A Mother's Love
"You're here."
A mature, refined voice drifted through the still air of the study. I bowed my head in a polite greeting toward the woman seated behind the broad desk.
Her name was Artasha Bland. With pure white hair identical to Tina's and eyes of a slightly deeper blue-green, she was the head of the Bland Barony — and Tina's mother.
To describe Artasha in a single word… she was an extraordinary woman.
The original head of the Bland Barony, Boni Bland, had been a man possessed by gambling. Even when the family's finances were far from comfortable, he had kept gambling — racking up debt to feed the habit.
His end, unsurprisingly, had not been a kind one. After squandering every last scrap of the family fortune and drowning what remained of his days in drink, he had one night picked a fight with a gang of thugs and been thoroughly beaten. Stripped of even the clothes and jewels on his person, he had tripped over his own feet, suffered a concussion, and died — a wretched end befitting a gambler.
According to Lanihel, the Bland Barony should have collapsed with Boni's death. There was no family fortune left, and the mountain of debt he had left behind meant no one was willing to inherit the title of head.
The one who had kept that crumbling house standing until now was Artasha. Determined to protect the family by any means necessary, she had stayed up night after night studying management, and through sheer business acumen she had carried the barony forward. Enormous debt still hung over the Bland name, but the fact that this mansion still stood firm was entirely her doing.
If Artasha had been the head of the Bland Barony from the start, I suspected it might have become a household of some renown.
Looking at it this way, Tina really was selfish, wasn't she?
In the original game, Tina had been a timid creature obsessed with books — an NPC who clung to the library like a resident spirit. Speak to her and she would tell you she had fled there because she could not bear the pressure at home.
Her mother was staying up all night trying to pay off the family's debts alone, and her only child — far from being of any help — was wasting her days reading. What kind of unfilial daughter was that?
I found myself pitying Artasha all over again. She loved this family so deeply, yet the pillar of a husband had buried them in gambling debt, and the daughter who ought to have been her support had turned her back on her.
"Wait a moment."
Artasha offered the brief instruction and returned her gaze to the documents. I sat quietly on the sofa as she had asked and held my silence. Before long she exhaled a short sigh and took the seat across from me.
"Tina. You do know that you are fifteen now, don't you?"
I had noticed it before, but Artasha's voice when she spoke to her own daughter was rather cold — cold enough that anyone could tell the relationship between Tina and Artasha was not a good one.
"Yes. I know."
"Do you? And knowing that, you still shut yourself in your room all day reading books? Do you have any sense at all?"
A chill voice laced with clear reproach slid into my ears. The frosty atmosphere made me shrink back without meaning to. There was a reason she was the head of the house — Artasha certainly carried a formidable presence.
So this was the "pressure" Tina had spoken of in her dialogue.
Tina would no doubt have taken it as nagging, but to me it sounded like a mother's burning worry. If Artasha had truly despised her daughter, she would have left her alone — free to read or free to go out and cause trouble, either way.
"You will make your debut in high society within the month. I will no longer stand by and watch you freeload like some wastrel, doing nothing but eat."
The tone was coercive.
This was what Tina had hated enough to flee to the library. I could hardly blame her. At the time, Tina had been only fifteen — the equivalent of a middle-schooler in the throes of adolescent rebellion back in Korea.
It was an age when anything a parent said registered as nagging. And if Tina's only act of defiance had been locking herself in her room with a book, she could hardly be called a true delinquent.
If I had truly been fifteen, I might have found Artasha's words nothing but unpleasant. But that would have been the me of fifteen years old.
Puberty was long behind me now.
Having spent half my previous life as an orphan, I did not know much about a family's love — but I was not so dull as to miss a mother's genuine concern.
I looked at Artasha — no, at Mother — with those endlessly cold eyes of hers, and offered a gentle smile.
"I'll do as you say."
At my words, Artasha's face twisted into something fierce without a second's hesitation.
"I knew you would answer like that. But this time, your wishes do not matter in the slightest. Starting next—"
Artasha, her voice rising, stopped dead as if she had been struck by lightning. She blinked blankly for a long moment, then stared at me with eyes gone wide.
"What did you just say?"
"I said I would do as you say."
Faced with the same answer a second time, Artasha looked thoroughly flustered. Had she really not expected me to respond that way? Watching the woman who was always so stern look so utterly bewildered was rather novel.
"Ahem. Well. It is fortunate that you are willing to comply so readily. I will inform you of the schedule later — wait for it."
"Yes, Mother."
"…What?"
Artasha's body jolted so hard the chair beneath her creaked. Whatever had startled her so, her eyes had gone round with shock.
"W-what did you just call me?"
She asked, staring at me with trembling eyes. Afraid she might not have heard properly, I calmly cleared my throat and spoke again.
"I said I understood."
"Not that. What did you call me."
"…Mother?"
Artasha's eyes wavered violently once more. Watching a woman I had always thought of as emotionless fall into such repeated confusion left me feeling rather flustered myself.
Surely she isn't reacting like that because of the word "Mother"?
Come on, that can't be it.
I called my mother "Mother." What's so surprising about that?
"…Very well. Go and rest."
"Yes."
I offered Artasha a polite farewell and left the study at an unhurried pace. Closing the door carefully behind me, I leaned my head against the wall and let out a deep breath. The tension drained away all at once, leaving me faintly drowsy. This had been my first proper encounter with Artasha, and it seemed I had been more nervous than I realized.
…Still, this was a fairly good start, wasn't it?
There had been no hostility in Artasha's final gaze. If anything, it had carried a faint trace of goodwill. Perhaps winning Artasha over to my side would be easier than I had expected. Her help was essential to my plan of becoming a comfortable, wealthy freeloader — so today's events could be counted a success.
Well. There was another reason, too.
I felt sorry for Artasha. In the game she had been written as the wicked mother who pressured Tina and served as a source of stress — but after three months of living in Tina's body, I knew the truth beyond any doubt.
Artasha was a formidable mother who was grinding herself down, even at the cost of her own health, to keep this family fed. And she was a gentle mother who truly loved her daughter Tina.
Tina had never been able to accept Artasha's love and had rejected it to the end. But I wanted to be of some small help to her. Even if I was not her real daughter, I wanted to become even a modest place of comfort for a pitiful woman carrying so much alone.
Was it not too cruel a reality — that she worked through the night and even her own daughter could not offer her solace?
"Then my first goal is getting closer to Mother."
There was one problem, however.
I was not Tina.
Naturally, not being Tina herself, I did not know much about Artasha. I had no idea what foods she liked, or what hobbies she kept. Even if I wanted to raise her affection, no clever idea sprang to mind.
"Hmm… what would Mother like…"
I drummed my fingers against my chin, thinking it over.
She had seemed pleased when I simply obeyed her — but that alone would hardly be enough to grow truly close.
No suitable method came to mind, yet I was not particularly worried. In times like these, you simply asked someone else for help. Fortunately, a few servants had worked for the Bland Barony for a long time. Seeking their advice would surely prove useful.
Should I try asking Lanihel?
She has worked here for a full fifteen years, after all.
She ought to know at least what Artasha likes.