The Price of Kindness

The air at dawn was bitterly cold. In the silent room where quiet had settled heavily, I washed my face and carefully straightened the knots of my butler uniform. The silver pocket watch nestled in my inner breast pocket made its heavy presence known with every step I took. It was the invisible leash Ibelin had fastened on me herself. Click. Every time I heard the second hand tick into place, the bluish text that had filled my vision yesterday resurfaced.

An unidentified gaze. Ibelin, Seraphina, the Duke, Rowen, Derek… I already had my hands full just trying to survive the time bombs scattered everywhere, and now some invisible observer had decided to stick its head in too. The numbers the system provided were convenient, but they also left me with the unpleasant feeling of being a decorative fish trapped inside an intricately crafted show window.

“Get a grip,” I muttered quietly to my haggard reflection in the mirror. The survival rules I had to follow today were crystal clear.

One: Do not appear overly competent in front of Ibelin.

Two: Completely cut off all contact with Seraphina.

Three: Do not fall for any of Rowen’s schemes.

And finally, four: Completely break the habit of staring into empty space.

The fourth one was especially lethal. The quirk of fixing my gaze in midair while reading status windows had already been caught by the Duke and Ibelin several times. These people had senses like ghosts; even the slightest sense of incongruity would eventually become ammunition against me.

The moment I lightly slapped my cheeks with my palms to pull my scattered mind back together, a perfectly timed knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock.

“Kyle, are you in there?” It was Veronica.

When I opened the door, she gave my attire a sharp once-over before letting out a quiet sigh.

“At least you look like a person today.”

“Was I not yesterday?”

“Yesterday you looked like a condemned prisoner being dragged to the guillotine.”

It wasn’t wrong, so I couldn’t argue. Veronica glanced at the pocket watch on my chest as I swallowed a bitter smile, then got to the point.

“You will personally prepare the morning tea today. It’s the young lady’s direct order.”

“I expected as much.”

“And… I heard a little rat was sniffing around near your room last night.”

My gaze froze for a split second.

“How did you know?”

“Don’t underestimate the eyes of the guards. Someone saw Rowen heading toward your quarters carrying a bottle of liquor.”

There was no such thing as a perfect secret inside the Duke’s household. I answered calmly.

“He came to offer his congratulations on my becoming a personal butler candidate.”

“You didn’t drink the liquor that snake gave you, did you?”

“I declined. I told him I would accept only his sentiment and sent him away.”

Only then did Veronica’s rigidly hardened expression soften by the tiniest fraction.

“A wise decision. He probably didn’t lace it with outright poison, but that man would have mixed in any number of substances to cloud your reason and make you commit a fatal mistake during morning greetings.”

“...So here, goodwill is the most dangerous poison of all.”

“Don’t just guess at it—carve it into your bones. In this mansion, there is no such thing as kindness without a price.”

At her chilling warning, I bowed my head without a word. Goodwill is a blade. She was right. The watch Ibelin had bestowed, the gratitude Seraphina had shown, and even Rowen’s disguised congratulations were all blades aimed at my throat.

The problem was that the lingering morality of the modern person inside me sometimes tried to act without expecting anything in return. And that was precisely the most dangerous form of suicide in this hellish world.

The process of preparing the morning tea in the kitchen was as tense as manufacturing a bomb. I checked the condition of the tea leaves with my fingertips, precisely adjusted the water temperature, and inspected the inside and outside of the teacup multiple times. Rowen might not have acted openly, but letting my guard down meant destruction.

The moment I lifted the tray and left the kitchen, the gazes of the servants hiding in the shadows along the walls all locked onto me at once. It was no longer the vague curiosity of yesterday; this was clear wariness and envy.

“A low-ranking servant becoming a personal candidate?”

“How on earth did he fool the young lady’s eyes?”

“Must have chosen his backers well. Let’s see how long he lasts.”

Though spoken in lowered voices, they flowed smoothly along the corridor walls as if deliberately meant for me to hear. I did not react. Emotional retorts meant defeat; excuses meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠total loss. A servant’s greatest weapon was silence alone.

But a real obstacle appeared on the path leading to the east wing. Rowen, leaning lazily against the corridor wall, blocked my way with his signature hypocritical smile.

“Good morning, Kyle.”

“Good morning, Senior Rowen.”

“I was quite disappointed last night. It was expensive liquor, you know.”

“I was taught that a subordinate should decline excessive favors.”

“How thorough. You’ll need at least that much venom if you want to claim a spot at the young lady’s side.”

Rowen’s eyes sank coldly as his gaze dropped to the tray in my hands.

“You prepared the morning tea yourself, I see. Shall I inspect it for you? After all, even the smallest mistake by a personal candidate becomes a stain on the Rosenberg name.”

It was blatant interference disguised as kindness. At that moment, a red warning light flashed in the lower edge of my vision.

I pulled the tray slightly closer to my body and responded coldly.

“I appreciate the thought, but I have already received primary verification from Senior Maid Veronica.”

It was a blatant lie, but it was enough to serve as justification. Rowen’s lips hardened for a split second.

“From Lady Veronica herself?”

“Yes. She repeatedly emphasized that during the candidate period I must not bring disgrace to the family’s dignity. Now, since the young lady is waiting, would you please step aside?”

“...Then that’s fortunate. The first button is the most important if you want to last long.”

Though Rowen withdrew obediently, a snake-like gaze crawled up my spine from behind him. I didn’t look back and continued walking toward the study door. I had safely passed the first landmine.

Knock, knock. When I rapped on the door, a voice granting permission came from inside.

“Enter.”

I opened the door and stepped in. Ibelin, who had been sitting by the window reviewing documents, lifted her head. Between the red ribbon that half-tied her flowing hair, her golden eyes first landed on my chest. Confirming that the pocket watch was in its proper place, the corners of Ibelin’s mouth drew a satisfied arc.

“You’re wearing it well.”

“It is your order, my lady.”

“Good.”

With her permission, I carefully set down the teacup. I had deliberately brewed the tea in an ordinary, unremarkable way so as not to leave too strong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an impression on Ibelin, yet after taking a single sip her eyes narrowed.

“The aroma is deeper than yesterday.”

“...You flatter me.”

I’m screwed. It seemed the servant’s ingrained skill level had produced a perfect flavor against my will. Ibelin stared straight at me as I shed tears of blood inside.

“Did you sleep properly? Your complexion is a complete mess.”

“It will not interfere with the performance of my duties.”

“That mechanical answer is starting to bore me.”

Ibelin set the documents down with a soft thud and rested her chin on her hand.

“Today’s schedule?”

“Morning study organization, afternoon etiquette instruction, followed by a courtesy visit to the Duchess. In the evening, there is a review of the imperial capital ball invitation.”

“You’ve already memorized it all?”

“I thought it was basic knowledge a candidate should have.”

“How diligent.”

Even the praise sounded like a sharp blade. Ibelin’s gaze dug persistently into my face.

“Kyle. You said you wanted to live in front of the ducal family, didn’t you?”

“...That is correct.”

“Why?”

It was a question that pierced straight to the core. Hypocritical talk of family or honor would not work on this woman. I answered with my raw instinct.

“Because I am afraid of dying. There is no reason beyond that.”

After a brief silence, Ibelin let out a low laugh. It was not mockery.

“I like your honesty. Everyone else wraps themselves in nauseating packaging like loyalty and honor, but in the end humans crawl because they want to live. Surprisingly few people admit that.”

She was a young lady who had grown up watching all kinds of human hypocrisy from the suffocating throne of ducal heir. It seemed my raw survival instinct had instead struck her as a refreshing stimulus.

“Kyle. Will you betray me?”

“......”

“Answer me.”

“I will act in order to survive. If the path you desire and my survival ever collide, I will simply conduct myself so that such a collision does not occur.”

Ibelin’s eyes sparkled as she smiled quietly in satisfaction.

The moment the blue status window obscured my vision, I desperately fixed my gaze on the floor. Do not look into empty space. Absolutely do not move your eyes. I was mentally chanting the mantra and regulating my breathing when Ibelin’s chilling voice struck down on the crown of my head.

“You. Did you just look at a status window?”

For a moment I thought my heart had frozen solid. Suppressing the sensation of blood rushing backward, I lifted my head with the most stupid and innocent expression I could manage.

“...I do not understand what a status window is with my humble knowledge.”

Ibelin stared at me for a long time as if testing my composure, then finally chuckled and set down her teacup.

“It was a joke. Your expression just stiffened, so I thought you were hiding something and tested you.”

“...Is my expression that obvious?”

“Yes. Extremely. That’s why you’re interesting.”

An absolute powerhouse with whom conversation was impossible. I was on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat that would drip onto the study floor.

The morning study organization was no simple labor. It was a space filled with confidential ducal documents and papers detailing imperial movements. While organizing them, my gaze stopped dead on one name.

Lucian von Artein.

The original male lead and crown prince. His name was clearly listed on the roster for the imperial banquet to be held in a month. If events followed the original story, that banquet would mark the beginning of serious political marriage negotiations between the ducal house and the imperial family. Afterward, Seraphina’s appearance would set the gears of destruction in motion.

One month. It matched the grace period I had been given. Before the crown prince stepped onto the board, I had to somehow slip out of this personal butler candidate position.

“What are you staring at so blankly?”

Ibelin, who had approached at some point, peeked at the document.

“It is the imperial banquet guest list.”

“The crown prince? That man is boring.”

Ibelin snorted as if she had no interest. It was a slight deviation from the original early story, where she had been obsessed with the crown prince as the family’s perfect doll.

“He’s handsome, intelligent, and perfect… but he feels exactly like a porcelain doll stamped out by the imperial family. Marrying someone like that might suffocate me to death. Kyle, if you stay by my side you’ll end up seeing him often whether you like it or not.”

If you stay by my side. The way Ibelin spoke of sharing a future as if it were obvious sent a chill down my spine.

If I couldn’t break this insane upward curve, I would be turned into a specimen by Ibelin’s own hands before the crown prince even appeared.

Around lunchtime, when I went down to the underground kitchen to prepare refreshments, an unexpected commotion caught my ankle. In front of the food storage, a familiar voice was mixed among the sharp reprimands of the maids. It was Seraphina.

“If it is herbal tea for the Duchess, you must not change the existing prescription, Lady Estelle.”

“But this herb is actually poisonous for someone suffering from a persistent low fever. My mother ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always—”

“Are you saying the methods of the fallen Estelle family are more omniscient than the Rosenberg family’s personal physician? Your desire to look good in front of the Duchess is far too blatant.”

At the maid’s sneer, Seraphina bit her lip.

I should just walk past. My rational brain issued the warning. Getting involved here would earn Ibelin’s wrath and only cause Seraphina’s affection to skyrocket. But a memory from the original story flashed through my mind. The sudden worsening of Duchess Elysia’s condition. That had been the trigger that accelerated Ibelin’s descent into darkness. What if this prescription was the cause?

In the end, my feet moved on their own.

“What is going on?”

The weight of the title Personal Butler Candidate was immense. The maid who had been ignoring me instantly shrank back. I checked the herbs in the basket. They were strongly warming in nature—the worst possible prescription for the Duchess, who was currently suffering from a low fever. Seraphina’s insight had been correct.

“Lady Estelle’s point is correct. The Duchess has recently been experiencing a low fever, so it would be better to remove this herb entirely.”

“But the existing prescription…”

“Established custom is not always the correct answer. If any problem arises, I, as the personal candidate, will take full responsibility.”

At my resolute attitude, the maid reluctantly withdrew. Inside the storage room, only Seraphina and I remained. It was the worst possible encounter.

“...Why do you keep helping me, Mister Kyle?”

Seraphina asked, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Because your judgment was factually correct, my lady. That is all.”

“You really are a strange person, Mister Kyle.”

Seraphina smiled bitterly, yet as if she had found salvation.

“Even when I was right, no one would listen to me. I always had to swallow my words because they said I was wrong… You are the first person who has ever told me that I was not mistaken.”

I realized my mistake, but it was already too late. The damned status window dyed my vision red.

“My work is piling up, so I must take my leave.”

I fled the storage room as if escaping. The gaze Seraphina fixed on the back of my head felt unusually hot.

The boomerang of that price returned in the worst possible form by evening. The color of Ibelin’s face as we met in the middle of the corridor was reminiscent of the arrival of an ice age. It was right after news had spread that Seraphina had succeeded in lowering the Duchess’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fever and gained her trust.

The problem was that the moment Seraphina approached me to convey her thanks, Ibelin had witnessed the scene head-on.

“Kyle.”

Ibelin walked toward me slowly. She was smiling with her eyes, but her pupils glittered with murderous intent.

“My personal candidate seems quite intimate with another woman. Lady Estelle, I believe I told you that repeatedly showing personal affection toward someone else’s servant is rude.”

“Mister Kyle is not an object, Lady Rosenberg.”

Seraphina did not back down and met Ibelin head-on. The air froze so thoroughly I thought I could hear it crack.

The two female leads’ gazes collided in midair, seeming to tear me to shreds. If I left them like this, the original story’s path to destruction would be accelerated by at least a month.

In the end, I stepped between them and knelt before Ibelin.

“My lady, this incident occurred due to my inadequate conduct. It is not something for which Lady Estelle should be held responsible.”

“So in the end you take that woman’s side.”

“I am not taking sides. There are many eyes watching in the corridor. If rumors spread that the two of you fought over a single butler here, it will leave an indelible stain on your noble name, my lady. Therefore, please hold this humble servant accountable instead.”

When I presented the justification of ‘the family’s dignity’ rather than emotion, Ibelin’s ragged breathing finally calmed. She looked down at me with a smile so cold it raised goosebumps.

“Very well. If you say you will take responsibility, I will gladly give you the chance. Come to my study tonight.”

Deep in the night. Ibelin’s study, which had swallowed even the moonlight, was lit only by a single candle flickering precariously. The door closed, and in the silence Ibelin rose from her seat. Her footsteps beat against the floor with mechanical regularity.

“Kyle. Do you hate me?”

A quiet confession more frightening than shouting.

“I do not hate you.”

“Then do you like me?”

It was an interrogation that stole my breath. I withheld my answer.

“I do not have the right to define my feelings toward you with any emotion, my lady.”

“Rights again, status again!”

In an instant Ibelin closed the distance until she was right in front of me and roughly grabbed the pocket watch on my chest. The silver chain pulled taut, pressing against my heart.

“Why do you treat that woman with human kindness while drawing a line with me? Why do you keep treating me only as the ducal heir!”

Ibelin’s golden eyes were shaking violently. The pressure to be perfect, the loneliness grown among hypocrites. Before she was the villainess of the original story, she was an eighteen-year-old girl suffocating and screaming on the edge of a cliff.

“Sometimes I want to smash everything too. I also… want someone to look at me simply as ‘me.’”

The fingertips holding the pocket watch trembled faintly.

“Kyle. Look at me.”

It was not the command of an arrogant young lady. It was the desperate plea of someone standing at the edge of a precipice. In the end, instead of closing my eyes, I met her gaze head-on. The survival rule that I must fail was overpowered by the instinct that could not turn away from the human before me.

“...I am looking, my lady.”

At my answer, strength left Ibelin’s hand. She laughed in a grotesque way—whether crying or having received salvation, I could not tell.

“Then don’t run away. Not until I allow it.”

Whoosh—! My entire field of vision was covered in blood-red warnings.

It was the alarm announcing that I had crossed the threshold of hell. The price of the clumsy kindness and justifications I had shown was far more expensive and lethal than my meager life was worth.