Villainess? Young Lady - 3
The current Student Council President of the Imperial Academy, Demian Corner, had been born the third son of the Corner family—one of the countless ordinary viscount houses that dotted the Empire. With the ambiguous standing that came of being a viscount's third son, Demian had grown up as nothing more than an ordinary noble youth who dreamed of a life in the civil service.
The family would be inherited by his eldest brother, so a third son like him had to carve out a path of his own. That was why he had chosen the road of a bureaucrat, and with it, the Academy Student Council.
Unlike the clubs that functioned as social salons, the Student Council was, by long-standing custom, the domain of students aiming for government posts. As a result, it tended to attract those whose family prestige—or standing within their own houses—was somewhat uncertain. Thanks to that, Demian was already getting a thorough preview of bureaucratic life as work piled up around him.
Yet he never resented it. This was the path he had chosen, and the hardships of the present would one day become invaluable experience when he sought a real post. Student Council alumni entered the civil service so regularly that the Imperial administration itself tended to give a little extra weight to candidates who listed it on their records.
Everything changed, however, the year Demian became a second-year—last year—when a red light began to flash over his Student Council life.
"I am Margeta Barenti. I look forward to working with you, seniors."
Into a Student Council filled with the colorless, odorless mid-tier nobles of high society had strode an invasive species. The sudden appearance of a duke's daughter nearly made Demian's legs give out; he managed to stay upright only because a full year of grind had already tempered his nerves.
Unfortunately for him, the very competence that earned him the vice-presidency also made him responsible for looking after the newly arrived first-years. The moment he realized that, Demian wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and wail.
In his injustice and despair he even raised his voice at the then-president, demanding to know what in the world this was supposed to mean. The president, eyes dark and sunken, silenced him with a single line.
"So you want me to tell a duke's daughter she can't join?"
Demian wept in his heart.
From that day forward he walked to the Student Council office every morning with the grim resolve of a penal battalion soldier heading to the front. He prayed fervently that each day would pass without incident, that the young lady would grow bored and leave of her own accord—yet, to his sorrow, she reported for duty without fail.
Time passed, and at a Student Council dinner the conversation turned, almost by accident, to why the first-years had joined. Everyone present was waiting for one particular answer.
"I know someone in the administration," she said with a bright smile. "I wanted to see him, so I thought I might become a civil servant myself."
Watching the duke's daughter answer so cheerfully, Demian thought: Couldn't you just summon the person you want to see instead of becoming a bureaucrat?
Whoever he is, I already hate him…
That night Demian sincerely cursed an unknown official somewhere in the Imperial administration.
Still, there was a silver lining. The young lady settled into Student Council life without major trouble and showed a reasonable degree of respect toward her seniors. Of course, from the seniors' point of view the mere fact that their junior was a duke's daughter was itself a form of extreme violence—but it remained manageable.
A year later Demian became Student Council President. Once he graduated he would finally be free of the young lady and of the Student Council that felt like walking on a blade's edge. Imagining himself entering the Imperial administration, he gritted his teeth and endured.
Today, it seemed, that endurance had reached its end.
Your Majesty the Emperor, O Enen, please! Please!
Before Demian's eyes a man was leafing through the materials the Student Council had submitted—the reaper the young lady had abruptly brought along. Demian closed his eyes again.
Karl Crassius, Chief of the Audit Department under the Ministry of Finance, currently stationed at the Academy as an inspector. No aspiring bureaucrat could fail to know that name.
The Emperor's hunting dog. The Crown Prince's blade. The mad dog of the Ministry of Finance. The Imperial family's loyal hound who barked when ordered and tore when told to bite. The reputation—and the notoriety—he had built in the two years since becoming Audit Department Chief was enough to make one's blood run cold.
In particular, the Marquis House of Aesilon had once been the most powerful backer of the Second Prince and the Empress's own natal family. Save for the Imperial house and the Five Ducal Houses, no family had dared compare itself to them—until the Audit Department Chief tore them apart.
He had even imposed a demotion of rank, a humiliation worse than extinction in the eyes of hardline aristocrats, and had left while openly mocking the stunned head of House Aesilon. The rumor still lived on like legend. Afterward the marquis had taken his own life out of shame.
…And that very man was now auditing Demian's work.
"Hmm."
Mother…
While the Audit Department Chief continued examining the documents, Demian and every other Student Council officer trembled like condemned men before the guillotine. Only the young lady sat smiling serenely in their midst.
"Not bad."
"Pardon?"
After what felt like an eternity, the positive verdict slipped out of Demian as a dazed sound before he could stop himself. He clamped his mouth shut at once, but the Audit Department Chief seemed not to mind.
"There are a few rough edges, but nothing that would cause real problems. It was fine. You could step into actual work right now without issue."
With the Audit Department Chief's declaration of innocence, the atmosphere thawed at once. The general affairs officer and the treasurer looked ready to burst into tears at the slightest touch. Only then could Demian finally release the breath he had been holding.
"Demian Corner, was it?"
"Y-yes! That's correct!"
The voice came the moment he exhaled, and tension flooded back, but the Audit Department Chief was already drawing a calling card from his breast and writing something on the reverse.
"Take this."
"Ah—yes."
Demian carefully accepted the card. On the back were his own name and the Audit Department Chief's signature.
"You said you'd sit the civil service exam after graduation? No need. Go to whichever department you want and submit this; they'll find you a suitable post."
Demian's eyes flew wide. He had volunteered for the battered Student Council, but not out of pure joy. His awkward standing as a mere viscount and his lack of useful connections had forced him toward the examination route. The Student Council had been a necessary choice for the extra points it offered.
And now a golden connection had appeared before his eyes. The man had spoken of a "suitable post," yet a recommendation from the Audit Department Chief made it faster to count the impossible seats than the possible ones—especially inside the Ministry of Finance.
"Thank you!"
Demian bowed deeply, offering his gratitude. He finally understood how thoroughly he had let empty notoriety deafen him. A man like this could never be the monster of rumor.
"Gratitude is best shown through devotion to the Empire."
See? What a splendid gentleman.
I watched with pity as the president handed over the documents with trembling hands, then quickly skimmed the materials. Truthfully, as long as there were no traces of embezzlement, I had intended to let a little shoddiness slide. From the president's perspective this was nothing but a bolt from the blue engineered by Margeta.
Oh. Not bad at all.
There was no need for leniency. However far I might stand from the average Audit Department Chief, two years of looking and listening had taught me plenty. Parsing documents prepared for a report was something I could handle quickly—and the more I looked, the more solid it seemed.
Sure, there were rough patches here and there, but a little real civil-service grinding would iron those out on its own. This was genuinely good work.
Demian Corner, was it?
I looked at the president with fresh eyes. I had just discovered a rather fine uncut gem. Having someone like this around would make life easier—and he happened to be aiming for the civil service?
So I wrote the recommendation letter on the spot. I couldn't risk this prospective slave—er, gemstone—changing his mind and abandoning the exams. Once I put a recommendation in his hand, there was no going back. Failing to use a recommendation you received was considered rude, after all.
"Thank you!"
The president bowed, apparently moved. Honestly, I was the one who should be grateful. The more lower-tier slaves like him I accumulated, the closer my retirement inched. Trading a single calling card for a recommendation letter was nothing when my retirement was on the line.
Wow! Civil servants! Cheaper than a calling card!
And so the emergency audit ended with both the president and myself thoroughly satisfied.
I left the Student Council room, leaving behind the president's scrupulous farewell and the longing gazes of the other officers. I could more or less guess what those looks meant.
Right—the president hadn't written those materials alone. Don't worry; when your time comes I'll write you recommendation letters too. Even if you say you don't want them, you'll get them. Try to run and I'll catch you and drag you straight to the Ministry of Finance.
"Thank you, Young Master Karl. I'll be counting on you again tomorrow."
"Pardon? Tomorrow as well?"
"The expo preparations aren't finished yet. I'd be grateful if you could check things whenever a change comes up."
Margeta, who had followed me out instead of remaining in the Student Council room, smiled gently as she spoke. Faced with that light but unyielding smile, I nodded with a slightly sour expression. What else could I do? If I refused and she ran to Luise, things would get messy.
"Same time tomorrow, then?"
"I'll come to the clubroom to fetch you."
"Well now—what an honor."
A personal pickup from a duke's daughter. Almost more than I deserved. When I let out a short laugh, Margeta chuckled softly as well.
And that night, after regular classes and club activities had both ended—
"I hear you met my daughter."
"Y-yes, that's correct."
My knees folded of their own accord. My head dipped little by little. Before me floated the face of a man projected through a glowing communication sphere.
"You spoke as if you'd never see her again. How curious."
"Haha…"
The Iron Blood Duke's sudden contact wrapped around me like a brilliant net.
…Suicide by poison would probably be faster than hanging, wouldn't it?