Chapter 3: The Duchess by the Wall
The fountain in the courtyard glittered as it caught the sunlight.
The academy’s courtyard luncheon was a monthly event.
On fine days, lunch that was usually eaten in the dining hall was instead taken at tables set in the courtyard.
Officially, it was meant to “promote interaction across year levels,” but in reality, it was a social arena.
Table placement was determined by family rank, and who sat where made relationships visible.
Naturally, I chose a table at the edge.
A reasonable spot for a viscount’s daughter.
A seat in the corner of the courtyard, half-hidden by hedges.
From here, I would not stand out.
I would spread out my simple meal of bread and soup, finish quickly, and return to the library.
That had been my plan when I sat down.
Yet my gaze was drawn in a single direction.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, near the upper tables where sons and daughters of dukes and marquesses gathered, one young lady stood alone by the wall.
White hair tied high.
A straight-backed posture.
The crest of the Duke Valenstein family gleamed at her chest.
Katia Valenstein.
The duchess I had seen seated in the front during the entrance ceremony.
In the game, she was one of the villainesses condemned as the “arrogant duke’s daughter.”
No one stood near her.
Other noble sons and daughters occupied the upper tables, laughing in conversation.
But the seat beside Katia remained empty.
No one approached her.
As though there were an invisible wall, the flow of people curved around her.
She was isolated.
A duchess, isolated.
The game’s memory surfaced.
Saint Marianne spreading rumors in high society that Katia oppressed commoners.
The rumors spread, and Katia became isolated.
In truth, Katia had been protecting a commoner student, but witnesses were swayed by the Saint, and the truth was buried.
Events from the game were unfolding before my eyes.
Katia leaned against the wall, staring straight ahead.
Her gaze rested on the courtyard fountain, but she did not seem to truly see it.
Her lips were faintly pressed together.
That expression was one of endurance.
Do not get involved.
I am a mob.
A viscount’s daughter has no reason to interfere in a duchess’s social affairs.
Our ranks are different.
Simply speaking to her would be unnatural.
I tore a piece of bread and brought it to my mouth.
I took a sip of soup.
Katia did not move.
She did not sit at the table.
She did not eat.
She remained by the wall.
I took another sip of soup.
This is bad.
Before I realized it, I was already standing with my bowl in hand.
A small table near Katia stood empty.
Slightly apart from the upper tables, positioned ambiguously.
Not an unnatural place for a viscount’s daughter to sit.
I lowered myself into that seat.
I did not intend to speak to her.
Merely to be nearby.
I had chosen this seat simply because the others were occupied.
There was no deeper meaning.
I told myself that as I finished the rest of my bread.
A gust of wind blew.
Something white fluttered in the air.
Katia’s handkerchief.
Caught by the wind, it slipped from her hand and fell onto the stone pavement.
Katia glanced down at it.
But she did not pick it up.
If she bent down, the surrounding eyes would gather on her.
Perhaps she did not wish to be seen picking something up in public.
The handkerchief landed near my feet.
My hand moved again.
On its own.
I picked it up and lightly brushed off the dust.
White silk embroidered with pale blue thread.
Not the ducal crest, but a small floral pattern.
I stood and stepped forward, mindful of our difference in rank.
I bowed shallowly, yet respectfully.
“You dropped this.”
I offered the handkerchief with both hands.
Katia looked at me for the first time.
Pale violet eyes.
Up close, her skin was even fairer than I had thought.
Her expression did not change, but faint confusion flickered in her gaze.
“…Who are you?”
Her voice was low and restrained.
Some might have called it haughty.
I did not hear it that way.
It sounded like a simple question.
Someone approaching her in this moment was likely unexpected.
“I am the library management assistant.”
I answered with my role rather than my name.
My name as a viscount’s daughter held little meaning to a duchess.
Katia’s brow shifted ever so slightly.
Then she accepted the handkerchief.
“…Thank you.”
It was barely above a whisper.
Her lips hardly moved.
But she had certainly said it.
I bowed once more and returned to my table.
That was all.
I had simply picked up and returned a handkerchief.
Nothing special.
Back at my seat, I drank the remainder of my cooling soup.
I would do nothing further.
There was no need.
The isolation of a duchess had nothing to do with a viscount’s daughter like me.
That was what I thought.
Then—
“Hey, you.”
A voice shot from the side.
I turned to see a young lady with reddish hair tied carelessly behind her head.
Her uniform was worn slightly rough, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Viola Nelson.
A marquess’s daughter.
The second villainess in the game, known as the “scheming marquess’s daughter.”
Her eyes carried unmistakable hostility.
“What did you just do to Katia?”
“I merely returned her handkerchief.”
“Don’t lie. Who approaches her at a time like this?”
Her voice was low, but sharp.
Several nearby tables turned to look.
“Are you the Saint’s dog? Did she tell you to get close to her?”
I did not understand at first.
The Saint’s dog.
She suspected I was Marianne’s agent.
Without knowledge of the game, I would not have grasped the context.
Viola was independently investigating the Saint’s schemes.
She suspected the rumors about Katia were orchestrated by the Saint.
Seeing me approach Katia, she had concluded I was a spy sent by Marianne.
Logically, I could understand her reasoning.
But this was troublesome.
“My apologies, Viola-sama. I have no acquaintance with the Saint.”
As a viscount’s daughter addressing a marquess’s daughter, I used proper honorific speech.
The difference in rank was clear.
“No acquaintance? Then why approach Katia? You know she’s isolated. A viscount’s daughter making contact at this timing can’t possibly have no ulterior motive.”
There was not only hostility in her eyes.
There was fear.
In the game, she had been labeled “scheming.”
But the Viola before me did not look like someone plotting.
She looked like someone aware that something was happening around her, afraid of it, and baring her fangs first to protect herself.
The face of someone cornered.
“Viola-sama, I am merely the library management assistant. I only picked up a handkerchief blown by the wind. I had no further intention.”
“Proof?”
“…Is proof required for picking up a handkerchief?”
For a brief moment, Viola faltered.
“I don’t trust you.”
“That is understandable.”
I could hardly blame her.
A marquess’s daughter could find any reason to suspect a viscount’s daughter.
The more I defended myself, the more suspicious it might seem.
She glared at me for a while longer, then clicked her tongue.
“…Remember that.”
With that, she turned on her heel.
Her red hair swayed in the wind as she disappeared into the crowd.
When the luncheon ended, I walked back toward the classroom building.
All I had done was pick up a handkerchief.
I repeated the words in my head.
Picked it up.
Returned it.
Yet I had been suspected of serving the Saint.
Thinking about it, perhaps it was inevitable.
Katia’s isolation was the result of the Saint’s machinations.
Anyone approaching an isolated duchess would naturally be suspected.
Viola was investigating the Saint’s schemes.
Her caution was reasonable.
It was my fault.
A mob who could not ignore the person before her.
I had picked up documents.
Handed over a booklet.
Now picked up a handkerchief.
Each time, I entered someone’s field of vision.
I opened the library door.
The scent of old paper greeted me.
I sat at the counter and opened the catalog ledger.
There was still shelf verification and record updating to do today.
If I kept my hands moving, I would not dwell on unnecessary thoughts.
As I moved my pen, Katia’s face came to mind.
The tiny “thank you” when she took the handkerchief.
A voice so small her lips barely moved.
The voice of someone who had not received kindness in a long time.
Then Viola’s face.
The fear beneath the hostility.
The eyes of someone attacking to protect herself.
In the game, both were villainesses.
Depicted as wrongdoers deserving condemnation.
But.
The two before my eyes had not looked like villains.
“…It has nothing to do with me.”
I said it aloud and tightened my grip on the pen.
It has nothing to do with me.
I am a mob.
There is no need to involve myself in the affairs of villainesses.
Picking up the handkerchief was reflex.
I will not do it again.
I focused on the ledger.
Classification number.
Title.
Shelf location.
The orderly rows of information steadied my thoughts.
The library door creaked softly.
When I looked up, Gilbert Weiss was walking toward his usual seat.
He glanced at me and gave a slight nod.
I returned it.
He took a book from the shelf and sat down in the back.
As always.
An ordinary afternoon.
An ordinary library.
But when my gaze drifted toward the window, the image of Katia standing by the courtyard wall flickered in my mind.
And Viola’s voice.
“Remember that.”
I remembered.
How could I not?
I set down my pen and looked out the window.
The afternoon sun was beginning to tilt, casting long shadows across the library floor.
I had intended to remain transparent for three years.
And yet, in only the second month, I had already entered the sight of two villainesses.
One had thanked me.
One had marked me with hostility.
No more involvement.
This time, truly none.
I resolved myself and turned back to the ledger.
But at the edge of the window, I caught sight of Viola moving along the shadow of the courtyard hedges.
Her steps were quick, purposeful.
The gait of someone investigating something.
I tore my gaze away and picked up my pen.
It has nothing to do with me.
It has nothing to do with me.
The letters in the catalog blurred slightly before my eyes.