Cleanup (2)
Geumeongcheong.
A hidden organization of the empire that most people had never heard of.
Erase everything related to the Abyss, or something like that.
It was an institution whose name had only flickered past in the late stages of the original novel. I remembered cursing at the time—oh, great, another imperial secret agency pulled out of thin air. The setting was grand, the explanations were stingy, and the only thing it seemed to do was sweep incidents under the rug.
I didn't know then.
That I would be walking straight into the center of one of those incidents.
I'd love for it to stay none of my business, but if I think about the happy future I mean to have with Roseline, sooner or later we're bound to cross paths, whether I want to or not.
…Honestly, throwing everything over and running away with Roseline doesn't sound half bad.
I pulled my gaze from the window.
"Let's go, Isabel."
"Are you certain that's wise?"
"About what."
"The Geumeongcheong, my lady. Are we truly leaving it be?"
"There's nothing left for me to do. All I can do is watch."
I glanced back down the corridor.
The door of Roseline's hospital room was shut. I didn't need to see her face to know what expression she was wearing in there.
"Besides, lingering too long gets tiresome."
"Tiresome, my lady?"
"You start fielding questions you have no intention of answering."
"So the young lady avoids such things as well."
"Of course. Receiving question after question you can't answer is exhausting."
Isabel studied me for a moment, then lowered her head.
"Understood."
We left the medical wing.
Behind us, figures in black gloves were filing into the building.
People of that sort rarely made a sound.
They entered quietly, rewrote the records quietly, and quietly sewed every mouth shut.
As if nothing had happened.
Or as if it had been nothing more than a nameless accident.
The Geumeongcheong's investigation ended more quietly than I'd expected.
There was no pressure brought to bear on anyone involved. The students who had taken part in the dungeon drill each went through a brief confirmation procedure, and nothing more.
And a few hours later, the incident was closed.
Marien Ruth — deceased. Cause: collapse of the central passage of the training dungeon. Unidentified lower stratum subsequently discovered.
Theodore Graham — missing, presumed dead. Cause of disappearance: appearance of an unidentified monster.
Roseline Veloa — survivor's location secured through recovery of the signal stone.
Serena Arzen — contributed to the stabilization of the escape route using her Life Threads.
It was a beautifully clean set of sentences.
So clean it was almost funny.
To the Geumeongcheong, there was no such thing as truth, and the word Abyss appeared nowhere at all.
There had been no human-shaped thing flowing like black liquid, no stench of rotting marsh and scorched oil, no moment when Theodore's body vanished into the dark.
The record kept only an unidentified monster.
Typical of them, really.
Isabel set down the documents and spoke.
"My lady. The Academy's official notice has been released as well. The remaining practical drills are suspended indefinitely, the tactics evaluation will be assessed on a provisional basis, and the written exam results will be counted as scheduled."
"So the exams are over, in the end."
I leaned back in my chair and looked down at the paperwork.
A great deal had been settled by this accident.
Everything was clicking into place exactly as I had prepared it.
"My lady."
"What."
"Might I ask you not to make that face?"
"What face, that you'd look so grave about it?"
"The face you make when you're planning to use something."
I smiled, but Isabel didn't soften even at the sight of it.
"Lady Veloa is badly shaken right now."
"I know."
"She has grown distant from Lady Hartwell as well. If you present your conditions now, she will only come to hate you more."
"Good."
A flicker of contempt passed through Isabel's eyes.
"Did you just say good?"
"Yeah."
I folded the documents and set them aside.
"It means she still has strength left in her to hate me with."
It would be a problem if Roseline shattered completely.
What I want isn't an empty shell.
A Roseline who can't judge anything, can't say anything, and is simply dragged along—that's no fun at all.
Roseline should resist to the very end, should keep trying to wrench free of my hand.
She should hate and loathe me, and still be unable to leave my side.
Only then can I thread silk between those fingers.
Exquisitely thin.
Exquisitely slow.
"So I won't do it today."
"You've already told me that."
"And I probably won't do it tomorrow either."
"Uncharacteristically wise of you."
"Is that an insult?"
"If it were an insult this time, would you even believe me?"
I looked out the window.
The medical wing was still quiet. Several black carriages remained parked near the main entrance.
I had no way of knowing how long the Geumeongcheong would stay.
Not long, though.
They hadn't come to solve the incident—they had come to bury it before it could grow into one.
"Isabel."
"Yes."
"The box is still where it was?"
"…You mean the box with that outfit?"
"Yeah."
Isabel's expression stiffened.
"It is in storage."
"Good."
"My lady."
"What."
"Do you truly intend to use it?"
"Of course. It's a promise."
"Is keeping that promise truly necessary right now?"
I considered it for a moment.
Roseline is bound up in guilt right now.
Her relationship with Chloe is wavering.
The Geumeongcheong erased the truth, and the Academy tidied the accident away.
Everyone will tell Roseline it's all right.
That it wasn't her fault.
That she bore it well.
That it's a miracle she came back alive.
And Roseline won't be able to believe a single word of it.
That's why I'm necessary.
Not comfort, not guilt—shame.
Not a memory crumbling away, but a present—something to show her exactly where her own body is standing right now.
"A face sunk in gloom has its charm, I'll admit, but she can't keep wearing it forever."
"Which face, my lady?"
"The one that believes she's still standing in front of that pile of rubble. She needs pulling out."
"And of all methods, it must be dressing her in that outfit and shaming her?"
"Yes."
"You are truly the worst."
"Roseline is the one who tempted me first."
I didn't drop my smile.
Roseline is going to hate me even more.
"Let's go out for a while, Isabel."
"Shall I prepare the carriage?"
"No need. I'm just restless—I need to clear my head."
"Going out alone is not something I'd recommend."
"That's why I told you, didn't I?"
"And does that mean you permit me to accompany you, or that you'll make my life difficult if I don't?"
"Both?"
"Very like you, my lady."
I gave a vague laugh and rose from my seat.
Leaving the annex, we walked toward the Academy's central street.
"Would Roseline like that, I wonder."
"What are you referring to, my lady?"
I was looking at a small glass ornament displayed in a shop window.
When the light caught it, the flower pattern etched inside glittered.
"A gift for Lady Veloa, perhaps?"
"No. It just reminded me of something."
"For something that merely reminded you, you've been looking at it a long while."
"You've gotten talkative lately."
"Because someone must stop you before your thoughts become actions, my lady."
She wasn't wrong.
I kept walking.
Passing the bookstore, I saw tactics exam prep guides stacked to overflowing. The exams had ended early, so they wouldn't sell for a while now.
What kind of face would Roseline make, seeing those books? Would she pore over pages she no longer needed to read? Or would Marien's empty place come to mind, and she'd simply close the cover?
A little further on, I spotted a general goods shop selling ribbons and gloves.
There was a ribbon there that would look lovely wound around Roseline's wrist.
White is too innocent.
Black is too lewd.
Deep navy would be about right.
If I'm tying her up, the wrist would be best. Or perhaps I'd rather have her arm draped over the back of a chair, holding her chin so she couldn't turn her head away.
"My lady."
"Hm?"
"Your expression just now was thoroughly indecent."
"Don't you think you're deducing a bit too much from a single look?"
"I have served you a long time, my lady."
Smiling, I walked past the shop.
What kind of face would she make if I tied Roseline up?
She'd be angry, most likely.
Serena, do not cross the line.
Even as she said it, she would keep her eyes fixed straight on me to the very end. Even frightened, she wouldn't lower her head. Even with tears welling, her gaze alone would refuse to bend.
That's what I love about her.
Which is why I want to make her look only at me.
Unable to reach out to anyone.
Unable to call anyone's name.
Allowed to lift her head only when I call for her.
"My lady."
"What."
"At least manage your expression while we're outdoors."
"I'd rather not."
Isabel sighed softly.
We had been walking when I stopped in front of a flower shop.
Ordinarily I'd have passed it by without a glance, but today, for some reason, my eyes were drawn to it. Perhaps because of the white bouquet sitting by the window—small, modest flowers, unassuming in shape.
And standing before them was a man.
Brown hair. Neat, tidy attire. A small bouquet held in one hand.
He gazed down at the flowers for a long while, then carefully reached out.
I knew that face.
One of this world's male leads. Roseline's childhood friend.
"Ah."
The moment I murmured it under my breath, Luka lifted his head and our eyes met.
He studied me briefly, then promptly bowed with perfect courtesy.
"Lady Serena Arzen. This is the first time I've had the honor of greeting you."
"You know my name."
"It would be difficult not to."
"In a good way?"
Luka was silent for a moment.
"Not necessarily."
Behind me, Isabel drew a very small breath.
"Bold of you."
"If I was rude, I apologize."
"You don't sound very sorry."
"I came after hearing that Roseline was hurt. I don't have much patience for choosing my words right now."
Roseline.
He said her name far too easily.
I call her Roseline too.
I didn't like it.
Not even slightly.
"Visiting the sick?"
I asked, nodding at the flowers in his hand.
"Yes."
"Then just go in."
"I went as far as the medical wing a little while ago, then turned back."
"Why."
Luka looked down at the bouquet.
"I thought it would be better for her to rest right now."
"How considerate."
"Is that sarcasm?"
"Yes."
Luka looked me dead in the eye.
He didn't back down, unexpectedly enough.
"Do you think waiting at the door will make Roseline any better?"
"Better than going in right now and shaking her, surely."
"Was that directed at me?"
"If it sounded that way."
I laughed.
God, he's infuriating.
In the original novel too, Luka had been this sort of man. The one who gave Roseline the most ordinary kind of refuge. Not radiant like a crown prince, not rough like a northern mercenary—just someone she could lean against for a moment and catch her breath.
Which is exactly why he grates on me.
"Do you think Roseline wants to see you?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. I don't know what Roseline wants right now."
"Aren't you her childhood friend?"
"Which is precisely why I can't go barging in."
That was a decent answer.
Not that I wanted to admit it.
I looked into the flower shop.
"And those flowers?"
"Flowers Roseline loved when she was young."
Roseline's time—something I don't know and can never have. My Life Threads nearly burst out on their own, but I suppressed them and folded my hands, carving the word patience into my thoughts.
"The Roseline of now isn't the Roseline of back then."
"I know."
"And you're bringing them anyway?"
"Yes."
Luka held the bouquet a little more carefully.
"Because the Roseline of that time hasn't vanished."
The smile nearly slipped off my face, but I put it back on.
"How touching."
"I doubt Lady Arzen sees it that way."
"No. Not really."
"Why not?"
"Comfort that leans on the past is weak."
Luka's eyes narrowed.
I took a step closer.
"What someone collapsing right now needs isn't flowers she liked as a child. It's something she can hold onto now."
"And that would be you, Lady Arzen?"
"Could be."
"Roseline is wary of you."
"I know."
"She dislikes you as well."
"I know that too."
"Then why do you keep approaching her?"
I looked at Luka.
It was a question I quite liked, so I answered him honestly.
"To check whether she still has strength left to hate me with."
"That is not the words of someone who cares for her."
"No. It isn't caring."
"Then what is it?"
"Greed."
I smiled.
"Roseline isn't the kind of person who breaks easily. And that's what I like about her."
"Lady Arzen."
"What."
"Stay away from Roseline."
Not words a mere nobleman could say easily to a duke's daughter—but Luka spat them out anyway.
And for that, I liked him a little.
"That's going to be difficult."
"…"
"I've already touched her."
Strength gathered in Luka's hand, and the bouquet's wrapping crinkled.
"What is that supposed to mean."
"Not what you're imagining."
Not yet, I added silently.
"But Roseline can never go back to how she was."
"Because of the accident?"
"That, and other things."
"Lady Arzen."
"Luka."
At the sound of his own name, Luka stopped.
"Pacing back and forth at that door is your business. Leaving the flowers and going is your business too."
I looked down at the bouquet.
"But don't you dare believe the Roseline you know is still in there."
Luka stared at me for a long time.
"Do you want Roseline to change?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because then she'll come to my side."
Disgust.
Anger.
And the eyes of someone looking at a thing they cannot understand.
A familiar look.
Roseline has looked at me that way too.
But Luka's gaze was unpleasant. I enjoy Roseline hating me—but watching someone else regard me with those eyes is no fun at all.
"Those flowers. Shall I deliver them for you?"
"I'll decline."
"Why."
"Roseline wouldn't like it."
"Receiving something from me?"
"No."
Luka drew the bouquet a little closer against his chest.
"The fact that they passed through your hands."
This time, the laughter came out for real.
"You're surprisingly cheeky."
"It's a matter of Roseline."
"I really don't like that phrase."
"And I don't like you, Lady Arzen."
"Is that so."
"But I didn't come here to fight."
He paid the flower shop's owner and took a small slip of paper. He wrote a few words right there and tucked it inside the bouquet's wrapping.
"Then why did you come?"
"To let Roseline know she isn't alone."
Truly.
He picks out only the words I hate most.
Luka walked past me.
Toward the medical wing. He probably wouldn't manage to enter himself—he'd leave the flowers in someone's care, or set them down at the door and turn back.
A person who waits without crossing the line.
A person who doesn't force his way in when Roseline is hurting.
And that's exactly why I hate him.