The Substitutes and the Fluffball
All at once, the words Pelens had thrown at her during their very first meeting rushed back to Lefonya's mind.
Back then, he had glared at her with bared fangs, demanding to know where she had gotten that face. She had written it off as nothing more than a spoiled young master picking a fight, but now the puzzle pieces snapped into place.
It was because I look so much like the Duchess.
In her current five-year-old body, the resemblance was only faint, a soft echo of shared features. But her true self—the twenty-year-old Lefonya that no one in this world knew—bore an uncanny likeness to the portrait before her.
Yet despite sharing the same bone structure and coloring, the air about them could not have been more different, forged by two entirely disparate lives. The Duchess in the painting possessed an ethereal, dandelion-fluff gentleness, her serene expression untouched by a single day of hardship. The twenty-year-old Lefonya, by contrast, had worn a face so hollow and deadened that people struggled to tell if she was breathing, her presence bristling with such sharp, defensive thorns that others reflexively gave her a wide berth.
They told me my parents were so dirt-poor that they sold me to the orphanage before I even turned one.
Seeing a woman who looked so much like her older self made Lefonya turn her thoughts toward her own mysterious origins. Since she had married the Duke of Craitan, the late Duchess had surely hailed from a noble family. Lefonya had never investigated the Duchess's maiden house, so she knew nothing of its status, but one thing was certain: no noble house would ever sell an infant to a godforsaken, abusive orphanage out in the middle of nowhere simply for lack of coin.
And even if some unfathomable circumstance had forced their hand, a noble family with resources would have come looking for her eventually.
It really is better to believe I was thrown away out of sheer poverty. If they had the wealth and power to find me and chose not to, that's just… too pathetic to bear.
If someone had come for her, she would never have spent her childhood in that hellhole, nor would she have grown into an assassin for the Holy Temple. And even if her birth somehow tied back to the late Duchess's family, so what? What did any of that matter now?
It's not as though I'm looking for long-lost parents.
She had outgrown the age of crying for a mother and father a lifetime ago. She harbored neither the yearning nor the intention to seek them out.
Lefonya's eyes turned arctic as she tore her gaze away from the portrait.
"This annex was where Her Grace resided during her pregnancy," the butler murmured, his voice thick with unvarnished nostalgia. "The main house was always bustling with administrative duties and noise, so she wished to convalesce where the sun shone brightest. I… heard that Young Master Pelens mentioned a few things to you, my lady."
"Mentioned what?" Lefonya looked back at the butler, her expression devoid of warmth. "That I was adopted into this household merely to replace the real daughter who vanished?"
Hearing her state her own grim reality in such a flat, unflinching tone, the butler's face fell into shadow.
"You were not adopted as a substitute for anyone, Lady Lefonya."
"And yet, if the true daughter of this house were alive, I never would have been brought here in the first place."
The butler could offer no retort.
"I should have explained it all to you sooner," he said quietly.
"…It doesn't matter."
An innocent five-year-old who knew nothing would have offered just such a simple, unbothered reply, neither interrogating the past nor harboring resentment. Lefonya offered the empty platitude and looked back up at the portrait. A radiant, happy family frozen in time, smothered beneath a damp blanket of dust.
The moment the Duke had laid eyes on her, he had called her 'Laila.'
He had not scooped up a random street urchin on a whim to scrub away his lingering guilt.
So that's why he brought me here.
He had adopted her because she was a living ghost of his lost daughter, because she carried the face of his dead wife. It explained why everyone had treated her with such absurd, unearned tenderness from the start. Even if it was meant to alleviate their guilt, House Craitan had absorbed her into their fold at a dizzying, unnatural speed. They treated her like their own flesh and blood, without a single shred of awkwardness or hesitation.
Pelens had been the same way. He had treated her like a venomous viper at first, only to abruptly declare that he would believe in her, assign himself as her personal guard, and dote on her like a real younger sister.
Now the truth made cruel sense.
If someone showed up wearing a face this similar, even I would have softened.
The butler watched her subdued profile before speaking in a low, measured voice. "His Grace has not yet healed from the wound of losing his wife. It is likely the guilt of failing to recover his newborn daughter that keeps the scar fresh. It is the same not only for the Duke, but for both young masters as well. That is why none of them can bear to come anywhere near this annex."
"Then what were you doing here?"
"I come to maintain this portrait, ensuring the colors do not fade. This room is the only place in the entire annex I am permitted to enter."
"……."
"His Grace forbade anyone else from setting foot inside, claiming that foot traffic would disturb the faint, lingering scent Her Grace left behind. That is why they could not bring themselves to speak of this to you, my lady."
"You don't need to make excuses." Whether from the stagnant dust or something else entirely, her nose suddenly prickled with an irritating sting. Sniffling softly, Lefonya turned on her heel. "Whatever their reasons may be, it changes nothing. My standing in this house remains the same."
A stand-in for the real daughter. A convenient substitute purchased to soothe an old wound.
"Don't worry," she added, flashing a bright, innocent smile. There was no tremor in her voice, no shock on her face, and not the slightest hint of disappointment. It was the calm, compliant smile of a child who simply understood her role. "That's why you didn't warn me beforehand either, wasn't it?"
Without waiting for his answer, Lefonya turned and strode out of the annex, leaving the dumbfounded butler behind in the shadows. Just as he had said, Pelens was nowhere near the grounds; not a whisper of his presence could be felt in the surrounding gardens.
I shouldn't have agreed to play that stupid game.
Hide-and-seek was an extravagant luxury someone like her had no business indulging in.
As she put distance between herself and the forbidden building, she spotted a figure sprinting toward her from across the wide courtyard, screaming her name with breathless urgency.
"Ponya!"
Pelens's forehead was drenched in sweat, his red hair plastered to his skin from tearing through the estate. The moment he reached her, he scooped her up into his arms, his chest heaving with ragged, desperate gasps.
"Haah… Thank God. Haah… I thought something terrible happened to you! Whew…"
"I was just hiding."
"Haah… Yeah. You win, Ponya. …Where on earth did you go to turn into such a filthy little fluffball?"
The butler's words echoed in her mind: None of them can bear to come anywhere near this annex.
"I hid under that tree over there," she lied smoothly, pointing toward a copse far in the opposite direction.
"Why'd you wander off so far? No, forget it. It's my fault for not setting boundary lines before we started. Come on, let's get you inside and washed up."
"Okay."
"Seriously though, looking at you right now, you really are just a scruffy, dusty little fluffball." Pelens chuckled fondly, reaching up to brush a streak of gray dust from her soft, silver curls.
Ah. I need to get out of this place as soon as possible.
If she lingered any longer, yearning for things she was never meant to have, she felt as though her mind would unravel completely.
Her infiltration mission was dragging on far longer than anticipated. When she had first been ordered to steal House Craitan's family heirloom, she never imagined she would be stuck playing house for this many weeks.
I have to maintain the act of a perfect little young lady just to pry loose any intel regarding the heirloom, which only stretches out the clock.
Lefonya rested her chin on her hand, silently observing Pelens as he unleashed a relentless barrage of scolding on the servants lined up before them.
"This treat is far too sweet for Ponya to eat! Did you even bother checking it before bringing it up from the kitchen?"
"I-I merely brought the dessert the head chef handed to me—"
"So if the chef hands it to you, you just carry it in without using your brain? What if it had been poisoned?! …Hold on, where do you think you're going? Do you honestly believe that dress suits Ponya?"
"I just picked it out from the wardrobe…"
"Do you get dressed 'just because' without thinking? Is that how you choose garments for the master you serve?! …Hey, you! I told you to patrol the perimeter of Ponya's bedchamber. Why are you already back?!"
"I-I finished my rounds, my lord."
"Did I tell you to stop? Turn around and march back out!"
The new attendants assigned to Lefonya were the children of the duchy's vassals: two valets and one young maid. Having been thrust into the heart of House Craitan without the slightest training in domestic servitude, the arrogant youths had treated Lefonya with open disdain the moment they arrived.
"Ha. I thought I was finally making my debut into the grand Craitan estate, only to end up wiping the nose of some brat."
Their reasoning was simple: Lefonya was merely an adopted waif who could be discarded at any moment.
"You might be the young lady of House Craitan right now, but how long do you think that title will stick? You'd better treat me with respect. Who knows? Once the Duke dissolves your adoption, I might feel generous enough to toss a few copper coins your way."
It wasn't as though they were wrong, so Lefonya had felt neither shock nor anger. Summoning the vassals' spoiled children to serve as her attendants had been the Duke's way of punishing the vassals for their insolence during the banquet, refusing to let their disrespect slide. She had never expected them to serve her with the fierce loyalty of Birdie and Becky in the first place.
Pelens, however, had taken an entirely different view of the situation.
The second he caught wind that the vassals' offspring were snubbing Lefonya and neglecting their duties, his temper had flared like an erupting volcano. He promptly took over their training himself.
The noble fledglings, who had foolishly assumed an adopted five-year-old would be easy to walk all over, were now withering away beneath the suffocating inferno of Pelens's micromanagement. The vassals still lingering at the estate looked utterly sickened watching their precious heirs being worked to the bone, but none possessed the nerve to voice a complaint against the true young master of House Craitan. They could only swallow their bile in silence.
Having carefully nestled the clumsy yarn rabbit doll gifted by Sir Canwell into the velvet-lined jewelry box given by the Duke, Lefonya raised her head.
"Brother."
The instant she called out, Pelens's furious scowl vanished, spinning around with a bright, sunny grin.
"Yeah? What is it, Ponya?"
His face practically radiated healthy vitality. Because he had spent the last few days venting every ounce of his daily stress onto the shivering attendants, he looked happier and more relaxed than ever.
"Never mind. Go back to what you were doing."
"All right!"
Pelens beamed and immediately resumed his relentless scolding—or rather, his favorite stress-relief hobby.
I need to make my report to the Pope.
Once deployed on an assignment, operatives were required to send status reports at strictly regulated intervals. If the reports stopped coming, the Holy Temple assumed the agent had either failed or defected, branding them a traitor marked for immediate purge.
Lefonya's scheduled reporting deadline was fast approaching. She had exactly three days left.
The problem, however, lay elsewhere.
Even if I manage to secure permission to leave the estate, can I actually slip away to the drop point?
Still resting her cheek against her palm, Lefonya stared at Pelens's broad back.
I might be able to lose him in a crowded street…
Yet underestimating him would be a fatal mistake. He might play the role of an airheaded, rough-and-tumble hothead who overlooked the finer details, but he had been the very first person to notice that the vassals' children were disrespecting her.
Granted, the Duke noticed only a fraction of a second later.
Lefonya weighed her options for a brief moment before parting her lips.
"Brother. I want to go outside the estate."
There was no reason to hesitate.