Chapter 3: A Ledger Eight Years in the Making

“I came to hear your answer from eight years ago—just kidding.”

Standing at the entrance was the count whose marriage proposal I had once refused.

Lucas von Weiss.

It might just be his posture, but he seemed taller than eight years ago.

The straight back of a soldier.

Sun-tanned skin.

Faint shadows under his eyes.

Those had not been there back then.

“…I have a business matter to discuss.”

That was all he said, and then he fell silent.

He was still a man of few words.

Even during the marriage meeting eight years ago, he had barely spoken.

Perhaps he had been nervous.

Or perhaps he was simply not good at talking.

Back then, it had not mattered to me either way.

It was I who chose the proposal from the ducal house.

“…It has been a while, Count Weiss.

Please, come in.”

From the back, my father peeked out with a delighted, “Oh, you’ve come.”

He looked openly pleased.

Father, please try to hide it a little.

In the reception room, Lucas placed a ledger on the table.

An old leather cover.

The corners were worn.

There was no rune book seal placed on it—likely because there had been no one capable of doing so.

When I flipped through it, the numbers were laid bare.

An unprotected ledger.

“The territory’s management is failing.

I want you to look at it.”

That was all.

No preface.

No excuses.

(…He’s an honest person.)

If it were Lord Alberto, he would have begun with something like, “There are a few points of concern.”

This man simply said, it is failing, so look at it.

I opened the ledger.

—Terrible, was my honest impression.

No, the numbers themselves were not lying.

The bookkeeping was careful.

The handwriting was large and slightly uneven, likely because the same hand that held a sword now held a pen.

That much could not be helped.

The problem was the structure.

The tariff rates on the trade routes were wrong.

There were places where transit taxes and transaction taxes were being applied twice.

The intermediary fees were double the market rate.

There was only one procurement route, and that route was cut off depending on the season.

“Count Weiss.

These numbers here are incorrect.”

I pressed my finger onto the tariff column.

“…What part?”

“The transit tax and transaction tax overlap.

With this, merchants will not come.

Also, this procurement route—does it pass through a region where mountain roads are closed in winter?”

Lucas’s eyes widened for just a moment.

“…You can tell.

At a glance.”

“Ledgers do not lie.”

I flipped through the pages.

Along the way, I noticed a small fold at the corner of one page.

An old fold.

The color of the paper there was slightly different.

(It’s been there for quite a while.

I wonder when this ledger is from.)

It caught my attention, but the contents were more important for now.

Trade route data.

Port transaction volumes.

Yearly trends.

—Ah, I could see it.

If properly managed, this territory would turn a profit.

And not just barely.

Quite significantly.

“This territory—”

My mouth moved before I could stop it.

“—is a waste.”

The moment I said it, I realized my mistake.

That was rude.

But Lucas did not get angry.

Rather, for just a brief moment, it seemed like the corner of his mouth relaxed slightly.

Perhaps I imagined it.

“And so.”

Lucas took out another document from his bag.

It was not letter paper.

It was thick contract parchment.

“I want to hire you formally as a management advisor.

The compensation is written here.

The contract period is six months.

Renewal upon mutual agreement.

Termination can be done at any time.”

I took the contract and read through it.

The compensation was sufficient.

A monthly salary enough for a viscount’s daughter to live independently.

Housing provided.

Authority over management decisions.

And—

“…‘The advisor’s proposals will be respected, and credit will not be taken.’”

I ended up reading that part out loud.

When I looked up, Lucas was gazing out the window.

“It only states what is obvious.”

What is obvious.

(—Yes.

It is obvious.

It is only that for seven years, I was never given what should have been obvious.)

Something in the back of my eyes grew slightly hot.

I held it back.

This was not the place to cry.

This was business.

“…Thank you very much.

Please allow me some time to consider.”

“Alright.”

Lucas nodded.

That was all.

He did not rush me.

He did not press me.

This man knows how to wait.

He was like that eight years ago too.

After being rejected, he never once chased after me.

Immediately after Lucas left, another group of visitors arrived.

Three merchants from the Glanz ducal territory.

They were familiar faces.

Bernhard of wool goods.

Frieda of spices.

Otto of timber.

All of them were people with whom I had personally handled transactions.

“My lady—no, Lady Serena.

Please forgive our sudden visit.”

Bernhard removed his hat.

The other two bowed deeply behind him.

“We would like to review our dealings with the ducal house.”

“Review?”

“Since the point of contact changed—no, more precisely, since there is no longer a point of contact, communication has broken down.

Delivery confirmations, payment procedures—we do not know whom to ask.”

Frieda continued.

“Our business was built on trust with you, Lady Serena.

Not the ducal house’s name.”

(—So that’s how it was.)

I thought I had known.

But hearing it directly made something creak inside my chest.

“I am grateful for your sentiments, but I am no longer a member of the Glanz family.

I cannot assist with those transactions.”

“We understand.

However—if you were to work in another territory in the future…”

All three of their gazes shifted to the ledger Lucas had left on the table.

“…we were hoping you might introduce us.”

The instincts of merchants.

They had already caught the scent of a new opportunity.

Should I refuse?

I had not even signed the contract yet.

“—Nothing has been decided yet.”

That was all I could say.

That night.

On the desk in my room, Lucas’s ledger and the contract lay side by side.

I opened the ledger once more.

That page with the fold.

Trade route data laid out before me.

If reforms were made starting from here, it could turn profitable within six months.

No—with the merchants’ networks, it might happen even sooner.

Numbers had already begun moving in my mind.

Tariff corrections.

Diversifying procurement routes.

Alternative routes for winter.

—No.

This is no good.

I have not even signed the contract, yet my mind has already started working.

I lowered my gaze to the contract.

The line “credit will not be taken” quietly glowed under the candlelight.

(Can I trust this?)

For seven years, I trusted—and was betrayed.

That is why I am afraid.

I do not mind being valued for my abilities.

But if I am only going to be “used” again—

I reached for the ledger.

Turned the page.

Followed the numbers.

—Ah, no.

This is no good.

It is interesting after all.

Once I begin to see the potential of this territory, I cannot stop.

In the end, I am someone who cannot live without ledgers.

“…Count Weiss.”

I murmured to someone who was not there.

“Would you show me all the ledgers?

Just a little—if you would just let me see a little.”

More than anyone, I knew that “just a little” would never end at just a little.