MLWP 8

Chapter 8

“…I’m sorry!”

Fleure Diaman apologized over and over again, her face bright red as she bowed to Silia. This time, they were in the real banquet hall inside the main mansion.

“I was rude as well.”

“Carla. Why did you do that? Spiriting away our guests like that…”

Fleure glared resentfully at the head butler, who had just pulled back a cloth to reveal her face. The fact that even that good-natured girl sounded like that meant she was really embarrassed.

“It was a rather harsh prank. My apologies.”

The head butler—or rather, Fleure’s cousin Carla Diaman, who had only been pretending to be one—spoke in a calm, expressionless tone.

“I was curious to see what kind of people would be staying with the Diaman family from now on. Especially…”

Her meaningful gaze fell on Silia. Silia met her eyes without flinching.

According to introductions, Carla served as the aide to the head of the house, Lady Cecil Diaman. She looked a bit older than Fleure.

‘Probably around the age I was before I came back in time.’

Her dark brown hair and deep green eyes resembled Cecil more than Fleure. That cool face carried an unreadable expression as she said quietly:

“I wanted to know what kind of person might become part of our household someday.”

“Carla!”

Fleure let out an uncharacteristically sharp cry, clearly mortified, and cut her off.

Part of the household, huh? Well, since she’d be staying here under the Diaman name and entering the academy with their sponsorship, Silia supposed that technically counted. She just shrugged and smiled.

“It was entertaining, in its own way.”

“We’re fine with it now, too,” said Julin calmly, with Margaret nodding beside her.

As it turned out, the “servants” who had first greeted them weren’t servants at all—they were the Diaman family’s bodyguards disguised as such. That explained the suspiciously good physiques. The “guest wing” they’d been brought to wasn’t part of the main mansion either. Carla had orchestrated everything—a little test for Silia and her companions.

It could have been seen as incredibly rude, but since Silia had turned the tables on them completely, a few apologies were all it took for things to be smoothed over.

“The one disguised as the head chef wasn’t bad either,” Silia said, purely meaning to compliment. “You have some excellent guards.”

Fleure’s expression soured. “That one was the real chef.”

“…Not a knight?”

“…Only the kitchen staff were genuine.”

Those muscular guys were real kitchen workers? Did they cook by brute force or what? Even if he wasn’t a swordsman, the chef had managed to withstand her strength until his knife snapped—quite impressive, really.

The dinner itself had been quite good, too.

After the meal, the three of them were each shown to their own rooms—the same “guest wing” where they had been deceived earlier.

Margaret, half-asleep, was sent to her room first. Then Silia went to the end of the hall, opened a large window, and leaned out. The cold night air cleared her mind.

“How are you feeling?”

Julin had appeared beside her, his tone lazy, his eyes a little drowsy. He must’ve been more tired than he let on.

“Just fine.”

“So calm? That’s a good sign. You’ll need to get used to it—if you’re going to become ‘part of the family.’”

That phrasing sounded… odd. Silia turned to glance at him. He was smiling slyly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell? I don’t think Cecil Diaman would send Fleure to greet you unless she had something in mind. Carla might’ve jumped in first, but that has its own implications too.”

“Implications?”

“Would anyone go that far just to test a sponsored student? Maybe if they were testing someone who could become the heir’s partner, sure.”

“…You’re overthinking it.”

“Matchmaking isn’t just for commoners, you know. Nobles love their arranged marriages even more.”

“I’m not about to—”

“Not about to what?”

Date that kid? She almost said it, then stopped herself. Right—her current body was the same age as Fleure’s. Saying that aloud would sound bizarre. And Julin was sharp enough to pick up on oddities.

Instead, she gave him a light elbow jab in the ribs—careful not to accidentally slam him into the wall.

“Ow.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“Anyway, I’m turning in. I want to get up early and look around the capital tomorrow, maybe gather some info.”

“Sure. Good night.”

Julin nodded and disappeared into his room.

Silia lingered at the window. Tomorrow, I’ll start fresh and begin tracking down that runaway…

—Rustle.

Her instincts flared. The same sharp sense she’d felt back at the academy.

“…A monster?”

In the middle of the capital? Inside the Diaman estate?

Her mana circuits opened instinctively. She could barely pick up the faintest trace—too weak to be sure. But it felt… off.

“Almost like something pretending to be a monster,” she murmured.

Either way, she couldn’t ignore it.

Without hesitation, Silia vaulted through the window and sprinted toward the source, leaping lightly onto the wall. Her view expanded instantly.

Below stretched a vast, beautifully kept garden.

“Wow…”

Under the moonlight, blue flowers bloomed everywhere, their fragrance gentle and rich. In the center stood an ornate greenhouse of colored glass—clearly the pride and joy of Cecil Diaman herself.

Inside, glowing magic crystals changed colors along the ceiling, casting soft light over rare southern plants with strange, vivid shapes.

“If this is the Diaman family’s greenhouse, I can’t imagine what the Heinz or royal estates are like…”

Rustle.

Before she could think, her body moved. That faint “monsterlike” aura flashed again in her mind.

She turned—and spotted a broom, likely used for tidying the greenhouse. Her decision was instant.

Whish!

“—Ack!”

…Ack?

No monster would make a sound that pathetic.

She turned her head—and saw a tall silhouette standing in the shadows. The man had reflexively raised a sheathed sword to block the flying broom, his form so clumsy it startled her more than anything.

He looks perfectly healthy, though…

Under the shade of a great tree, the man’s outline revealed a tall, well-built frame—broad shoulders, solid muscle, the kind of physique that would make military recruiters drool. And yet, his stance was worse than that of a desk-bound mage with bad posture.

Then she felt it—the strange energy she’d been tracking.

“…”

She’d never heard of monsters taking human form, but…

Breaking the silence, Silia spoke in a low voice.

“Identify yourself.”

“I could say the same to you. Cough, cough!”

He doubled over coughing. Apparently she’d startled him badly.

Pretty sloppy for an intruder.

“Why should I give my name to someone sneaking around another family’s greenhouse?”

“Ahem! Because this is my space. You’re the intruder, Lady.”

…What? He was claiming this greenhouse as his own? For that to be true, he’d have to be at least someone like Fleure.

Or maybe… a fraud?

“Are you impersonating a member of the Diaman family?” she asked sharply.

“Impersonating? What—wait!”

He raised both hands, showing no intent to fight, and stepped out of the shadows.

Even under faint moonlight, his golden hair gleamed.

A proud nose, a sharp jawline, lips set in an easy curve. His long, golden eyelashes caught the light, framing bright sky-blue eyes—clear and shallow, like sunlight over calm water.

“You’re being awfully harsh, don’t you think?” he said, sounding more petulant than offended.

That slightly spoiled tone, that flawless face—definitely a noble-born brat.

This might get annoying, Silia thought grimly.

“Then who are you?” she asked.

“You mean you don’t know who this greenhouse was granted to?” he replied, as if astonished that she didn’t recognize him.

“I have no idea,” Silia said flatly, waving a hand as she opened her mana circuits further. The strange aura was still there, elusive but distinct. Her impatience grew.

If this really is connected to monsters…

She couldn’t take chances.

She stepped closer.

The man flinched, backing away slightly, but Silia kept advancing until their faces were almost touching. She could see his pale blue eyes widen, his pupils trembling. His lips parted.

“Excuse me,” she whispered.

Before he could retreat, she grabbed his wrist. Thump-thump. A faint pulse beat beneath his skin. The sigil on Silia’s hand glimmered softly as she checked the flow of energy.

Found it.

That strange trace came from—his sword. The one still held awkwardly, sheathed.

“That sword—” she began.

But before she could finish, the man leapt back, clutching his shoulders defensively and shouting:

“Are you… are you a pervert?!”