Chapter 16: An Iron Fist for Rampaging
I felt like a prisoner awaiting execution.
The private salon could seat about ten people.
A mahogany-like table stood at the center, surrounded by leather sofas with gilded clawed legs arranged in a U-shape.
The cream-colored walls were adorned with small floral patterns, and delicate landscape paintings hung neatly between them.
Though not a large room, tall windows let in generous sunlight, offering a view of the greenhouse and gardens beyond.
It felt almost like a gazebo.
Under normal circumstances, it should have felt comfortable.
But today, everyone was assembled.
What mattered most to me was not maidenly fluttering hearts, but whether this was a death flag.
Romance flags require survival first, do they not?
For the heroine, death flags rarely appear unless she mishandles things terribly.
But for the villainess Albertina, her happy or true ending equals my ruin.
Realistically speaking, if I cannot properly function as a noble lady, then retirement or entering a convent are the only options.
There is no Buddhism here, so becoming a nun-like sister is the only path.
I thought we had all gotten along rather well.
But even if it were romance, I do not believe I could properly serve as someone’s wife.
Having lived so idly, squandering Father’s authority and the Latitche family fortune, even convent life might be too difficult for me.
Still, if I become a sister, only I will suffer.
My family will not.
As I spiraled in thought, Raven tilted his head and, perhaps sensing my unease, presented me with a rose.
Apparently he had gone back to the rose garden to pick it.
Because I had seemed so happy in the maze earlier?
What a good boy, Raven.
Please do not grow into a heartbreaker someday.
Jibril muttered, “Not even that little servant…” while watching us.
Her expression looked frightening.
I glanced at Anna and Raven for help.
Anna wore a serene bodhisattva smile and shook her head.
Raven blinked back at me innocently.
I worry about my little sister figure.
“Milady, I have brought macarons and a cake set from the Rose Company.”
“Oh? Does the academy not serve sweets?”
“Sister, once accustomed to the Latitche household’s cuisine, the academy’s so-called luxury sweets may be… disappointing.”
Even Jibril said it delicately.
So not delicious?
These are dishes for royalty, are they not?
…Even here is lacking?
Convent life truly sounds harsh.
I should eat as much good food as possible now.
Julius’s tea is exceptional.
He calculates temperature and steeping time perfectly.
I lifted the thin white porcelain cup.
Steam curled from the deep amber liquid.
A sip released familiar bitterness and spreading sweetness, the aroma filling my senses.
“Yes, this is the taste.”
“I am pleased you approve.
There is a new orange cake as well.”
A perfectly timed plate was set before me.
…Wait.
“Julius?”
“Yes, milady.
Your servant, Julius Fran.”
When did he get so close?
He smiled with composed elegance behind his glasses.
Relief washed over me.
He was the usual Julius.
“I am glad.
You are as always.”
“What would you like next?”
“Your recommendation.”
“As you wish.”
Jibril eyed him suspiciously.
Julius set down raspberry and chocolate macarons and cheesecake.
Then he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Milady, what are you plotting?”
Terrifying.
How did he know from a single glance?
“You looked at me with that pleading expression again.”
Is he an esper?
“N-Nothing!
And I will not ask you!”
“Oh?”
Why that intimidating tone?
I am the duke’s daughter.
Why do I feel appraised?
“Better to confess now.”
I refuse.
I cannot tell him I want more comfortable undergarments because corsets are unbearable.
As I floundered, Raven stepped in protectively.
Julius arched one eyebrow.
An imaginary lightning crackled between violet and black eyes.
The door burst open.
“Sorry I’m late, Alber— What is this situation?”
Kishtarial entered, slightly breathless.
“Julius is bullying me!”
“What happened?”
“He wants me to say something I do not want to!”
“What?”
“I want to design new women’s undergarments, and he insists I consult him!”
A tremendous thud echoed.
Michaelis had walked in and promptly slammed his head against the doorframe.
His red hair matched his crimson face.
Julius bowed deeply.
“My apologies.
I shall not press further.”
Jibril muttered “undergarments…” awkwardly.
Raven compared Jibril’s chest to mine.
Julius promptly smacked the back of his head.
Anna looked mildly disappointed she had not acted first.
“Do not stare.
They will shrink.”
They will not.
Kishtarial and Michaelis were equally red.
“You are too lenient with Raven!” Kishtarial protested.
“I have served long, yet received no such affection,” Julius added coolly.
“It is improper to embrace a male servant,” Michaelis stated stiffly.
Suddenly, I was being scolded by all three.
Tears welled in my eyes.
Then Jibril stood gracefully.
She stepped before the trio.
“Excuse me.”
Three perfect right hooks landed.
It was so fast my mind supplied a dramatic referee shouting “KO!”
The three handsome men toppled in various degrees of disarray.
Jibril crossed her arms beneath her modest chest and glared down.
“Stop frightening my sister with your petty jealousy.
Next time, I will not stop at one punch.”
Jibril was magnificent.
I fell in love—not with the trio—but with the beautiful younger lady before me.
I quickly cast healing magic on her slightly reddened knuckles.
The three men, cheeks swelling, looked at us sheepishly.
Raven brought a first-aid kit.
Jibril shoved it into Julius’s hands without a word.
The air screamed, “Tend to yourselves.”
Father arrived soon after.
He observed the three young men with matching poultices on their cheeks, Jibril sipping tea elegantly, and me quietly enjoying my second cup.
He stroked his chin.
“…It is fortunate for you all that Jibril is a woman.”
Father, how do you always understand everything?