You Came Prepared from the Start So I'd Have No Choice but to Accept the Deal, Didn't You?

Chapter 142

"……The worst. I see. Indeed."

Wilhelm nodded slowly at Viscountess Müller's cold assessment.

Her analysis was reality itself, without a single error.

An heir rumored to be losing all real power—perhaps an heir in name only.

And a sickly young lady whose standing was even lower than that heir's, unable even to hold a debutante ball.

In high society.

Of the two in particular.

Sophia von Rohanna's name was nothing more than a blemished product, destined to be discarded without ever even becoming prey.

Deep shadows settled over Wilhelm's face.

As he set down his teacup, he casually tossed out a sudden, incomprehensible remark that Viscountess Müller could not help but prick her ears at.

"In the end, it really has to be Cassian, doesn't it?"

Swish.

Viscountess Müller's back straightened from where it had rested against the sofa.

Beneath her wide-brimmed hat, her captivating eyes narrowed curiously.

"What does Cassian have to do with this?"

A voice brimming with interest flowed from between her lips.

Why was the name of the investment she cherished suddenly coming from the mouth of an inflexible old soldier who had been discussing another family's young lady's position in society?

At that, Wilhelm looked Viscountess Müller straight in the eye and opened his mouth.

"I have come to ask you for a favor—and to make a deal."

"Hmm."

Viscountess Müller showed the calculated smile peculiar to a merchant.

"If it's a favor, then it's a favor, and if it's a deal, then it's a deal. The two are fundamentally different things, after all."

"To be precise,"

Wilhelm stroked his beard and replied heavily.

"I mean I've come to let myself be taken for a fool."

"Taken for a fool?"

"If you can grant my request, it means you may demand anything of me, to the extent that I can convince myself, from a merchant's perspective, that it was a good deal."

A conditional blank check.

In other words, he was desperately pleading with her to grant this request no matter what she demanded in return—to the point of abandoning his dignity and everything else.

But Müller was experienced.

She was no foolish merchant who would snap up the delicious bait dangling before her.

"I'm not sure. That's not exactly my preferred way of doing things."

she said gently, pretending to inspect her fingernails with her leather-gloved hand.

"A coercive deal that leaves the weaker party feeling they've been cheated may be sweet for the moment, but sooner or later, it comes back as a sharp poison."

"Hahaha."

At the sharp edge of that refusal, Wilhelm let out a hearty, booming laugh.

"Then you need only present me with a bill at a reasonable level, taking my position fully into account. Surely the head of the Müller Trading Company is not so inflexible as to lack even that much discretion."

"……"

Viscountess Müller clicked her tongue quietly to herself.

This old man. I thought he was a hopelessly rigid blockhead, but he's quite the sly old fox.

It was almost as if she had caught a glimpse of Wilhelm the veteran, who had been very much a soldier in the negative sense as he put Academy students through the wringer all this time.

"Very well. Since you've burned all your bridges, let's hear it."

She crossed her legs and rested her chin on her hand.

"So. What is it you want from me?"

"In high society."

Wilhelm's gaze pierced straight through her without wavering.

"Become Sophia von Rohanna's patron."

The air in the parlor suddenly grew heavy.

Only then did Viscountess Müller begin to understand why the old general had swallowed his pride and barged into the trading company's headquarters at this early hour.

"My goodness…… That is quite a request. I would have to make a tremendous commitment to grant it."

A patron.

It was not merely a matter of taking her to a few social parties and serving as her public face.

Even writing a single letter of recommendation in noble society meant putting one's own honor and reputation up as collateral.

To put one's name down as her official patron, much less, was essentially to serve as a joint guarantor for her future and conduct, staking all one's honor, power, and reputation on her.

The moment she said anywhere, "Viscountess Müller is my patron,"

everyone in the capital would have to deal with Sophia not as the sickly, blemished young lady of House Rohanna,

but with the shadow of Viscountess Müller standing behind her in mind.

Moreover, the person she would be sponsoring was a young lady of Rohanna, a rotten lifeline.

If she were the Viscountess Müller of old, she would have cut down this foolish proposal on the spot, its disadvantages overwhelmingly outweighing its benefits.

But.

She did not rise from her seat.

She had to hear a little more.

Because, just moments ago, Wilhelm's lips had casually let slip a three-syllable name she could not simply overlook.

"Professor Wilhelm."

"Go on."

"Before I put my seal on that surety agreement,"

she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I believe I should first hear exactly how our student Cassian is involved in this troublesome matter."

A deep smile spread across Wilhelm's lips at her question.

And at Wilhelm's answer that followed,

Viscountess Müller was seized by a powerful intuition that perhaps she ought to willingly accept this absurd proposal after all.

"A few days ago, I made a deal with Cassian."

"Hmm. It seems yours was a reasonable deal, rather than some foolish request?"

"At first, I tried making an appeal to his patriotism for the sake of the nation,"

Wilhelm laughed heartily and shook his head.

"But that boy put up such an impenetrable wall that he rejected me outright. In the end, I had no choice but to offer terms enticing enough to interest him."

"So. What were the terms you offered Cassian?"

"In exchange for becoming his shield,"

he said with a grave expression.

"I asked him to escort Sophia von Rohanna into high society so that no one would dare find fault with her."

Ah.

Of course.

This old bastard was not a bear in a military uniform, but a sinister old fox wearing a bear's hide.

Viscountess Müller became utterly certain of it.

"Ha."

A disbelieving chuckle escaped between her red lips.

"You came with the whole game arranged from the start, so I'd have no choice but to accept the deal, didn't you?"

If Cassian was involved.

Especially if he intended to personally take Sophia's hand, escort her, and draw all the spotlight of high society onto himself, the situation changed 180 degrees.

Viscountess Müller trusted Cassian as a person.

He certainly possessed overwhelming talent that had bewitched Professor Iris, but even more than that, she trusted the inexplicable charm with which, despite finding it bothersome, he ultimately spent his own time for those around him to produce the desired result.

Wilhelm had seen right through it.

He knew that while her shallow dignity could not persuade the head of Müller Trading Company, if Cassian was involved, she would show unconditional favor and open her purse.

"Hahaha."

Wilhelm chuckled and lifted his teacup.

"I didn't come to ask an inflexible old professor at the Academy. I came to ask the head of a trading company that feeds tens of thousands of people. Surely I had to prepare bait this tempting."

Wilhelm continued after swallowing a sip of bitter black tea.

"And an old veteran's earnest request that you absolutely accept the deal should also be a fairly weighty request for a cold-blooded merchant."

'……What should I do.'

Müller tapped her fingers lightly against the sofa armrest.

Ordinarily, she would have been extremely displeased by the feeling of being so blatantly used by someone, or of having her motives and weaknesses perfectly understood and exploited.

Strangely, however, once she thought that Cassian was involved in this matter, her displeasure disappeared, replaced by an almost thrilling excitement.

'He really is impossible to figure out.'

Was this a trait of the bloodline shared by the men of House Farne?

They inspired a blind, helpless fondness that was utterly reckless and impossible to explain.

Of course, when dealing with Marquis Corinth, she had only felt the rational understanding that went, 'Ah, so this is why he is politically attractive and useful.'

But when dealing with Cassian, it was simply instinctive.

The difference was clear: before it could even pass through the filter of reason, a liking that surged up from the deepest depths kept abruptly raising its head.

'It can't be helped.'

She grumbled inwardly.

Though she detested the expression "It can't be helped" as a merchant because it made her feel as though she had surrendered the initiative.

Truly, there was no other way.

If Cassian was going to dance, wasn't it only natural for a sponsor to build him a sturdy stage?

"Phew."

Viscountess Müller uncrossed her legs and flashed a captivating smile.

"Very well. Why Lady Rohanna needs a frightening patron like me, and what variables I would have to accept if I became her patron."

She picked up her teacup and raised it lightly toward Wilhelm.

"I can hear all that calmly first, and then decide, can't I?"

"Of course. As much as you like."

* * *

Early morning.

Ordinarily, it would have been time to head to the Academy and attend class in the Alchemy Department, but instead of boarding the carriage to the Academy, Lucius was keeping a grim vigil in the parlor of the estate.

Because he had an appointment he was in no way looking forward to.

Thud. Thud.

From outside the parlor, near the estate's central staircase, came the dull, rough sound of footsteps.

The arrogant footsteps stomped as though crushing the floor, plainly making no effort to hide their anger.

Lucius quietly lowered his gaze.

This was the estate where the head of House Rohanna had lived and breathed, yet murderous intent raked across his chest at the thought of twisting that insolent ankle immediately for showing not the slightest respect for the estate's history.

However.

Bang!

The moment the parlor's heavy double doors were irritably thrown open and the other party entered, an inscrutable, faint, narrow-eyed smile was painted across Lucius's face as always.

"Welcome, Uncle."

Lucius greeted him with only a slight nod, without even lifting his hips from the sofa.

The middle-aged man standing opposite him furrowed his brow fiercely.

His coat, made of luxurious python skin, seemed barely able to contain his bulging belly, while the thick jeweled rings on all ten fingers represented the weight of vulgar greed.

Scrape!

His uncle irritably dragged a chair across the floor, then dropped his massive body onto the sofa and spat out,

"I am not well, thanks to the mess someone made."

'Ah.'

This is bad.

With both hands neatly folded over his knees, Lucius swallowed a quiet sigh inwardly.

The moment he saw that face, he was reminded of the reagents stored in the family's underground alchemy workshop.

A deadly poison that would set the nerves ablaze the instant it touched the skin, inflicting agonizing torment before slowly killing its victim.

Lucius suddenly wanted to pour the whole thing over that face glistening with greed.