Chapter 18

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 18

Chapter Title: The Count's Strange Guest (8)

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Ethan took off the coat he was wearing and draped it over my shoulders. He was always so considerate at times like this.

"Maid, Vincent can't keep living like that. He might look like this now, but he's the master of the Bellunita family. You can put it off for a little while, but eventually, word about Vincent will spread through society. If he's still like that by then, it'll only invite disaster. Once the truth gets out, the nobles will be foaming at the mouth to drag him down from the count's seat."

"The Master is making an effort."

"It's not enough. He needs to try harder. At least enough to stand on his own. Because someday, he's going to have to walk alone."

The lamplight illuminated Ethan's face. In the soft glow, his serious expression took on a tinge of sadness.

"Vincent knows it. He knows he can't go on like this. But even though he knows, he's turning a blind eye. He can't do that. A life without change is like stagnant water. Time flows on, the world changes, so how can he alone stand still? Whether he wants it or not, he has to accept that change. Because I don't want Vincent to die."

"That's harsh."

"If me being harsh makes Vincent change, then I'll do it. At least, I think someone like me is what he needs right now."

"And kind, too."

Ethan turned his head. In his wavering eyes, I could glimpse his inner turmoil.

"You're saying you'll play the villain for the Master's sake. That means you're thinking of him that much. You're kind."

"To Vincent, I'm a blackmailer."

"True enough."

It was the tone of someone admitting what needed to be admitted. At that, Ethan let out a light chuckle.

"But you called him a friend."

"I did."

"Then the Master probably knows, too. Why Mr. Christopher made that choice. Since you're friends, you must understand his feelings well."

Ethan had been checking on Vincent's condition, caring for him, and even volunteering to play the bad guy to make him change. I couldn't call it praiseworthy, but it was true that pure concern lay beneath it. Watching him, I felt like I vaguely understood what a friend was. Someone who could sense they cared for each other without needing to show it outright—that's what a friend was. He had shown me that.

I figured Vincent felt the same way. That's why he'd let Ethan's blackmail slide with just a swing of his cane. Just like how he'd hidden his nightmares every night, pretending nothing was wrong.

"And I agree with you to some extent. He can't live like this forever. As a servant, I want the Master to change, too."

Then I stopped speaking. Did I really want that? I had been hired to attend to Vincent in his stagnant state. But if he overcame his current self and changed... wouldn't that make me obsolete?

I let out a small chuckle. It was too far in the future to feel real yet.

"Do you think Vincent will change, Maid?"

"Yes."

"You're confident."

"I have reason to be."

He's already changing little by little.

"And I've thought it over again, and I don't think so."

"What don't you think?"

"That you're a bad guy. Real bad guys don't call themselves bad."

Truly wicked people believe they're right and don't recognize their own faults. That's how the people around me were. They all thought they were great and superior. So they saw tormenting and using others as natural.

Ethan asked with a blank look on his face.

"...Why do you think that?"

"The other servants all said Mr. Christopher is a really good person."

Then I immediately furrowed my brow.

"Though honestly, from what I've seen, you seem more like the bad guy type."

Frankly, the way he's acted toward me is straight out of a villain's playbook, right? I shrugged, and Ethan's eyes widened. A laugh filled with amusement followed—one that sounded different from his usual ones.

"Have you thought about your wish?"

"My wish?"

"I said if you get Vincent to step even one foot out of his room, I'll grant you one wish."

Oh, right—he had said that. I recalled the bet I'd made with him, which I'd momentarily forgotten.

"Go ahead, name it. I'm pretty capable, you know."

Ethan said readily. So after pondering for a moment, I extended my hand to him.

"Then let's become allies."

"Allies?"

"A relationship where we help each other."

For some reason, I had a feeling I'd run into him again. Since he was Vincent's friend, it wasn't impossible. They say bad blood runs thicker than good, after all. If I couldn't avoid him, better to clash head-on—or turn him into an ally. His personality was a bit off-putting, but he knew a lot about Vincent. Plus, he was confident in his abilities.

Ethan blinked as he stared at my outstretched hand. I pushed it toward him.

"I want to stay here long-term. Help me out a lot."

"Why?"

"Because I have nowhere else to go."

"..."

Ethan thought for a moment. Then, as if he'd made up his mind, he nodded and clasped my hand.

"A mutual help relationship... not bad."

We shook on it—a sign of agreement. I gripped his hand tightly, and he gripped mine back just as firmly.

"You've got yourself a great ally, Maid. Someone as capable, well-connected, and good-natured as me is rare."

"...What an honor."

"You don't sound sincere at all."

"Me? Never."

I played innocent, and he laughed again. I released his hand and turned back to the window. The moon, shining proudly in the darkness, was as beautiful as ever tonight.

The next day, Isabella and I saw Ethan off as he left the count's estate. Vincent, naturally, didn't show. Dressed in his top hat just like when we'd first met, Ethan exchanged brief greetings with Isabella before approaching me.

"Sorry for putting you through so much trouble."

"It's fine."

I wanted to scold him for doing it even after knowing better, but there were eyes watching, so I held back. Sensing my thoughts, Ethan grinned mischievously.

"You took such good care of me, Maid. Guess I'll have to visit often."

Annoying to the end. I waved him off discreetly behind Isabella's back. Just go already. He let out a short laugh in response.

After the farewells, as I watched him about to climb into the carriage, something I'd suddenly wanted to ask popped into my head. Throwing caution to the wind, I hurried over to him.

"Um, Mr. Christopher."

He turned back as he was stepping into the carriage.

"Have you been sending letters to the Master often?"

"Letters?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose I have been sending them more frequently lately."

"Ah, then..."

I hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"Did you happen to write any with golden ink?"

"..."

Ethan blinked. At his silence, I swallowed hard. Was it really this guy? The one who'd been exchanging letters with me?

'A sprout has budded on the branch.'

His words from before came back to me. It had been a casual remark, but it stuck in my mind because it echoed something I'd once written in a reply. It wasn't anything special, but the golden-inked letters had stopped coming after he arrived. So I'd wondered.

But he shook his head.

"No. I used black ink."

"Really?"

"Yes."

It was a firm answer. Disappointment flickered across my face.

"I see."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing at all."

I schooled my expression and shook my head. Ethan gave me a puzzled look, but I deftly changed the subject. He chuckled nonchalantly and boarded the carriage.

As I watched it depart, I turned and spotted Vincent standing at the window on the top floor of the mansion. But the curtains soon drew shut. I gazed at the window where he'd stood for a moment before turning away myself.

However, it wasn't long before Ethan returned to the mansion—bringing yet another guest with him.

The golden-inked letters, absent for a while, resumed delivery. This time, a small tin came with them. Inside were tea leaves.

It really did smell nice. A subtle, sweet aroma. It'd probably taste even better with milk. With Isabella's permission, I brewed the leaves and brought some to Vincent.

"This is the black tea from Nobelr."

"How did you know?"

The tin said "Nobelr" on it, but I was impressed he'd spotted it right away. Vincent gulped down the tea and said,

"I used to drink it often. Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift."

"I see."

Judging by how he kept downing it, he must really like it. Lucky me—got a good gift. As I refilled his now-empty cup, I thought I'd have to bring this out every time he threw a tantrum from now on. I really needed to send a thank-you reply.

"Next time, just punch me instead. What a waste."

I said, eyeing the gaping hole in the window beyond the door. I had no idea why he always had to break and smash things. But the man himself paid it no mind, leisurely sipping his tea.

"Don't worry about useless things. More importantly, next time Ethan shows up, don't let him in—just chase him off. You can get someone else to do it if you want."

"Pardon?"

It was a sudden order. Vincent's expression was so nonchalant as he said it that I wondered if I'd misheard.

"Why? Don't you like it when Mr. Christopher visits, Master?"

"I don't."

I'd asked lightly, but the answer came right back. What on earth? Sure, Ethan had threatened him, but it made yesterday's bickering and letter-writing seem all the more out of place. Weird. Weren't they close friends? He knew about his condition, so there was no need to hide it either.

It felt like there was some real reason behind it.

Sensing my confusion, he continued.

"It's not Ethan I dislike."

"Then what?"

"I dislike that family."

"You mean the Christopher family? Is there a reason?"

He set down his teacup with a clink and handed it to me. I took it reflexively. He rummaged under the sheets, pulled them over himself, and flopped onto the bed. Through the disheveled golden locks, his downcast eyes sank deep.

"Master?"

"It's nothing."

"..."

"That family is the one that made me like this."

The shocking confession came out so matter-of-factly.