The Pieces Are Falling into Place
“The right not to die in agony….”
“As the Duchess already knows, our Beauty Tower is the finest hospital on the West Continent. If we can't cure it here, no one can—I can guarantee that.”
The Duchess bit her lip hard and furrowed her brow around her eyes. I continued cautiously.
“Can you swear to that right now?”
“I stake my life on it. Have you ever seen Young Master Logan's fingernails?”
“I've heard they've been turning yellow for a few years now.”
As expected, the Duchess knew everything about Logan. I nodded carefully at her words.
“It's a sign that death is approaching. I know a mother who wouldn't bat an eye at pain for her firstborn wouldn't want to watch him cough up blood in agony. She'd prefer he slip away peacefully, without suffering.”
“How could this be... It can't happen! How could my son inherit his mother's tragic fate like this!”
Tears streamed down the Duchess's cheeks.
“Even if it's my selfish desire, I can't allow it! Absolutely not! My child can't die without seeing his mother's, father's, or brother's faces one last time!”
“You don't need to worry about that.”
“What are you saying? No need to worry?!”
Her sharp rebuke rang out again. My body trembled as I pressed on carefully.
“Based on his current prognosis, First Young Master Logan has about a year left. But at our Beauty Tower, we have devices that can keep anyone—even those on the brink of death—in full mental clarity for at least a week longer.”
Of course, no such devices existed. But the Duchess had no way of knowing that.
“When the time comes, I'll contact you immediately via crystal orb, so you won't miss his final moments.”
“Haa... You make a compelling case. But this isn't something I can decide alone. I need to consult the Duke separately.”
Her tone suggested she was almost convinced. Time to close the deal.
“I understand, but if we're not careful, the pain-relief procedure could come too late. With the social gathering just ten days away, I'm worried that if invited guests arrive and First Young Master's health issue derails such an important event...”
“Haa... What a mess... If my husband learns of the boy's condition, he might cancel the gathering. But that would be an egregious breach of etiquette...”
The Duchess tapped the armrest with her index finger, her face clouded with worry. My cue to step in.
“How about this? Tell the Duke about First Young Master's condition more gradually, and for now, say you're taking him to the Beauty Tower for treatment. Wouldn't that work?”
“Are you suggesting I deceive my husband?”
“N-no, not at all. I only meant to prevent the event from falling through... My mistake.”
I shook my head in feigned fear and started to rise from my seat. That's when—
“Who told you to stand?”
“...”
“This matter stays between us. Even though it's for Logan's sake, if word gets out, it could cause massive chaos.”
“O-of course. I won't breathe a word to anyone!”
After a moment of silence, the Duchess slowly parted her lips.
“I'll have the carriage prepared.”
* * *
The third day at House Frederick dawned, and First Young Master Logan Frederick boarded the sky turtle carriage.
“I'll get treated properly, so don't worry. Oscar, take good care of our parents while I'm gone.”
“Come back safe, my baby. Contact me via crystal orb if anything happens.”
“See you later, brother. I'll hold down the fort, so don't worry.”
After a brief exchange with the Duchess and Oscar, Logan faced the head of House Frederick, Graham Frederick.
Graham, whom I'd never met before, was a world apart from the frail Logan—a picture of manly vigor.
“Son, endure no matter what. You're always the firstborn of House Frederick.”
“Don't worry, Father. I'll get treated and come back safe. It's a relief we've finally found a cure for my illness.”
With those short words, the sky turtle carriage carrying Logan rocketed into the sky with a deep whoosh. And as the carriage vanished like a star in the heavens—
The family head, gazing at the now-empty sky streaked with contrails, approached me.
“You're Miner, the director who claims he can cure my son.”
“An honor to meet you, Duke.”
Graham Frederick, with his hair slicked back, exuded raw masculinity—but his eyes held the same fragility as Logan's.
“I hear you're helping not just Logan, but Oscar too. I count on you going forward.”
“I'll do my utmost.”
With that brief talk, the head and his wife left the room.
“Second Young Master, shall we proceed with your treatment now?”
“Sure.”
Unlike his nonchalant reply, Oscar fussed about his skin hurting just like the first time, so—as on day one—I finished with moisturizer and a sheet mask.
Not bad earning money like this. A bit annoying, but not hard.
I returned to my room and immediately sought out Res.
“Res!”
“Yeah, you're back?”
“Playing with Walter. He said you might call for work.”
“You were like that last night too! What's up? Hiding something from me?”
Maybe because she stuck to me so much? The little one was getting sharper.
“What are you talking about? It's patient-related, that's why. Don't you know doctors have to protect patient confidentiality?”
“Tch, since when did you care about that? I was always there invisible during treatments! Well, not after the witches came.”
“Fine, just go. This is urgent.”
“Hmph, playing with Walter's more fun anyway!”
Res pouted and hopped to the next room where Walter was.
Can't let Res hear this. She'd never keep a straight face.
I picked up the crystal orb and called Cache right away.
“Cache, can you talk now?”
―Yes, yes. I've left the first floor of the Beauty Tower to Hazel and Stella. They said you'd call, so I'm alone in the staff lounge.
Perfect—safety assured. Time to go all-in on First Young Master.
“They left about two hours ago and should arrive before dinner. Hand the crystal orb to Stella, and contact me the moment they do. Remind her not to mention the exact diagnosis.”
―Yes, Director. But... is this okay? If something goes wrong...
Cache's trembling voice came through the orb.
“Money's money, but we save lives first.”
―Yes... Oh! Don't worry about First Young Master! We'll take good care of him while you're away!
“Right. When he arrives, bathe him and change his clothes immediately. Don't forget the mask.”
―Yes, Director!
Once the call with Cache ended, my body finally started shaking. I hadn't told Res because she'd blow our cover for sure. If she did, we'd all be finished.
* * *
Time flew by, and it had been thirteen days since arriving at Frederik Castle. Today was Ailene Calendar October 22nd, Saturday—the grand banquet day.
“Whoaaa! So many people!”
“Quiet down, Res.”
We were fifteen minutes from the main social gathering. I'd entered the hall with Res and Walter.
Voices announcing guests' identities and names mingled with laughter and chatter, turning the hall into a cacophony.
They call it a social, but it's a jungle.
Ladies who'd finished scanning families' power, wealth, and prestige hid smirks behind their fans, eyes darting like vipers hunting prey. Everyone smiled, but genuine laughs were rare.
“M-Miner! People! They're coming at me!”
“Hm?”
As Res said, several noblewomen eyed me strangely and approached.
“Sh-should I attack? Right now?!”
“What? You know using magic here is a huge crime?”
Magic use was a serious offense at all socials and debutante balls. Anti-magic artifacts hung visibly everywhere, yet Res spouted nonsense. And unlike her prickly stance, their approach didn't bother me.
It's exactly what I wanted.
Lascivious glints peeked from behind fans. No need for micro-expressions—I could smell their greedy desire.
“Hello?”
Here we go. The quickest-stepping noblewoman reached me first. Perfect timing to build rapport with barons' wives and ladies before ramping up sales.
I breathed through my mouth to avoid her overpowering perfume and greeted her glowing eyes.
Heh, showtime. Time to network and pitch during the lull.
“Hello, ma'am. I'm a plastic surgery specialist—”
“Hello! Allow me to introduce myself first.”
“Oh, ma'am? Didn't you see me speaking?”
“Oh? There you are. I'm tall, so I must've missed you.”
“Oh my~. Maybe eat some fruit? Your eyes seem dim already.”
Something was off. They shoved each other to speak first, trading barbs.
“Which house are you from?”
“Seeing anyone?”
“Married?”
“Lover...?”
I'd chalked it up to the Duchess's good PR. But mixed among potential clients were hyenas drawn purely to my looks.
Damn... Forgot for a second.
My face wasn't ordinary. Hyenas drooling and charging made it impossible to even start consultations with real prospects.
Can't talk... Too many variables.
“Head of House Frederick in Frederik Duchy, Graham Frederick, enters!”
“Grace Frederick Duchess enters!”
“Oscar Frederick Young Master enters!”
And salvation arrived.
“That's the trendy pageboy cut, so valiant.”
“The Duchess is ever beautiful.”
“Where's the firstborn? I don't see him.”
“Haven't you heard? He's recuperating due to poor health.”
“Oh dear... Just like his mother.”
Nobles' feigned concern echoed everywhere. That's when—
“Jasmine, Duchess of House Esmael, enters!”
Now the pieces were falling into place.