The Trash Young Master Refuses to Prove It

"Young Master, you smell."

Sylvia, who had been about to leave the room carrying a brass basin, suddenly stopped and blurted out.

Was this maid a master at getting under people's skin or what?

"Well… I was covered in blood and passed out, so of course I'd smell like blood. I'd like to wash up quickly too, you know?"

At my indignant protest, Sylvia's brow furrowed. But her expression was oddly strange — not the usual contemptuous look she gave me, as if I were a bug. Her eyes were narrowed, her nose wrinkled, an ambiguous expression like she wasn't quite sure about something.

"…That's not what I'm talking about," she muttered quietly, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shaking her head.

What, if it wasn't blood, then what was it? Bemused, I buried my nose in my shirt and sniffed.

"Hmm…?"

There was no disgusting smell of blood — just the faint rose scent that always came from this body.

Surely she wasn't picking a fight over this body's natural scent that was always there.

"What smell? I don't smell anything…?"

Sylvia let out a short sigh at my bewildered response. She touched the tip of her nose, tilted her head again, then abruptly turned around as if to let it go for now.

"…I'll go report to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Head that you've awakened. Please wait quietly."

Having said her piece, Sylvia left the room without a backward glance.

Bang!

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone. I dazedly brought my wrist and collar to my nose again, but still caught nothing but the usual scent.

"Did my nose get messed up or something?"

Or maybe that woman was out to drive me crazy from the morning. Either way, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.

Well, first I should wash up before Sylvia came back from her report.

I went straight to the bathroom and turned on the warm water. As the warm streams hit me, the terrible exhaustion from having my living flesh torn apart melted away.

"Whoa…"

Every time I used it, I couldn't help but let out an exclamation. I honestly hadn't expected much from a fantasy world, but magic covered everything. The hot water magic was excellent, making it just as comfortable as the modern world. The water pressure was even amazing.

I found myself humming a tune. No wonder everyone wanted to be a noble. After washing up refreshingly, I plopped down on the bed with my clean, dry body.

Now, it was time to properly investigate this damn system my life depended on.

'Status Window.'

—Ding!

With a cheerful sound effect, a translucent blue panel appeared in the air.

"…Huh?"

Flustered, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swiped my fingers wildly through the air. But no matter how much I tried to scroll down, no more text appeared.

Wait, what about the explanation of that bizarre mechanism that tore through human skin, or the penalty description? Where did all that go?

"Is this really the extent of my status window…? Really…?"

I let out a hollow laugh in disbelief. There was a limit to being unhelpful. At the very least, it should have given me detailed information about my skill.

"This is such bullshit…"

Grumbling at the air, I dismissed the blue panel. It wasn't like staring at it would give me answers anyway.

—Knock, knock.

Just then, a dry knock sounded, and the door swung open. It was Sylvia, who had gone to report to the Head. She gave my dripping-wet figure a once-over, then stated in a flat voice.

"The Head calls for you. Come to the head's office immediately."

"…Hey, Sylvia? I'm a patient here."

I wasn't in pain at the moment, but the mental shock had been severe. Basic decency would suggest I should get at least a day to recover.

Sylvia tilted her head at my indignant protest.

"That's not my concern."

Look at that ice-cold response, cutting me off at the knees. A perfect fortress that refused to allow even a single gram of empathy for another's suffering.

"No, really, I might just collapse while walking, you know?"

"The Head clearly stated, 'If he's still breathing, drag him here immediately.' If you truly can't walk on your own…"

Sylvia glanced at the corridor outside the open door with a dry expression and added.

"Shall I call the knights to drag you there like a sack of goods?"

From the look in her eyes, she wasn't joking. She was the type to actually summon burly knights, grab me by the collar, and drag me across the mansion's corridors like a mop.

"…No. I can walk perfectly well on my own two feet. I'm going, I'm going."

I pouted indignantly, shook off my still-damp hair, and got up.

"You ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came back from the dead, and now you're quite relaxed, aren't you, Rian?"

The moment I opened the door to the head's office, a low, cold voice pierced my eardrums. Beyond the desk, the de facto ruler of this household, her long crimson hair flowing, spoke without even lifting her eyes from the documents.

"…I wouldn't dare be late when the Head summons me."

I answered as politely as I could, shrinking my shoulders, but she seemed not to hear my response at all, the only sound being the regular scratch of her pen on paper.

—Scratch, scratch.

"Head… Head," she muttered briefly.

She put down her pen and slowly raised her head to look at me. Her hazy amethyst eyes leisurely swept over my entire body from head to toe.

"Sylvia told me. That you're acting like a completely different person."

Everywhere her cold gaze touched, my hairs stood on end. It felt like a persistent investigation, determined to uncover whether the core hidden beneath my skin was real or fake.

"Well, if that weren't the case, you, who dirtied my garden, wouldn't even have the courage to walk into my office on your own two feet."

Resting her chin on her hand, she stared at me intently and then threw out a question.

"So, Rian. Do you know my name?"

Caught off guard by the sudden question, I quickly dropped my gaze to the floor.

"…I'm sorry. It hasn't come to me yet."

I answered in the most polite, submissive voice I could muster, clicking my tongue inwardly. Unlike with Evelyn or that little girl Irina, whom I'd expected to run into often — I hadn't bothered to ask Sylvia on purpose, thinking I wouldn't have to face her if I just kept my head down and lived quietly. But to have her ask me directly to my face…

"…Camellia. Camellia Rojer."

The atmosphere, which had felt like she was about to strike my neck for my insolence, strangely softened. I cautiously raised my head to gauge her mood.

"Rian. If you have truly lost your memory and become a different person from before…"

Camellia slowly rose from her seat and walked toward me. With each step of her shoes, my heart tightened.

"Then I too will think of you not as that pathetic son from the past, but as a completely new child."

"…What?"

I looked up at her, my mouth hanging open like an idiot. Had my ears deceived me? Was this really the same fearsome Head who had seemed ready to wring my neck and use me as fertilizer in her garden?

What filled her once-cold amethyst eyes wasn't contempt, but a strange anticipation I couldn't quite describe.

"If you've become a blank canvas, there's nothing bad about that. I just need to paint you anew to my taste."

She gently whispered, her cool fingertips slowly stroking my cheek.

"So don't bother trying to recover your vulgar past memories."

She suddenly became this gentle? The woman who had been radiating murderous intent was now acting kind, going on about a "new child" — it made cold sweat run down my spine even more. This was terrifying in its own way.

Still, I didn't have the confidence to keep enduring this suffocating tension. It wasn't a lie — the aftermath of collapsing in a bloody mess had left every joint in my body aching.

"Then, Lady Camellia…"

"Speak."

"I know it's shameless of me, but could I do some recuperation in my room for a while? Everything is still so overwhelming and hard…"

I asked carefully, with a face desperate to actually survive. I needed some time alone to figure out that damn skill. I held my breath, praying she'd at least give me a day to breathe. Camellia's red lips slowly curved into a smile.

"Of course. If that's what you want, rest well in your room for a while."

I'm saved. A deep sense of relief washed over me at the thought of barely extending my lease on life. Just as my tension was about to release and my unarmed body began to bow repeatedly…

"But, before that."

Camellia's voice instantly dropped below freezing.

"So, what exactly were those roses you bloomed in my garden yesterday?"

"…What?"

"A weak boy who can't even handle mana tore through his own living flesh and bloomed red vines suspicious of being demonic. Do you think that makes any sense?"

Her cold amethyst eyes mercilessly pierced through my pupils.

Ah… I'm going crazy. Just when I thought I could finally catch my breath, how am I supposed to explain this insane skill when even the status window description is incomplete?

"Unless you've made a pact with a profane evil, you'll have to clearly prove it right here in front of me."

At her low, murderous pronouncement, all the blood in my body ran cold.

As if nearly getting excommunicated on the first day wasn't enough, now I was being treated as a dark mage?!