyes toward them.
Because he knew it would make his wife sad.
"Don't say such nonsense. This woman is going to the pioneer village as a bride."
"Huh?"
"What?"
The peddler brothers made strange noises at the same time.
"Lord Kenson, are you in your right mind?"
"A woman like that wouldn't last a single day there."
"It would be truly tragic."
They stopped talking, then both went, "Ah."
"It's that village."
"She's going to that village."
It seemed they had immediately realized that if Marguerite was going, it could only be to that particular village.
"That's right. We'll be traveling together, if you don't mind."
At Kenson's words, the peddler brothers nodded and muttered.
"That's fine, but..."
"Her current appearance will cause problems."
At their words, Kenson looked at Marguerite.
"Indeed..."
When they stopped at the pioneer village, everyone would swarm around the women.
Since they couldn't put Marguerite in a separate carriage, it would cause an absolute uproar.
If she goes there with that face, it'll be a disaster.
The people of the pioneer village were rough. Many of them were former thieves, robbers, or murderers.
Bringing Marguerite might actually spark a riot.
Among the villagers, there were more men whose greed and fists moved faster than their brains.
They never thought about the consequences.
With so few brides this time, the chaos would be even worse.
But what could they do?
They couldn't exactly put a mask or a sack over her face and drag her along.
Marguerite tilted her head.
"Um... then should I smear some soot on my face?"
"...."
"...."
"...."
Her suggestion left Kenson and both peddlers completely speechless.
It was strange enough that a noble lady even knew the word "soot," but for her to volunteer to smear it on herself?
This young lady was truly unique.
"For some reason, I think she'll get along well with that village chief."
When the younger peddler muttered that, the Popcorn spirit tilted its head as if asking what he meant.
Surely the spirit couldn't understand human speech.
Life really is unpredictable. Just one step forward and you never know what will happen—Father used to say that often, and it was true.
Who would have thought the soot-smearing technique Mother taught me would come in handy in a place like this?
Marguerite carefully dabbed soot here and there and rubbed it in until her face looked thoroughly dirty.
"Pipit? Pip?"
The fluffy spirit tilted its head as if it couldn't understand why she was doing that.
"Pipipi... pii...."
After tilting its head for a moment, the spirit clenched its tiny fists and flew toward Marguerite's face.
With little pip, pip sounds, it began rubbing her face with its small hands.
It seemed to think something dirty had gotten on her and needed to be wiped off.
"Hehe, that tickles. That's not it, little spirit. I'm doing this on purpose."
When Marguerite laughed and caught the spirit, it tilted its head again and wriggled in her palm.
Black smudges appeared on Marguerite's hand. At some point, the soot had transferred to Popcorn's hands as well.
"Pipipi? Pip? Pipipipipipi?"
It seemed startled.
The spirit rubbed its body as if trying to wipe the soot off its hands.
Its pure white fluff quickly became streaked with gray.
"Pip?"
The spirit shot out of Marguerite's hand like a bullet and flew into the air.
It headed straight for the furniture where a small bird was perched.
"Pipipipipi! Pipipipi!"
It stretched out its little arms as if saying look at my hands. The small bird tilted its head and chirped.
Pipipipi, cheep cheep chirp. Were they actually conversing? They kept taking turns making sounds.
After watching the two for a moment, Marguerite resumed her preparations.
She thoroughly rubbed soot onto her neck and hands, then gathered all her hair and tucked it inside a cloth.
Because her hair was so long, the cloth became quite bulky.
She tied it securely so it wouldn't come undone, pinned it in place, and then smeared soot on the strands that were still visible.
The hair that had once sparkled brilliantly quickly became dull and dirty.
The clothes her brother had prepared for her were for commoners, but they were clean.
After thinking for a bit, Marguerite smeared a little soot on them too and rubbed some parts with sand to make them look worn and tattered.
When she went to Kenson and the peddlers like that, everyone's eyes grew as wide as lanterns.
They blinked repeatedly, clearly very shocked.
"Wait, did you used to be an actress?"
"Were you part of a theater troupe?"
At the peddlers' words, Marguerite felt strangely a little proud.
If Mother saw this, she would surely praise her.
Mother....
Just thinking of her mother's face made her eyes grow hot.
The skills you taught me for the future are truly helping your daughter right now.
I don't know what kind of village chief he is, but I will definitely win his heart.
That way, someday she could send word to her mother, father, and brothers.
She would live a life where she could write letters saying she was doing well.
Marguerite clenched her fist tightly.
Whether he was a bent old man of seventy or a fat, pig-headed, middle-aged man of forty, it didn't matter.
She would captivate him with her beauty and youth.
Administrator Kenson looked at her with a strange expression and said,
"Listen, miss. Seeing that look on your face, I can roughly guess what you're thinking, but that village chief is actually a decent person. He's young too."
"...."
Marguerite said nothing and simply smiled brightly.
This administrator seemed like a good man, but...
There was no way a decent, respectable, intelligent, and young man would be in a place like this pioneer village.
Still, I should think positively.
Even if he was young but had a big belly, or seemed to have a decent personality but was actually twisted, or looked intelligent but was actually narrow-minded, it was all fine. She would handle any of them. She would steal his heart.
Marguerite clenched her fist again.
"Pipit!"
The spirit that had been flying near Marguerite clenched its own little fist as if imitating her.