Chapter 63
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 63
“It’s not set in stone yet. There’s still Marchioness Toten…”
“The Crown Prince’s birthday is only two days away. Do you really think we’ll hear from Madame Toten by then?”
It seemed Raphaella had never been ghosted before. As his senior in life, let me offer a piece of advice: whether it’s a lover or a teammate, once someone ghosts you, they never show their face again. That’s why they call it ghosting.
“Or… there’s my mother. If our opponent is a duke, even Bishop Marik won’t be able to refuse her.”
“Didn’t you say you cut ties?”
“No! That was just talk! In truth, she worries about me deeply. I’ll cling to her ankles if I must and beg her to be your chaperone, my lady!” Raphaella cried out, his voice laced with urgency.
Was he worried I might be in danger? I suppose he has some loyalty after all. I was actually a little touched.
“And… I think we’re being watched.”
What? That wasn’t in the letter. Are they tailing me because of the rumors? But I don’t even leave the mansion, so how could they be watching me?
At his words, Jelly, who had been plucking and eating grapes in the background, chimed in nonchalantly.
“Ah, that guy who was loitering around the house? I already took care of him.”
Took care of him? Jelly, have you been playing vigilante behind my back? And here I was, scolding you for slacking off all day.
“Why would you do that?!” Raphaella snapped. “Now that their eyes on the mansion are gone, they’ll only find it more suspicious!”
Ah, so it was a bad move. I guess he did deserve to be scolded after all. Raphaella had lashed out without even realizing who had spoken, only to turn and look at Jelly with a belatedly awkward expression.
“Lady Evangeline… Come to think of it, who is that?”
Was this their first time meeting?
“Me? I’m Jelly.”
“I was asking Lady Evangeline.”
A subtle war of nerves began. Gasp. Had he realized they were love rivals vying for Daisy? Since Daisy currently liked Raphaella, I supposed I should take his side.
“Jelly is… my dog?”
Oops. In my attempt to explain our relationship while putting as much distance between him and Daisy as possible, I’d accidentally called him a “dog.” At this rate, I was going to get glared at for beastkin discrimination.
“Ah, I mean, he’s a minion I work like a dog,” I added quickly.
But that just sounded like something an abusive employer would say, didn’t it? Raphaella clapped his hands over his ears as if he’d just heard utter nonsense. I’m—I’m sorry.
Jelly, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind being called a dog at all. He even gave a little wag of his tail. Wait, was I seeing things? He was in his human form; I must have hallucinated.
No, it wasn’t an illusion. A tail had actually popped out. He even had ears. As the fluffy ears atop Jelly’s head twitched, my own hands instinctively twitched in response. So I hadn’t misseen it earlier, either! He usually hides them so well, why were they out now?
Fortunately, Raphaella was still recovering from my comment and hadn’t seemed to notice. Put those away! Quick! I frantically signaled with my eyes, and Jelly’s ears and tail vanished.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah. This? Don’t you like this kind of thing, Master?”
“I like ‘this kind of thing’?”
What nonsense was he spouting? Why would I like that?
“Yes. Isn’t that why you always dote on Pu—Pudding?”
Ah. He wasn’t talking about some weird fetish; he just meant I dote on animals. Whew. Jelly must have been calling me “Master” out of a burning rivalry with Pudding. Honestly, he should pick on someone his own size. Pudding is still a baby. Of course I have to look after him more.
I was about to tell him to act his age when I saw Raphaella staring at Jelly, utterly speechless. Wait, did he see the ears and tail? Raphaella addressed Jelly in a voice that was suddenly much softer than before.
“Um, excuse me…”
“Are you talking to me?”
“If you are facing any unjust coercion, please report it.”
“What?”
What was he talking about?! Unjust coercion? Did he think I was some kind of perverted beastkin slave collector? As if the rumors about me weren’t bad enough, now another one was about to be added to the list. How could I possibly explain this? ‘I don’t like beastkin’? No! That would sound even more suspicious, like I was trying to hide my preferences, which would only make me look like more of a pervert!
Jelly also looked dumbfounded by the absurdity of it all, but he soon burst into hysterical laughter.
“Hey, you’re hilarious. Are you telling me to report Master?”
Stop calling me Master! You’ve never called me that before, so don’t start raising suspicions now!
“Even if I did report her, who could actually arrest her?” Jelly chuckled, continuing to pluck and eat grapes. He even tried to show off by tossing one for Pudding to catch. Of course, our haughty Pudding caught the grape and, with a flick of his paw, threw it right back in Jelly’s face.
Despite getting hit in the face with fruit by a cat, Jelly just laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world. How did that look like someone suffering from unfair labor? To me, he just looked like an unemployed slacker who’d lucked into a great guardian. When I glared at Raphaella in frustration, he quickly avoided my gaze.
“Hahaha. Of course, I was just joking. You know that, right?”
No, I don’t. Here I am, trying to protect your romance with Daisy, and you’re treating me like some abusive employer? As I kept glaring, Raphaella hurriedly began to pack his things.
“In that case, I will go visit my mother, just in case.”
He was trying to flee. Where do you think you’re going?
“Don’t bother.”
“Pardon?”
Logically speaking, would begging at the last minute even work? If I were his mother, and the son who’d cut ties with the world to join a monastery suddenly showed up after years of silence to whine about his crush, begging me to act as her chaperone, I’d kick him out. It was a shame, but we’d have to give up on the Duchess.
“Is Bishop Marik the type of person to readily volunteer as a chaperone for a young lady she doesn’t even know?”
“No. She is kind, but she draws clear lines. She wouldn’t normally agree to such a request.”
For someone like that to step forward must mean she found me incredibly suspicious. The rumors about Evangeline were so vicious that no one would believe she was an ordinary noblewoman. It was only natural for the bishop to suspect I was possessed by an evil spirit.
“If Madame Toten doesn’t come, I’ll accept Bishop Marik’s offer.”
“But Bishop Marik is dangerous…”
“Refusing her will only make me look more suspicious.”
It didn’t matter the genre—chasing down anyone who runs is the natural instinct of characters who hunt for secrets. The more you hide and avoid them, the more suspicious they become, and the more relentlessly they pursue you.
They’ll dig into everything, conducting background checks so invasive that readers would call them a total nuisance. I’d bet my life—or at least a strand of my hair—that Bishop Marik was exactly that type. So, rather than running, it was better to face her head-on.
Besides, I’m not the same person I used to be. The days of being a terrible actress who practically broadcasted the fact that I was a transmigrator are over. I haven’t just been learning etiquette and dancing. Allow me to introduce the brand-new ‘Evangeline,’ perfected through Doline’s meticulous tutoring and the memories Daisy drilled into me.
Now, I was confident I could even fool Count Rohanson. For some reason, he’d suddenly asked to have lunch with me on the day of the banquet, so I’d use that as a test run. By the way, isn’t fasting the norm on the day of a banquet? How inconsiderate. I suppose that’s why he’s the type of father to neglect his daughter, completely indifferent to whether she becomes a villainess or gets possessed by a stranger.
“Please, let Madame Toten come…”
This guy. It seemed Raphaella was still uneasy. Or maybe Bishop Marik was just that terrifying. She wouldn’t actually beat me with a branch of the World Tree to perform an exorcism, would she? That did sound a bit scary.
I tried to act composed, but seeing Raphaella’s pitiful state made me wish Madame Toten would come, too. Still, it would be shameless to pester her when her child was sick. Maybe I should have just told Raphaella to use this as an opportunity to reconcile with his estranged mother. He looked at me with eyes practically glistening with unshed tears.
“Since we haven’t heard from her yet, she probably won’t come, right?”
Seeing him so thoroughly terrified brought out my mischievous side.
“Want to make a bet?”
“Pardon?”
As expected, Raphaella furrowed his brow as if I were spouting nonsense.
“I’ll bet that Madame Toten comes.”
He looked puzzled, probably because I, who had just been so sure she wouldn’t come, was now betting on the opposite.
“But won’t she stay with her child? I heard he’s sick.”
“Well, who knows? Circumstances can change.”
Tsk. This is why amateurs are hopeless. Don’t you know about contrarian betting? That’s where the real thrill of gambling lies.
Of course, my true feelings were entirely different. I don’t want to get beaten with a World Tree branch! Please, please come!
* * *
After five long days, the terrible rainy season dragged on into the day of the Crown Prince’s Birthday Banquet. Even at midday, the sun was nowhere to be seen; dark clouds blanketed the sky, spitting out endless rain. As night fell, the world grew gloomier, shrouded in the shadows of the storm. The heavy downpour, falling as if determined to submerge the earth, beat fiercely against the windows, trying to force its way inside.
Kinder Toten double-checked that the windows were tightly locked before drawing the curtains. The Marquis Toten’s estate, usually filled with the scent of warm sunshine, smelled damp and musty today.
Having stayed up for several nights in a row, dark circles shadowed the skin beneath her eyes, which were red from crying. Sitting in the chair beside the bed all day had left her back feeling as if it might break. Yet, the moment she heard a faint voice, Kinder forgot all her pain.
“M-Mother…”
“Ryder! Yes, Mommy is right here.”
Rushing to the bedside, Kinder stroked her son’s sweat-drenched hair and spoke to him gently. The heat radiating from his body against her hand was alarming.
Ryder’s condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse five days ago, right as the rainy season began. Yesterday, he hadn’t even been able to open his eyes, suffering from a high fever all day. Only now, after a full night had passed, had he finally regained consciousness.
Ryder had been sickly since birth, but this was by far his worst episode. It was so severe that the servants of the marquisate had already prepared black mourning clothes in secret, keeping them hidden from their mistress. In the entire estate, only one person refused to accept the child’s impending death.