<Chapter 12>
Alfi watched Lucien disappear into the mansion, a bitter smile on his face.
He had come back because he was worried about Benedict, but seeing that child made him feel that maybe it really was okay for him to leave now.
However, he knew very well the kind of gazes Lucien would have to endure, and that made him feel guilty.
“It’s your fault. She died because of you!”
That’s what all of his mother’s relatives in the duchy had said.
Though he had never confirmed it, perhaps even his father thought the same deep down.
Leaving this place as soon as he turned fourteen—the age he could go to school—was ultimately a way to run away from that answer.
To him, the duchy was no different from a place of punishment. Honestly, he had never intended to return here again.
If it weren’t for the promise he made with his mother…
He took off his thick coat and neatly folded his dirty clothes, laying them on the dry grass. Then, he placed the key on top.
“I’m sorry.”
Alfi murmured quietly and stood up.
This was the last time.
* * *
Lucien burst through the back door. She had to deliver the news to Benedict quickly.
But the moment she encountered the large adult standing in the doorway, she stiffened and froze on the spot.
It was the chef, Dujardin.
After what happened yesterday, she had thought it would be best to avoid him as much as possible—yet of all times, now was when they ran into each other.
The awkwardness was mutual. As soon as he saw Lucien, he furrowed his brow and showed his displeasure openly.
However, perhaps because of yesterday, he didn’t scold her right away. Even that, Lucien considered something to be thankful for, and she quickly moved past him.
“…It’s because of you.”
He only spoke when she was right beside him, as if he had been holding the words back.
The urgency that had driven Lucien to rush came to a brief halt at those words.
Facing her in front of the doorway, the chef twisted his face in anguish and continued.
“Not just the Duke, but even the butler… it’s all because of you! And yet I… Damn it!”
He looked down at his hands with frustration.
Lucien immediately realized what that emotion in his eyes was: guilt for having prepared food for her.
“They all died because of you! Because of something so filthy and lowly as you, those noble people are all gone!”
As soon as he finished shouting, his thick hand, filled with strength, swung toward her.
Lucien, from experience, knew that dodging would only make things worse. So she tightly shut her eyes and didn’t move an inch.
But the pain she had braced for never came.
Instead, a warm trickle of morning sunlight seeped through her closed eyelids.
Lucien slowly opened her eyes.
The morning sun had already risen high and reached her feet.
And beyond the open door stood a man with the light behind him. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but Lucien knew who he was.
The unmistakable stench was proof enough.
Ironically, that terrible smell was so familiar and welcome that Lucien couldn’t help but smile widely.
Meanwhile, the chef blinked several times at the sudden appearance of a beggar before he finally recognized him and spoke.
“You… Al-Alfi?”
“Long time no see, Mr. Dujardin.”
The familiar voice made the dazed chef approach Alfi in welcome, only to hesitate mid-step. Then, he began shouting loudly to call everyone.
As the chef thundered up the stairs, Alfi immediately looked distressed.
“Ugh, seriously. Mr. Dujardin still has that unnecessarily loud voice.”
“…”
“I remember our little conversation just now, so I’ll tell the Duke as a welcome-home gift.”
At that cheerful remark, Lucien quickly shook her head, her face pale.
“Please don’t.”
“Why not? You don’t want to be a tattletale because it makes you feel like a bad kid?”
“It’s not that.”
Lucien hesitated for a moment but, hearing the commotion above, knew she had no time to waste and quickly answered.
“I can’t deny what he said. So if something happens to the chef because of this, I’ll feel even more burdened.”
“Well, I can’t say I don’t understand. But you want to settle things with Mr. Dujardin properly, right?”
“That’s part of it. And Benedict is already looking out for me.”
“Then I guess I was meddling. Ha… Anyway, I came this way because of the amazing smell.”
Indeed, the rich aroma of flour dough roasting in butter was wafting from the kitchen.
Sniffing the air, Alfi raised his chin and, as if mesmerized, started heading toward the kitchen.
With every muddy step he took on the freshly cleaned floors, Lucien panicked and tried to stop him.
“You can’t go into the kitchen looking like that!”
But Alfi, eyes glazed over by the smell, didn’t hear her. He marched straight into the kitchen.
The maid preparing breakfast for the staff screamed. The chef, who had just come down the stairs, screamed again when he saw the filthy floor.
And Alfi…
As if none of the chaos mattered, lifted a large bowl of dough with both hands and was about to drink the still-raw batter.
Now it was Lucien’s turn to scream.
* * *
Benedict could hardly believe his eyes.
The Alfi he remembered was a serious and composed boy. Even when adults made a fuss, calling him the greatest prodigy in Bell family history, he always had a blank expression while reading the newspaper.
When Benedict would approach and ask, “What are you reading, hyung?” he would calmly turn and reply:
“It’s a bit improper for you to call me hyung, young master.”
That cold demeanor had once made young Benedict admire him.
…Admire him, that is.
He could even accept that Alfi had returned in rags because he came back in a hurry.
More importantly, he was now clean and looked like a respectable gentleman.
“Aww, my flat little master has grown so big!”
But that personality—that was hard to accept.
Avoiding Alfi’s intense gaze, Benedict quietly turned to his nanny and asked,
“…Who is this?”
Before Tabitha could respond, Alfi grabbed Benedict’s hand and jumped in.
“Already forgot me? You used to follow me around saying, ‘Hyung, give me a hug!’ So cruel!”
It was Benedict who wanted to ask if Alfi had forgotten his childhood instead.
“Hyung, what happened after you graduated school?”
“A lot! The world of day labor has endless opportunities. I learned many skills.”
“Skills?”
“I built fortress walls in the north, cleaned decks on trade ships… but my true talent shone in merchant groups, pretending to be a customer to lure in real ones. I sold out massive pots multiple times!”
He continued listing various jobs on his fingers.
Frankly, none of it seemed remotely useful for becoming a butler.
“So all that hardship turned you into this?”
“I’m the same as ever~”
No, the only thing that was the same was his name.
While Benedict stood there stunned, Alfi glided over like a dancer and peered at the papers on the desk.
These were the ones the retainers had demanded be stamped urgently after the funeral. Benedict had them brought back and was trying to understand them.
He felt he had to know what all that fuss had been about.
“Already checking the paperwork?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I just don’t want to put my seal on something I don’t understand.”
“Oh, how admirable, my young master.”
“It’s nothing. They said it was stuff Father had already approved and wanted quick processing.”
Then Benedict explained how he had handled it.
He also mentioned that Lucien’s story had helped him make that decision. Saying this, he couldn’t help feeling a little proud.
“She’s amazing.”
“So that’s why you suddenly appointed her to that strange ‘Special Consultant’ chair without consulting anyone?”
Alfi sighed and pressed his forehead as if Benedict had made a poor decision.
“What do you mean, strange!”
“It is strange. No one knows what kind of position that is or how to treat Miss Lucien anymore.”
“…”
“Well, if the goal was to isolate her and monopolize her completely, then I’d say full marks for execution.”
“Are you crazy, big brother?”
Benedict asked, aghast.
“I will be soon enough, living with a master who makes up positions on a whim.”
He wanted to reply that it wasn’t on a whim—that Lucien needed it. But in the end, Benedict couldn’t say anything.
After all, he truly hadn’t considered that giving her the position might make things more difficult between Lucien and those around her.
“Well, we can gradually adjust the height and shape of the chair, so there’s no need to beat yourself up too much. Besides, according to the former butler’s journal, Miss Lucien’s advice wasn’t wrong either.”
At Alfie’s casual remark, Benedict’s expression stiffened briefly. It didn’t seem like something one should say so nonchalantly.
“Were you okay?”
“Well… better than I thought, I guess?”
Alfie shrugged lightly.
To be honest, stepping into the butler’s office wasn’t easy. He had never really wanted to see inside that room.
Because… if he happened to find any trace that his father had hated him, he didn’t think he could bear it.
Even so, he had gone in because of a promise. A promise to his mother.
He had made a vow with her last breath.
That one day, he would become a great butler like his father. That he would become a son she could be proud of.
“It was a room fitting for my workaholic father.”
There were no personal reflections left in the journal. All the worries Alfie had carried for so long felt almost foolish.
“Thanks to how thoroughly he documented even the smallest details, it wasn’t too difficult to grasp everything. Honestly, he was an absolute perfectionist.”
At his playful tone, Benedict responded cautiously.
“Maybe… he wrote it that thoroughly because he thought you’d read it someday.”
That was actually something his father—the late Duke—had once said.
As a child, Benedict remembered sitting beside his father as he wrote in his journal.
His father had promised to read him a book, but the journaling had taken so long that Benedict had started to grumble.
“Are you still not done?”
“Almost. There was a letter from the royal family today, so there’s a bit more to write than usual.”
“Can’t you just write it roughly? It’s not like anyone’s going to see it anyway, since you hide it in a secret compartment.”
Bored from waiting beside his father, Benedict kicked his feet that didn’t quite reach the floor.
“Now, that won’t do. Sit properly, little gentleman.”
The Duke placed a warm hand on Benedict’s fidgeting knee. With no choice, Benedict straightened his back and sat up.
“And saying no one will see it is a little hurtful, you know? I’m writing this for someone very dear to me.”
“…Huh?”
Young Benedict looked up at his father, eyes wide.
Because the look in his father’s eyes at that moment was so warm and gentle, Benedict had a faint realization—that the “dear person” his father spoke of might have been him.
“If those records were so thorough it was almost obsessive, it must’ve been because he was being considerate of the reader.”
“Uh…”
At Benedict’s words, Alfie scratched his head.
“Can’t argue with that, can I?”
