CTTT10

Chapter 10

“My name is Director Arnold.”

The office was lavishly decorated. Everywhere one turned, expensive-looking ornaments gleamed in abundance.

And at the very center, upon a chair that seemed more extravagant than anything else in the room, sat a man who looked to be in his mid-forties, smiling brightly.

“You claim to be Lady Yulia’s guardian?”

“……”

“To come here so suddenly, without even sending word in advance—what brings you?”

“……”

“Well…?”

“……”

But that smile didn’t last long.

Arnold kept dabbing frantically at the cold sweat trickling down his temples.

“And why, if I may ask, are you holding that?”

It was because of the person sitting across from him—Ceres.

Her silence, her steady gaze that refused to waver no matter what he asked, weighed unbearably upon him.

And then there was—

That!

His eyes flickered toward the soup bowl in her hands, forcing an awkward grin across his lips.

He knew immediately what it was.

“So it won’t be stolen.”

“…What?”

“It’s evidence.”

“…Evidence?”

Arnold’s face froze, his mouth suddenly dry.

Could she have noticed something?

No. No, impossible.

He wrenched his gaze from the soup, trying to shake off the unease rising in him. Forcing his trembling features into his habitual smile, he spoke again.

“As you know, our sanatorium restricts outside visitors as much as possible for the sake of the patients’ peace of mind.”

“Why?”

“…Pardon?”

“Why restrict them?”

“As I said, to ensure the patients remain calm—”

“My sister gets unsettled when she sees me, is that it?”

“N-no, of course not—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It isn’t exactly a problem, more that…”

Still sweating, still fumbling excuses, Arnold suddenly realized how strange this all was.

Why am I stammering like this?

He had dealt with countless guardians before—nobles, wealthy merchants, people far more intimidating than this.

So why now? Why did this slip of a young lady make him feel as though he were the one beneath her heel?

How does her tone feel so natural?

He had heard she came from a baron’s house—an empty title, hardly worth mention, one said to be perpetually on the verge of ruin.

And yet…

What is this presence?

The way she spoke down to him carried an ease that belonged not to paupers but to the highborn. She carried herself with the effortless composure of someone born to rule.

“I received the invoice.”

“Y-yes, of course.”

His wandering thoughts snapped back as Ceres’s voice cut in.

“There’s something I’d like to ask.”

“Anything at all.”

She set the soup bowl down on the table with a soft thud.

“What, exactly, is Yulia’s condition?”

“Well, as you must already know, her illness cannot be diagnosed. Her strength wanes day by day. She collapses more and more often, and she remains conscious only a few hours each day.”

“You’ve been using Elpia leaves. Why?”

“Elpia…? Oh—because of her high fevers, naturally.”

“And Delia root, alongside it?”

“W-well, her vitality was failing, so we hoped to restore—”

“You don’t know the side effects? You used Delia root, which raises the body’s heat, on a child whose fever you were trying to reduce with Elpia leaves?”

“Ah… ah, I—”

“And why the Broth fruit?”

“B-Broth fruit? That… ah, she was injured. For hemostasis.”

“You also used Elcho leaves. One promotes clotting, the other accelerates blood flow. Surely you know what happens when those are combined?”

“I…”

Who is this woman?

Sweat streamed down his back.

The herbs—she knew them, every last one. Even ones he barely understood.

Her questions kept coming, relentless, and never once did he manage a proper answer.

“Wow.”

The sudden exclamation made Arnold flinch, blinking at her in confusion.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I desperately wanted to see.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’d love to meet whatever halfwit trained you. Just to see his face. So? Whose pupil are you?”

“That—that’s far too—!”

“This.”

He never finished. She picked up the soup again.

“And I’m very curious.”

“Curious… about what?”

Arnold’s gaze locked helplessly on the bowl.

Without looking away, Ceres’s voice dropped, deliberate and slow.

“Which bastard told you to lace this with poison?”

“…W-what?”

“Or perhaps, why did you think it was a good idea to feed poison to my little sister?”

“……!”

She knows? She really knows?

Arnold’s face drained of all color. His eyes quaked, as though the very ground shook beneath him. At last, stammering, he managed,

“N-no… nonsense! P-poison, you say? That’s absurd!”

“Pathetic.”

“…What?”

“Your face gives you away far too easily.”

“You’re mistaken! There would be no reason whatsoever for me to use poison!”

“My thoughts exactly. So why poison a seven-year-old child?”

“I swear, I did no such—there’s nothing like that in there!”

“Is that so?”

She pushed the bowl across the table toward him.

“Then eat it.”

“…What?”

“Eat it.”

“…Hah.”

He faltered, but quickly regained his composure, forcing a laugh.

“You think I can’t? I’ll gladly prove myself!”

Snatching the bowl from her hands, Arnold scooped up a spoonful without hesitation, raising it toward his mouth.

But his bravado shattered with her next words.

“Ah, but did you know? The poison in that soup—it works differently on men.”

“…Differently?”

“On women, it weakens them bit by bit. They sleep more, their strength fades, and eventually, they never wake again. But men…”

“…Men?”

He swallowed hard.

A slow smile curved her lips.

“For men, even a trace becomes deadly. Instant death.”

“……!”

“What’s wrong? Won’t eat?”

“L-lies!”

The spoon trembled violently in his grip. His eyes shook as he stared at the soup.

No one told me that!

Yes, he knew what was in the bowl. Yes, the symptoms matched perfectly. It drained strength, little by little.

But instant death? He’d never heard of such a thing.

He had been assured it was harmless in small doses, only dangerous when consumed regularly over time. That was why he had raised the spoon so boldly—

But instant death? For men?

“That’s impossible! That poison doesn’t—!”

He broke off, snapping his mouth shut too late. His mistake hung in the air.

Idiot.

Ceres clicked her tongue inwardly.

He’s even dumber than I thought. One nudge and the truth comes tumbling out.

“What difference does it make? If there’s nothing in it, then you have nothing to fear.”

“Th-that…”

“Eat.”

He shook his head.

“Eat.”

He shook harder.

“Shall I feed it to you myself?”

Now both hands clamped desperately over his mouth, Arnold flung the spoon aside, shaking his head with frantic vigor.

Ceres regarded him with open disdain before speaking again.

“One more thing I’d like to know.”

Her eyes dropped to the hands still pressed over his lips.

“What exactly is your relationship with my Aunt Agne?”

“……!”

Once again, Arnold’s face drained to a ghastly shade of white.