Chapter 6: The Invisible Thread

 

I learned that Elen Bergkhardt had been made into the Saint’s pawn because of a single note.

It had been tucked between the pages of a pharmacology book.

It was after closing, while I was returning the day’s books to their shelves.

When I opened the case study collection Elen had borrowed, a thin slip of paper fell out from between the pages.

At first, I thought it was a bookmark.

I picked it up.

My hand stopped.

There were handwritten words on the paper.

The ink was faint, the strokes hurried.

“If you wish for your brother’s treatment to continue, isolate Katia at the next social gathering.”

It was a short sentence.

There was no name addressed.

No signature.

But the meaning was unmistakable.

Someone had given Elen instructions.

Using her brother’s treatment as leverage.

My hands trembled.

This must have been left in the book by Elen herself.

She had likely hidden it between the pages and forgotten it was there when she returned the book.

Or perhaps she simply had not noticed it slipping out.

I examined the handwriting.

It was practiced, but not the elegant script of a noble’s education.

Angular.

Practical.

A style common in Temple documents.

Something tightened painfully in my chest.

Elen had been threatened.

Her brother’s illness held hostage to force her compliance with the Saint’s instructions.

Isolating Katia had not been her will.

In the game, she was the “cold count’s daughter.”

In reality, she was someone forced to play the villain to protect her younger brother.

Still holding the note, I sank into the chair at the counter.

What should I do?

Report it to the academy office?

But this was Elen’s personal belonging.

If I submitted it without her consent, her secret would be exposed.

She must have had a reason for hiding it.

Return it directly to Elen?

But returning it would change nothing.

She would remain under threat, her brother still a hostage.

I had no power to resolve this.

A viscount’s daughter and library management assistant had no means to stop Temple-related coercion.

And yet.

There was one person in this library who would understand the meaning of this information.

Gilbert Weiss was in his usual seat, reading.

I held the note and walked toward the back.

My steps felt heavy.

If I handed this over, I would never return to being a mob.

When I gave him the personnel record in my first year, it had been different.

Then, I had consulted him as part of my duties.

This was not the same.

I knew now.

And I could not pretend I did not.

That was why I would give it to him.

This was not the work of a management assistant.

It was the decision of Roselia Torres.

“Gilbert-sama.”

He looked up.

“There is something I would like to give you.”

I placed the note on the table.

“It was left inside a returned book. A patron’s forgotten item. However, I believed its contents may relate to what you are investigating.”

It was not a lie.

It was a forgotten item.

But choosing to give it to Gilbert instead of the office was my own judgment.

He picked up the note and read it.

It took only a moment.

The change in his eyes was immediate.

The gentleness vanished.

In its place was a cold, sharp gaze.

More intense than when I had shown him the personnel record a year ago.

“…In whose book was this found?”

“I apologize. I cannot disclose a patron’s personal information.”

As management assistant, I could not reveal the borrower’s name to a third party.

It had been the same in my previous life’s library.

Gilbert looked at me.

It was not a gaze of accusation.

It was as though he had expected this answer.

“…Understood. I will not ask.”

He read the note again, examined both sides, then set it down.

“Torres-jou.”

“Yes.”

“If you step further into this, you will no longer be able to remain ‘unnoticed.’”

My heart jolted.

He knew.

He knew I had been trying to remain a mob.

That for a year and a half I had stayed in the corner of the library, attempting to remain invisible.

“If I know and do nothing, that would be the same as pretending not to see.”

The words left my mouth clearly, surprising even me.

Gilbert fell silent.

It was a long silence.

“…I have been investigating alone,” he said at last.

“I did not want to involve anyone. If I did, they would become targets of the Saint. Like my mother.”

His hand tightened into a fist on the table.

“My mother did nothing wrong.”

His honorific speech had broken.

The usual calm, ironic tone was gone.

In its place was raw emotion.

Not the composed voice of the young man whose documents I had picked up on the first day.

But the voice of someone who had suppressed pain for years.

I could say nothing.

I had known as rumor that his mother had been falsely accused by the Saint’s oracle and sent to a convent.

But hearing it from him carried a weight rumors never had.

“Gilbert-sama.”

“…Forgive me. I lost composure.”

He unclenched his fist and exhaled.

After a few seconds, he lifted his head again.

His calm expression had returned, but the temperature in his eyes had not fully recovered.

“I will take custody of this note. It is evidence necessary for my investigation.”

“Yes.”

“And there is one thing you should know.”

He lowered his gaze to the note.

“I am investigating the misconduct of Saint Marianne. Her oracles are falsified. My objective is to gather proof and expose it through proper procedure.”

I already knew.

Not from the game.

From observing him over the past year and a half.

“My mother was sent to a convent eight years ago due to a false oracle. My father—the chancellor—did not protect her for political reasons. Therefore, I have not reported my findings to him. Not until I confirm he is uninvolved.”

His voice was steady again.

The honorific tone restored.

Yet after hearing it break, that politeness felt fragile.

“I am telling you this because once you brought me this note, you ceased to be uninvolved. I did not wish to involve you. But you stepped forward of your own accord.”

“Yes.”

“So at the very least, you should know what you have stepped into.”

I nodded.

Gilbert placed the note into his bag.

He began to stand, then paused.

“…Torres-jou.”

“Yes.”

“I saw you placing pharmacology books beside Elen-jou.”

My breath caught.

He had seen.

He knew I had been organizing the shelves for Elen’s sake.

“You may have believed it was your duty as management assistant. But that was not merely work.”

I had no answer.

“You say you are an unnoticed presence. But unnoticed presences do not do such things.”

With that, Gilbert slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Good night, Torres-jou.”

“Good night, Gilbert-sama.”

His footsteps faded.

The door closed.

I was alone in the library.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

There was no turning back now.

I had handed him the note.

He had told me about his mother.

About the Saint’s misconduct.

About the weight he had carried alone.

I had wanted to remain a mob.

To remain transparent for three years.

But I had picked up documents.

Delivered materials.

Returned a handkerchief.

Aligned dates.

Placed books on shelves.

Handed over a note.

Each act had been small.

But together, they had led me here.

I closed my eyes.

Gilbert’s voice lingered in my ears.

That moment when his honorific tone had collapsed.

“My mother did nothing wrong.”

For the first time, I had touched the depth of the emotion beneath his calm mask.

And then his final words.

“Unnoticed presences do not do such things.”

Something stirred in my chest.

I could not name it.

I locked the library and stepped into the corridor.

It was dark.

A pale moon hung outside the window.

As I walked toward the dormitory, I felt that something between us had changed.

We were no longer librarian and patron.

We were two people who knew the same secret.

The word accomplices surfaced in my mind, and my chest tightened slightly.

I did not look back.

Even if I had, the library lights were already out.

From tomorrow onward, after school would be different.

Whether that frightened me or not, I did not yet know.