Chapter 1: Prologue (Part 1)
Bertille Raspede opened her eyes and absentmindedly stared at the canopy reflected in her hazy vision.
Right after she heard the sound of water, she caught sight of something moving at the edge of her vision.
When she turned her face in that direction, there was a maid beside the bed.
She was wringing out a wet cloth over a washbasin placed on the side table.
“Young lady, please excuse me.”
After thoroughly wringing out the water and carefully folding the cloth, the maid said this as she looked overâthen froze the moment her eyes met Bertilleâs.
The maid stood there like a statue, her eyes widening more and more.
“Young lady!”
The cloth slipped from her hands as if she had lost strength, but the maid paid it no attention and placed her hands on the bed with a tearful, relieved expression.
“Youâve awakened⌠Thank goodnessâŚ!”
It wasnât just that she looked like she might cryâtears were clearly welling up in her eyes.
“Is there anywhere that hurts? Do you feel any discomfort or feverâ”
(What is going on?)
Being bombarded with questions by the maid, Bertille was confused.
It was utterly incomprehensible that this maid was worrying about her so much.
After all, this girl had always despised her master, Bertille, and treated her roughly.
She had never bothered to hide it and made her attitude obvious.
She was not someone who would ever worry about Bertille.
And yet, what was this situation?
“Ugh⌔
“Young lady!”
A sharp pain ran through her head, and when Bertille pressed her temple and groaned, the maid cried out in panic.
“I will call the doctor and the master at once!”
The maid rushed out of the room, and Bertille slowly sat up.
Alone, she let her thoughts wander.
(What is really going on�)
That maid, who had shown no respect and acted nothing like a servant, had been so concerned for Bertille that she was on the verge of tears.
It didnât look like an act, and there was no reason for her to pretend in the first place.
Her throat was unusually dry.
It didnât seem like the kind of dryness that would come from just one night of sleep.
The atmosphere of the room was also different from what she remembered.
The once minimally furnished space was now decorated with unfamiliar itemsâflowers arranged in a vase and cute little ornaments.
“Ah⌔
As she thought, her head throbbed again, and she remembered something.
Bertille had coughed up blood and lost consciousness.
As she vomited blood and her awareness faded, she had thought, âSo this is how I finally die.â
But since she was alive like this, it seemed she hadnât died after all.
(It didnât end, huh.)
Letting out a sigh, Bertille reached for the side table.
There was a water pitcher and a glass, so she poured herself some water and drank it.
After moistening her throat, she resumed thinking.
The maid had said she would call the doctor and her father.
But there was no way her father would come to this roomâthere was no way he would come just because Bertille had collapsed and woken up.
The maid knew that as well, so those words must have been some kind of sarcasm.
Just as Bertille reached that conclusion, she heard the sound of footsteps running from beyond the door.
The sound gradually approached the room, and the moment it reached the door, it was flung open with a loud bang.
“Bertille!”
The one who shouted her name with a desperate, frantic expression was her fatherâthe very person she thought would never come.
Bertilleâs eyes widened in shock.
Her father rushed into the room and came straight to her bedside.
Then, one after anotherâher brothers appeared as well.
The twin second and third sons called her name just like their father and stood beside him, and after a middle-aged man in a white coat, likely a doctor, entered, the eldest brother and the maid followed.
Even the eldest brother, who seemed relatively composed, looked relieved when he saw Bertille.
“How are you feeling? Do you feel unwell?”
“Master, I will conduct the examination, so could you please move to the next room?”
“Ah, right, yes. Please do.”
Her father, unusually shaken, was urged by the doctor and obediently moved to the next room with the brothers.
Only the maid and the doctor remained here.
“Now then, young lady, please excuse me for a moment.”
“Yes.”
The doctor proceeded with the examinationâchecking her pulse, lightly pressing her abdomen and chest to confirm any pain.
His tone was calm and gentle, showing a considerate attitude.
He was not the familyâs usual physician.
Bertille wondered what had happened to that doctor, but she had no complaints about being examined by the one before her.
At the very least, it was obvious that he had a more serious expression and a more polite attitude than the usual physician.
“Your fever has subsided, and at present, the only concern is your headache.”
“Only a headacheâŚ?”
Vomiting blood should have been a far more serious issue than a fever or headache, but it was true that things had settled for now and no other major symptoms were apparent.
Even so, there was no telling when other symptoms might appear again.
As Bertille found it somewhat optimistic to only focus on the headache, the doctor seemed to interpret her expression and opened his mouth to explain.
“My apologies, I neglected to explain the circumstances. You suddenly collapsed and did not wake for about three days. You had a persistent high fever, and at one point, your life was in danger.”
“I see⌔
Bertille shifted her gaze, focusing on the unfamiliar vase and decorations.
The atmosphere of the room, the attitudes of her family and the maidâwhat could have caused such a drastic change in just three days?
Was it sympathy because she had nearly died?
No, that couldnât be the case with them.
“Regrettably, we were unable to determine the cause of why you did not awaken⌔
The doctor spoke apologetically, clearly pained by his own inadequacy.
“Wasnât the cause an illness?”
Bertille had been suffering from an illness.
The family physician had diagnosed her poor condition as stress, but various symptoms had continuously afflicted her, and she had experienced nosebleeds and vomiting blood several times.
In the end, she had vomited an amount of blood far greater than before and lost consciousness.
If that wasnât an illness, then what was it?
Perhaps they lacked enough information to confirm the illness because she had been unconscious the entire time, or perhaps this doctor was also deliberately giving a false diagnosis.
Though suspicion arose, the doctor gently shook his head and spoke words that were hard to believe.
“Your illness was already almost completely healed, so I believe the possibility is low.”
“âŚIt was almost healed?”
“? Yes.”
The doctor, though slightly puzzled by Bertilleâs wide-eyed reaction, firmly confirmed it.