Chapter 10
Chapter 10
The first-floor lobby of the Parne manor.
Since the youngest young master arrived, this once somewhat warm place was now wrapped in a silence as heavy as a funeral parlor.
The dull thud that had echoed from the family head's room on the second floor.
It was because the echo of that "thwack!" still hadn't faded.
Click.
After the door to the family head's room closed, the old butler Alfred came down the stairs. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the fine beads of cold sweat from his forehead.
The head maid, Mari, who had been watching from the kitchen, hurried over in quick little steps.
"How's it in there? Has the head of the house calmed down yet?"
"Well, as always, he's got a poker face. Breaking that composure is our youngest young master's specialty, isn't it?"
Mari covered her mouth with her apron and stamped her feet.
"Did you hear it? It landed so satisfyingly. Our young master's forehead won't survive this."
"Looks like it's fine, considering he asked for his meal as soon as he got back to his room."
"Mm. Fair enough."
The two of them nodded in practiced unison.
Tatatatat!
A maid came running from the entrance in a panic. She had been sprinting so fast that her white apron was crooked.
"Butler! Something terrible's happened!"
"Shh! Keep your voice down. What if the head master hears you?"
"That's not the problem! There's a guest at the front gate right now...!"
"A guest? At this hour?"
Alfred took out his pocket watch and checked the time.
It was evening, after sunset.
For any normal noble, this was an hour when even sending a letter by courier would be rude, let alone paying a visit.
"They said it's... an academy professor!"
"......What?"
Mari grabbed the back of her neck and staggered.
"Oh dear, what are we going to do about our young master? As if his forehead cracking weren't enough, now the other side of his head is going to get cracked too."
A professor comes all the way to the house?
A parent-teacher conference?
That could only mean one thing.
An expulsion notice, or some other serious incident on that level.
Alfred's face turned ashen.
"...All right. I'll go see."
Alfred straightened his clothes and headed for the entrance.
Creak—.
When he opened the heavy manor gate, a chill swept in with the cold night air.
And in that darkness stood a woman.
Her raven-black hair fluttered in the night wind, and the blood-red eyes visible beyond her glasses shone vividly in the dark.
She was too young and beautiful to be a professor.
At this distance, she looked like she was barely a few years older than Young Master Cassian, if that.
Paradoxically, that was what made Alfred instinctively realize the young, beautiful woman before him was a professor.
It was because the rumor had it that the professor Young Master Cassian had dared to cross was the greatest prodigy in academy history, and the youngest professor ever.
He steadied his trembling voice and bowed politely.
"Excuse me, may I ask your name and purpose for your visit?"
The woman pushed up her glasses and spoke.
"Iris von Evergarden, Magic Department of the Royal Academy."
Even her voice was dry and cold.
"I'm here to settle things with the head of the Parne family over the issue of student Cassian, the family's second son."
Alfred's heart dropped to the floor.
A showdown?
Not counseling, not a meeting, but a showdown?
Alfred sank deep into a swamp of misunderstanding.
'Young master, what on earth did you do at school....'
"...Please wait a moment. I'll ask the master and come back."
* * *
On the desk in my room.
A raw egg freshly brought from the kitchen was rolling around on my forehead.
"Damn it, that really hurts."
When I looked in the mirror, a blue lump had risen right in the middle of my forehead, like a horn had sprouted there.
It was a glorious wound left by the edge of an ashtray as it skimmed past.
If it had hit me dead on, I'd be across the River Jordan high-fiving my ancestors by now.
I rubbed the egg with one hand and scrawled with a quill in the other.
Black ink dripped onto the parchment.
[Title: <A Scathing Self-Reflection Letter to My Esteemed Professor>]
"Respect, my ass."
Even in elementary school, I thought it was bullshit to demand sincerity from something you're being forced to write.
I pouted and kept filling in the content.
[I have truly committed a sin worthy of death. I failed to recognize the professor's boundless magnanimity and Pacific Ocean-sized knowledge...... and I will never challenge you again.......]
What the hell, I'm writing a reflection letter at this age when I didn't even write one in elementary school.
Is this what noble life is? Is this the privilege of being possessed?
That was when it happened.
Knock, knock.
At the knock, the door opened.
It was old man Alfred.
But his expression was a sight.
How should I put it.
He looked as solemn and grim as a guard bringing a condemned prisoner his last meal, with execution set for the day after tomorrow.
"Young master."
"What? Why are you scaring me again? Why are you looking at me like I'm pitiful?"
"You must go to the parlor immediately."
The parlor?
Not the study?
I stopped the hand that had been rolling the egg.
"There's a guest? Who is it?"
"......"
Alfred gave no reply.
Instead, he asked back with his eyes.
'Young master, have you enjoyed this life?'
A chill ran down my spine.
"......What? Are you signaling me to run? Should I bolt out the window?"
"Then this time it won't end with just hounds."
"......"
"Just go. Better to take the beating first."
I stood up, shouting, "Dammit!"
I couldn't even ask what in the world was going on.
Because if I asked, I felt like I'd foam at the mouth and pass out first.
If I didn't run, I'd die, and if I did, it felt like old man Alfred would be buried alive with me. What a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.
I set the half-cold egg on the desk and left the room with grim determination.
* * *
In front of the first-floor parlor door.
I straightened my tie and took a deep breath.
Whew, whew.
There's only one strategy.
<Act as pitiful as possible and grovel>.
It was a survival instinct I'd developed to coast through this brutal Parne family and survive until I was twenty.
Father's patience is a golden goose. You can't cut it open. Just keep him happy somehow and mooch off him until I kick the bucket.
"Young master, please say you're sorry. You must absolutely admit you were wrong."
Ignoring Alfred's earnest plea, I opened the door.
Creak—.
"Excuse me, Head of the house..."
Before I could finish, I froze.
The scene in the parlor was deeply bizarre.
My father was seated in the place of honor on a top-of-the-line leather sofa.
And opposite him.
Raven-black hair, blood-red eyes.
A fierce presence, with looks good enough to debut as an idol.
It was Professor Iris.
...Why is that woman here?
What is this, 1980s Korea?
What kind of house call is this? Did she come to collect a bribe?
...Or did she come to get the official stamp for expelling me for real?
Ah, shit.
Now I get why the old man looked at me with such pity.
As I hesitated at the threshold, unable to step over it, Corint spoke in a much gentler voice than usual.
"Since you're here, sit down already."
"Ah, yes..."
That made it even scarier.
Why isn't he angry?
He's not getting angry when he should be angry.
What's more, he even looked oddly pleased.
As if ten years of constipation had finally cleared up.
That was even scarier.
I carefully read the room and shrank into the very edge of the sofa opposite Iris.
On the table sat steaming black tea and refreshments.
My rule is to eat whatever's offered when I can, but can I even eat this today?
Corint lifted his teacup and gestured to Iris.
"Since the person concerned is here, please make the proposal you mentioned earlier directly."
Proposal?
What proposal?
Iris silently set her teacup down.
Clink.
She slowly lifted her head and looked at me.
That gaze.
It was on a whole different level from the lion-like eyes she'd used in the classroom, looking at me like I was a gazelle.
Something sticky, greedy, and glistening with madness.
The eyes of some obsessive BL-novel lead I'd never even read.
I really hadn't.
Seriously.
Without realizing it, I sucked in a sharp breath. Goosebumps rose along my spine, and it felt like PTSD might kick in.
Then Iris's red lips slowly parted.
"Yes, Count."
And then she dropped the nuclear bomb that would shake my entire life to its core.
Her gaze stayed fixed on me.
"Please give me your son."
Pffft—!!!!
"Cough! Hack! Hack!"
I didn't just spit out the tea in my mouth—I choked and coughed so violently it felt like my airway would tear apart.
Hot tea surged back up my throat.
My nose stung and tears welled up.
"Gah, cough! Shit, shit, what did you say?"
If my mouth hadn't been sealed, what I just thought would've come out loud instead of staying in my head.
No, maybe I'd already half-said it.
I hurriedly wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked at Iris.
Normally, anyone seeing such a filthy sight would turn away or sneer.
But this crazy woman didn't even blink, ignoring the tea-splattered table and staring straight at me.
I wasn't some research subject whose tea-spitting trajectory needed observing.
"Please give him to me, Count. I will take responsibility."
"No, hold on, Professor! Responsibility for what! Why are you taking responsibility for my life!"
Then the crazy woman said to my father.
"Would it be all right if I explained my words a little more in detail?"
"By all means."
"You do not know your own worth."
Iris sprang to her feet.
She braced herself on the table and leaned toward me. Her black hair spilled down, swaying before my eyes.
A suffocating rose scent, and beneath it, an even thicker smell of madness.
"I'll show you just how... special you are."
"No, hold on. That wording is kind of weird. That's really easy to misinterpret, isn't it?"
I pressed myself as tightly as possible against the sofa back.
What is this.
What kind of situation is this.
A proposal? So the professor was proposing that I go to grad school, right?
This is fucking nuts.
While I was confused, I snuck a glance at my father sitting beside me.
My father was wearing a very, very, intensely satisfied smile.
An expression clearly cheering, "At last you're proving useful somehow."
I've seen that look a lot.
It's the same expression he had back when my magic tutors used to praise me to the skies as a genius.
Only back then, they were just mediocre folks we had to invite all the way out to the countryside.
This time, the only difference was that the target was at least the greatest talent of the present age.
The problem was that single difference was enough to suddenly turn my father into a helicopter parent.
"Heh heh, if the professor says so, I have no reason to refuse."
The helicopter-dad act was in full swing.
"Father?! Wait! What do you mean you're not refusing! Are you selling off your son right now?!"
"Quiet. A top magician of the present day like Professor Iris is willing to take you in; you should be grateful."
Corint ignored my words and nodded to Iris.
"Take him with you. Whether you boil him or roast him, do whatever you like, Professor."
"Thank you."
Iris smiled faintly.
It was a smile so beautiful it was chilling, and just as frightening.
She looked at me again and whispered softly.
"You heard me, Cassian? From now on, you are mine."
I felt like a gazelle in front of that goddamn lioness.
Anyway, apart from the three times a day when I manage to click into gear, I'm a total idiot.
So what happens now?
If that gets exposed?
To my father, I'd no longer be an "unscratched lottery ticket," but just a losing ticket with the printed error "Maybe a winner?" on it.
He'd definitely whip me into shape and force me to act like a human being.
Damn it!
I have to survive.
...But how?