The Dangerous Nomination

The moment that command shattered the silence of the study, I genuinely thought the flow of space itself had frozen. Personal butler candidate. In the Rosenberg Duchy, that title carried no small weight. It was not merely a post for serving tea at the young lady’s side and managing her schedule. It meant becoming the heiress’s deepest shadow, the sole servant granted access to her most private domain. In some ways, it was a position that placed one in possession of secrets more confidential and lethal than those held by most lower nobles. And, naturally, it was also a perilous executioner’s block where one’s life would be the first to be severed should the family fall.

I forced my breathing to steady and slowly raised my head. Veronica, the senior maid standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beside me, already wore a rigid expression. Even a veteran like her could sense how reckless and abrupt this order was.

“My lady,” Veronica began, her voice carefully measured. “Kyle has only been here for two years. He may be familiar with basic chores, but he lacks both the experience and the family verification required to be listed as a candidate.”

“If he lacks them, he can learn from now on.” Ibelin’s reply was curt, without a trace of hesitation.

“Any minor gaps that occur during the learning process could become cracks in the duchy itself.”

“Then teach him properly at his side.” Ibelin rested her chin on her hand and glanced at me. The instant that sharpened golden gaze landed on me, the pocket watch tucked inside my jacket felt unbearably heavy.

“I decided he was necessary to keep by my side. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Veronica could add nothing more. Unless the Duke himself intervened, Ibelin’s stubborn decisions were usually carried out exactly as she wished. That was simply how this household worked.

My thoughts twisted into a complicated knot. Refusing here by citing my station would immediately offend Ibelin’s capricious temper and cost me my head. Yet accepting it outright would place me squarely on the original novel’s path to ruin. Either choice led straight to the worst possible outcome.

“Kyle.” Ibelin called my name softly. “You look as though you have complaints about this appointment.”

Listing every reason would have taken all night, but voicing such suicidal honesty was impossible. I forced out the most colorless tone I could manage.

“It is not so much complaint as fear that my meager abilities might fail to meet your expectations, my lady.”

“You worry too much.”

“I was taught that knowing one’s place is a servant’s virtue.”

“I rather like that cunning of yours.” Ibelin picked up a thick leather-bound document from the desk. The Rosenberg lion crest was stamped clearly on the white paper. “This is not a formal appointment. It is merely a light candidacy. For the next month, prove whether you are fit to live as my shadow.”

One month. I quietly exhaled in relief at the word. The fact that it was not a complete confirmation meant there was still an escape route. For thirty days, I simply needed to remain an appropriately incompetent and ambiguous servant, just incompetent enough to avoid punishment. That would be my survival strategy for this month.

Lose her trust and I die. Gain too much interest and I die as well. Just what rhythm was I supposed to dance to?

“Why is your expression like that? You look like a slave being dragged to the slaughterhouse against his will.” Ibelin tilted her chin up, her gaze piercing.

I quickly pulled my eyes away from the empty air.

“I was momentarily overwhelmed by the excessive honor and committed a discourtesy.”

“Then you should be happy.”

“……It is an honor that will be passed down through the family for generations.”

“Your answer was one beat late.” Ibelin curled the corner of her lips and let out a small laugh. “From now on, make even that soulless flattery come out immediately.”

Every moment was walking on thin ice. Ibelin immediately turned her gaze to Veronica.

“From today onward, completely rearrange Kyle’s work routes. Morning bath service, schedule coordination, study standby, and accompanying me on all outings.”

Veronica drew in a sharp breath for an instant.

“You intend to let this man monopolize even the outing escorts? The senior escort butlers and the knight order will strongly object.”

“Make it happen.” Ibelin’s golden eyes instantly froze over. “This is a good opportunity to see with my own eyes exactly who dares to talk back to my orders.”

Under her master’s razor-sharp pressure, Veronica finally lowered her head.

“Understood, my lady.”

I wept bloody tears inside. The failure condition the status window had warned about—“internal duchy interference”—was already activating in real time. No one in this mansion would look kindly on a low-ranking servant suddenly leaping to the heiress’s innermost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠circle.

“Kyle, it starts tomorrow? No. It starts right now. Your first task is very simple.” Ibelin tapped the document marked with feather-pen strokes. “I have an audience with Father this afternoon. You will follow behind me.”

My heart dropped straight down. Duke Edmund Rosenberg. The current head of the duchy, known as the Iron Blood of the Empire, and the very origin of the tragedy in which he would be caught in the imperial trap and executed for treason. I already had to face that colossal figure?

I bit down on the inside of my lip. Dealing with one insane heroine already felt like it was shortening my lifespan, and now I had to handle a monster standing at the very peak of imperial power as well. On the very first day of the mission, I had been forcibly wedged between the most dangerous father and daughter in this collapsing household.

* * *

The moment we left the study, Veronica roughly grabbed my sleeve and shoved me into a rarely used servant management room in a corner of the corridor. The door slammed shut, and she immediately struck my back with force.

Smack—!

“……That hurts, Senior Maid.”

“I hit you so it would hurt, you thoughtless fool! I know you did not ask for this appointment, but get your head straight. From now on, every single step you take is on the edge of a blade.”

Veronica’s face had gone so pale it looked bloodless. Only after she drew the thick velvet curtains to completely block outside view did she whisper in a very low voice.

“My lady is the sole legitimate heir of the Rosenberg Duchy. Standing at the closest position to her means stepping into the middle of the nobles’ information war. Do you even know whose rice bowl you just snatched?”

“Who will I run into first?”

At my question, Veronica narrowed her eyes as if surprised.

“The first person you will face is Rowen. Senior assistant butler and the elite Martin has marked as his successor. Though a commoner, he comes from a servant family that has served the duchy for generations, so he has thick trust both above and below. You have essentially stolen that man’s seat.”

“He will want to bury me alive.”

“That is not all. On the military side, watch out for Sir Derick of the knight order. He is an arrogant man from a branch noble family who treats servants as less than livestock. If you take over the outing escorts, he will see it as an invasion of his territory.”

Every direction was a minefield.

“Kyle, sometimes I see you staring blankly into empty space. You just did it again.”

At Veronica’s sharp observation, my heart sank. She had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠noticed my habit of fixing my gaze on the air while reading the status window. Even this tiny incongruity could become a fatal flaw.

“……It is an old chronic anemia from my days as a junior butler. My vision occasionally blurs.”

“Your excuses have increased lately.” Veronica clicked her tongue but pulled a small dark-brown glass bottle from the management room drawer and tossed it to me. “It is a fatigue recovery tonic. Not poison, so drink it. Do not collapse in front of my lady and disrupt my work. Watch out for Rowen. That man smiles like a saint while crushing ankles from the bottom.”

“I will keep it in mind.”

As I tucked the bottle deep into my jacket, I felt a deep fatigue. A master’s favor was a blade, and her gaze was an executioner’s block.

“Let us go. We need to make a formal report to the head butler. The rumors have probably already spread throughout the entire mansion.”

Her words were not wrong in the slightest. The moment we opened the management room door and stepped into the corridor, the gazes of servants who had been waiting behind pillars and in shadowed corners all stabbed into me at once. They hurriedly lowered their heads the instant I looked their way, but I could not stop the mocking and contemptuous whispers they let slip.

“Just that guy?”

“What trick did a low-ranking servant pull?”

“He will be quietly buried in the forest soon enough.”

The rumors had already swallowed the entire castle. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the floor and followed only Veronica’s heels. We stopped before the heavy mahogany door at the northern end of the main building’s first floor. It was the office of Martin, the head butler and overall supervisor of all servants in the Rosenberg Duchy.

When Veronica knocked, a solemn voice came from inside.

“Come in.”

The room was filled with the scent of neatly arranged books and aged wood. Seated at the desk was Martin—an elderly man with streaks of white hair and a meticulously trimmed mustache, a living embodiment of the duchy’s history itself. His eyes did not burn with emotion the way Ibelin’s did. Instead, they were a cold, precise scale that measured people as mere “parts.”