Chapter 61

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 61

Chapter Title: The Ailing Fangirl

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Marchioness Ambrose was someone I'd come to know strictly through business.

She wasn't a devotee of Safety Rules of the Haunted Duke's Castle like the Empress, nor did we share any personal friendship.

In a way, she was little more than a vague acquaintance.

"Of course, I hope we can keep up a close relationship going forward... but still."

Even so, my reason for wanting to help the Marchioness and the baron couple ran deeper.

It stemmed from the fact that Baron Pavron—who adored his wife with utter devotion—would meet his end not from plague or disaster or any unavoidable fate, but from sheer poverty.

And from how the Ambrose marquis couple, the Marchioness in particular, would writhe in guilt right up to the brink of death before finally receiving treatment and clinging to life.

"Knowing all that and just letting it unfold like the original story is too..."

Inhumane, right?

Ignorance was one thing, but standing by with full knowledge? That was another matter entirely.

Besides, that day, Baron Pavron had trembled in terror, but the Marchioness's gaze toward her son brimmed with tenderness and love.

"Still, it's important to hear from the people involved."

Of course, that included Baroness Pavron herself.

I'd met the baron a few times and had a sense of who he was, but his wife was a different story.

I knew she was ill, but that was it—no clue how she felt about the Marchioness, or the true extent of her suffering.

"We've arrived."

And so, here we were.

I'd come to Baron Pavron's mansion with Ian.

To meet his bedridden wife.

"Still feeling queasy?"

"Teleportation sickness... is the absolute worst..."

I managed a reply while soothing my roiling stomach, which felt ready to revolt at any second. Ian nodded like he got it completely.

"One of my colleagues deals with it too. He always packs barf bags for long jumps."

"Ah, no way..."

"Yeah, exactly what you're picturing."

Having to carry puke bags just to move around. I shuddered at the horror.

Before I knew it, we stood before a gate caked in rust.

It hung wide open, letting us slip right in.

I stepped carefully, taking in every detail of the baron's estate.

"...This a place where people actually live?"

No servants in sight—not even an ant. The main house looked one gust away from collapse, all decrepit and forlorn.

This very garden path felt like it hadn't seen a gardener's touch in ages.

No flowers, not even weeds properly tended.

I froze there, too stunned to speak. Then a familiar figure burst from a small outbuilding to the right and hurried over.

Baron Pavron.

"G-Good lord... Lady April? What brings you all the way out here...!"

Unlike his tidy look last time, his face was shadowed by patchy stubble and deep bags under his eyes.

"I sent word by letter ahead of time. Did you not get it?"

"Ah......"

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"A typhoon tore the mailbox clean off a while back. And the few letters that make it through are mostly bills or collection notices... Never bothered fixing it."

Hahaha.

The laugh rang out, painfully awkward.

"This is maddening."

Seeing him like that tugged at my heartstrings.

Collection notices, even. In debt, huh?

Suddenly the original tale of a noble dying from poverty clicked into place.

I gave a light nod, meeting the baron's gaze.

"It's been a while, Baron. The reason I'm here today..."

I nodded back toward Ian, who stepped forward.

A basket dangled from his hand, stuffed with thermoses of various porridges and soups.

"...is to see your wife."

"Th-this, this..."

The baron took the basket, eyes bulging as he stared at me.

Then he gestured toward the annex he'd emerged from.

"Yes, she'll be over the moon! Please, Lady, follow me."

His steps felt lighter than when he'd rushed out.

"Cough, cough...!"

Baroness Pavron's condition was dire at a glance.

She probably hadn't eaten properly through the pain—her face was ashen, and coughs wracked her two or three times a second.

But even amid it all, was that sparkle in her eyes as she looked at me just my imagination?

"Lady April..."

Her voice nearly jolted me right out of my chair.

Wh-what's going on? Why does she have that same manic glint as the Empress?

"I heard you're the story writer for [Safety Rules of the Haunted Duke's Castle]... Cough, cough!"

"Pardon?"

Did Baron Pavron tell her?

But only a handful knew of my connection to the Haunted Duke's Castle.

Before I could process how off-kilter this chat felt, words tumbled from her in a rush.

"I've been whiling away my sickbed hours with comics for little joys... Cough! They made even breathing feel fun, cough! So if I regain my health... Cough, cough! I've vowed to give my all to the Haunted Duke's Castle."

"Whaaat!?"

Health restored, and instead of a trip somewhere scenic with her husband, she's devoting herself to the Haunted Duke's Castle?

"Is she for real?"

But the baroness was dead serious—more than I'd imagined.

"Benedict's character design in particular... I adore it."

Mentioning a side character out of nowhere.

Most folks only remember the leads.

Yet she dove straight in, spilling settings and her own takes without a second thought.

"How can a priest like that even exist... Cough! Blonde hair, priestly robes... and those black leather gloves—pure perfection, cough!"

"Ah, thank you."

With her gazing at me like the character might kill her from sheer appeal, all I could muster was thanks.

She ranted with such fervor, I half-expected her to keel over.

I handed her the bedside water glass and settled in to listen.

"Maybe she's been craving talk with someone besides Baron Pavron."

If so, the least I could do was indulge her.

After sipping the water I'd offered, color bloomed in her cheeks more than before.

The sight warmed me too.

"...So I was thinking, make Benedict the lead in a side story... Cough! Pair him with the current Nadia for a touch of romance... Cough, cough."

"Oh, really? Yeah, slipping that in as a breather episode sounds perfect."

She lit up at my approval, nodding eagerly before pressing on.

"Right? Cough... Fans of that romance arc... Cough! Would lose their minds with joy, cough! Cough!"

Her session wrapped with a dreamy, "It's thrilling just to imagine..."

Silence settled in. I gave her a round of applause.

Clap clap clap.

"What to say... she's got this..."

Reclusive master vibe, maybe?

No one had drawn it out of her, but Baroness Pavron was story-writer material through and through.

The thought didn't last. A nagging doubt lingered, and I cocked my head.

"Um, but..."

Chronic invalids usually waste away—appetite gone, skin and bones.

Yet the woman before me didn't quite match that image.

Coughing fits, sallow skin, sure... but nothing else screaming "grave illness."

"Baron's tender care keeping her steady?"

But if so, wouldn't a mere sickness have passed by now?

"Baroness?"

"Yes? Oh, sorry. I've gone on about myself this whole time."

"No, it's not that. I heard things were serious, so... what exactly are your symptoms?"