Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Wheel of Fate
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Not Jerry, but Micki.
A fallen noblewoman raised as a boy, inheriting her brother's name due to her family's turbulent atmosphere and her parents' mental illness.
Lately, she had been in an exceptionally good mood.
It was because working as a debt collector suited her quite well.
'Actually, maybe being a vassal of House Riddle is my true calling?'
To be precise, "front man" was a more accurate description than vassal,
but Micki considered herself a vassal of House Riddle.
Vassal.
As the word suggests, with "house" included, it meant a being protected under a broad roof.
The vassal is loyal to the house head,
and the house head provides shade to the vassal.
She was a golden pillar supporting the roof of House Riddle.
She had never felt such pride in her own existence and role before.
Because
she had always been nothing more than a substitute for others.
'...Ugh. Bad memories resurfacing.'
Remembering her mentally ill parents for a moment, she shuddered and shook off the foul mood.
"Ah. Tomorrow's the day."
Counting the dates, her mood lifted so much that she began humming a tune.
Extreme emotional swings.
Her emotions changing instantly with the situation was both Micki's strength and weakness.
And
the reason for her good mood was simple.
"Report day!"
Report day.
The day she personally met the house head at the Riddle estate.
In other words, the day the house head held her hand.
"Hehehe."
...
She spent the day laughing foolishly.
Thus, the eagerly awaited "report time" arrived.
"Extend your hand."
"Understood."
With a mix of anticipation and joy, she extended her hand.
It was warm.
The house head's hand, already having passed through several others, was warm from the heat exchanged with multiple people.
It was a bit regrettable not being first,
but sharing that warmth from many felt quite pleasant too.
The most regrettable part was how quickly this time ended.
Staring intently at the house head as he closed his eyes to scan her memories, she sneakily grabbed one of his fingers.
It wasn't lust toward reason.
Rather, it was closer to a child unconsciously clutching a parent's finger.
Realizing this, her face flushed slightly.
'I'm acting like a baby...'
Embarrassed by her own action, she still didn't let go of the finger.
Instead, she gripped it tighter.
Since she'd already done something embarrassing,
might as well enjoy it to the fullest.
'Whatever. It's not like I'm doing anything wrong. The house head will understand.'
The house head held her hand with his right,
scanning her past thoroughly,
examining her devotion, efforts, talents, and laziness one by one,
grasping her completely, without omission, concealment, or distortion.
That meant being understood.
How addictive that sensation was,
only those who experienced it knew.
That the relief of having one's secrets fully understood outweighed
the fear of those secrets being exposed,
truly,
only those who experienced it knew.
"Jerry."
"Yes."
The house head opened his eyes and called her name.
At this moment, it was a bit regrettable that her brother's name was called.
But even that regret
melted away like spring snow the instant she saw herself reflected in the house head's clear eyes.
Though the name from his lips was Jerry,
the house head was clearly
seeing "Micki," not "Jerry."
"You've worked hard. Many lost credit due to the earthquake. Normally, we lend money with land or houses as collateral, but even those values fluctuated wildly from the quake. Your resourcefulness was impressive. Instead of blindly seizing collateral, you arranged for other creditors or debtors who valued it highly, or allowed substitutions. You stuck to principles."
"I merely followed the rules."
Followed principles.
She lacked specialized financial knowledge, having been picked simply as a "fallen noble."
Forcing collateral seizure could make repayment impossible, which would be greater loss.
And the one who set those principles was no other than the house head before her.
"Sticking to principles in such a situation is hard. Showing flexibility within them is harder. Thanks to you, we maintained credit even in this disaster. Your clients will see us not as vulgar usurers, but reliable benefactors who helped in desperate times."
"......"
"Buying trust with money is hard. Earning money while gaining trust is harder. I'm glad I entrusted this to you."
Trust.
If buying trust is hard, how hard is giving trust?
And
after seeing one's twisted past entirely,
granting such trust—
how difficult must that be?
Her lord always
gave her the conviction of being trusted.
Thus,
she had no choice but to strive to repay that trust.
"......Thank you."
"Please continue to do well."
Even saying this, she still clung to the house head's hand.
Like a child reluctant to release a parent's hand,
almost coquettishly,
she wouldn't let go.
"And... could you let go of my hand now?"
"......"
The house head didn't shake her off.
Instead, he smiled softly and made the request.
If she refused the house head's "request" here,
he would laugh as if troubled,
but stay held by her hand a bit longer.
'......'
She didn't want to let go.
To his blessing that saw "Micki," not "Jerry,"
she wanted to pour in more of her past.
She wished more "Micki" could flow into the house head through this hand.
But
since troubling her lord was unacceptable,
she reluctantly released it.
"Thank you."
"......"
"......Micki."
The last words were
a whisper so faint only she could barely hear.
But
she heard it clearly.
"......Yes."
Ah.
This is why priests call the "One who beholds all" "Father."
Not particularly devout, she suddenly had that irreverent thought.
'......Hm?'
Immersed in that peculiar sentiment, she felt a stinging gaze and looked aside.
A female slave holding a staff.
The slave guarding the house head beside him was glaring at her.
'Feels like she's glaring at me... why?'
Probably just her imagination.
Micki sank back into happy reverie.
...
At the same time, in the Empire, the orphanage began normal operations.
Fundamentally a deficit operation,
but House Riddle's insurance company provided funds under the pretext of risk management costs.
The rationale: stronger social safety nets meant less insurance payouts.
It was family money anyway, so no pretext needed,
but to teach that "social capital" leads to "economic efficiency,"
they deliberately used this cumbersome method.
And
Torsso additionally named the orphanage "Karl Orphanage."
A somewhat blatant but certain way to show who provided the charity.
"It's an orphanage bearing His Excellency's name. Manage it thoroughly so no disgrace to his name occurs."
"Understood!"
As a bonus,
it boosted the staff's morale.
Thus, full-scale orphanage operations began.
The children left there
initially showed timid, anxious behavior.
Some thought they'd been abandoned by parents,
others sold to nobles,
some saw it as a workplace.
"No chimney cleaning...?"
"Yes."
"No shoe shining, begging, or stealing...?"
"Of course not."
"Then... we'll starve? I learned no work means no food. No coin earned means nothing that day... I was wrong. Let us work."
The children were anxious at not being able to work.
"The laborer must eat" from scripture had become law even infants toddled by in this era.
And
children whipped lifelong by the brutal god "Poverty"
now beheld
a new god.
"Ah, this is called school lunch."
"......"
"No need to work. You're preparing to become good adults. Growing healthy, learning much, becoming better adults—that's a child's work."
"......"
This god was truly wicked,
ignoring the era's law "no labor, no food,"
seducing ignorant children with sweet words anyone would dismiss as lies.
"We will be your fence."
"......"
Thus, the children were seduced.
By the possessed one's scheme to twist fate for survival,
they ate warm porridge,
played ball with friends,
learned letters,
and how to help struggling friends.
The nursery-protected childhood experience
would shape their character
and leave indelible marks on their souls.
Fate changed.
At this moment,
the wheel of fate turned once.
Fate being heavy,
it could never turn back.