PHATFO 13

[Chapter 13]

“Something about this… seems off, doesn’t it?”

“I thought the same. No matter how great an artist is, they must go through a beginner phase. But Lady Rohilton? She’s been painting masterpieces since the start.”

“I might be overthinking it, but… when she said she couldn’t paint earlier…”

Their murmuring was cut short by Viscount Durnare.

“Let’s stop. It’s not right to speculate when the person in question isn’t even here.”

But Madam Hilton stepped forward.

“So what you’re saying, Viscount, is that for the sake of Lady Rohilton’s honor, she should be given the chance to defend herself?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“But I disagree. If she really has been using someone else’s artwork as her own, shouldn’t the fame she’s received be returned to the rightful artist—as soon as possible?”

“Hmm…”

The Viscount usually stood for victims and the weak. Hilton had hit the right point, and he couldn’t argue back.

“And that’s not all. If my suspicion is right, Lady Rohilton has caused serious damage to the art world.”

“……”

“Think about it. If this suspicion turns out to be true, how much trust in the art market would be destroyed? People would start doubting every new artist they see. ‘Could this one also be a fraud?’ That kind of skepticism doesn’t go away easily. It’ll just raise the value of already established artists and make it even harder for newcomers to debut.”

“……”

“Viscount, I only want to address these doubts now so we don’t face something even worse later.”

Sure, Hilton’s motivation may have been her grudge against Charlotte, but her words themselves weren’t wrong. Several nobles nodded in agreement.

Of course, a few disagreed.

“Is all this really necessary?”

“What’s so strange about not submitting early works to the market?”

They were people who had invested in Charlotte’s paintings. If her fraud was exposed, their purchases would plummet in value.

But Hilton easily persuaded them.

“If Lady Rohilton truly deceived us, shouldn’t she refund what we paid for her paintings? Emotional damages could also be claimed.”

“Th-that makes sense.”

“Exactly! If what you’re saying is true, then I’m the victim here—I bought art from a con artist.”

Once the conversation concluded, the marquis presented a recommendation for the Aether Exhibition.

“Let’s hope this invitation gives Lady Rohilton a chance to prove herself.”

He also supported Hilton’s cause, but didn’t look pleased—probably already worried about what responsibility he might bear if things went wrong.

But that was none of my concern.

“I believe in Charlotte’s innocence, too. She’s like a real sister to me.”

I accepted the letter with a big, foolish smile.

Attendance at the Aether Exhibition wasn’t mandatory. Many artists declined for reasons of humility.

The problem was that Charlotte had now drawn suspicion from the charity auction.

After collecting gossip from the social scene, she threw a fit in her room.

“Aaargh! This is all that stupid girl’s fault! If she hadn’t accepted that invitation!”

But Charlotte couldn’t tell the Count that she couldn’t participate in the exhibition.

The Count saw lying—and especially lies that could be exposed—as the work of fools.

So during dinner, I took the chance to provoke her.

“Charlotte’s going to the Aether Exhibition? That’s amazing! I think it’s so cool. Even His Majesty the Emperor attends, right? They say he has the sharpest eye for beauty—he might recognize your genius right away. You could become the first court painter from the East!”

Charlotte glared at me. The Countess even put down her knife while cutting her steak. She’d clearly lost her appetite.

Only the Count, clueless, smiled brightly.

“She’s right. I’m proud of you.”

Becoming a court painter came with prestige, a residence in the imperial city, and a nice salary.

More importantly, it meant painting portraits of nobles—building political connections.

The Count had one dream: to rise beyond the East and become a central noble. He believed Charlotte was the one to make it happen.

“Y-you’re flattering me.”

Charlotte couldn’t tell the truth, so she just brushed it off awkwardly.

“So, are preparations going well?”

“…Of course.”

“If you need anything, let me know. What father wouldn’t support his proud daughter?”

Though less emotional than Charlotte, the Count was still moved by mood. The happier he was, the more he liked to spend.

Normally Charlotte would’ve asked for dresses or extra allowance, but today she just smiled awkwardly—still too anxious that her secret might be exposed.

“I’ll tell you later, Father.”

“Shy, are we? Don’t be afraid to ask your old man for what you need.”

The Count laughed loudly.

Charlotte tried to laugh too—but failed and just stayed quiet.

After dinner, it was obvious she was in a bad mood. She hadn’t touched a bite of the steak she usually loved—just cut it up into pieces with her knife.

At this rate, the whole world would know her secret. Thinking she had to do something, Charlotte called for the Countess.

The Countess comforted her anxious daughter and made a suggestion:

“How about going to Mahrlon for a while?”

Mahrlon was a rural area where Charlotte had lived before becoming Lady Rohilton. Her maternal grandfather lived there alone.

“Go there by myself? No way! Why should I have to stay in that creaky old house?”

Charlotte reacted strongly.

To her, Mahrlon meant poverty. No shiny new shoes, no sweet desserts. Back then, she was lucky just to eat daily.

Her contempt for Hilton had come from her own hatred of that poor past.

“I’m the victim! They ruined my painting! Why should I be the one hiding? What did I do wrong?!”

She shouted so loudly, I could hear it in my room—though it had thin walls since it was originally a storage room.

Eventually, the Countess gave up.

“Let me know once you’ve calmed down, Charlotte.”

“……”

“But you’ll have to decide soon.”

The Countess wasn’t a fool.

High society runs on gossip—and gossip fades or changes after a few months. If Charlotte disappeared for a while and returned later, things might resolve themselves.

“Though there’s no way her pride will let her go through with it.”

I smiled to myself.

I never thought I’d be grateful for Charlotte’s arrogant personality.

After that, Charlotte shut herself in her studio. She must’ve decided to at least try before running away.

But it didn’t seem to be going well. I could often hear yelling from the studio.

While passing by casually, I saw maids carrying out canvases.

One of them was clearly far below the standard of Charlotte’s “usual” paintings. She must’ve copied paintings from ghost artists without building any real skill herself.

One day, I heard a man’s voice from inside the studio—it was the ghost painter.

Charlotte seemed to be trying to mimic each painter’s unique brush style.

“She must plan to submit a rough piece and blame poor health when it gets exposed. That’s a little clever… for Charlotte.”

Of course, planning something doesn’t mean it’ll work.

“Again, again, again! I said slower! Why are you rushing? Are you messing with me?!”

“If you hold the brush too long in one spot with wet paint, the color will turn too dark, my lady.”

“Don’t make excuses! Are you just bad at this? Do it again, again!”

Charlotte had a short temper. There was no way she’d succeed at a slow, delicate task like painting.

“At this rate, I won’t even make it to the Aether Exhibition…! And it’s your fault for being so bad at this!”

Eventually, the pressure broke her. She blurted out something she should never have said.

“Wait… Are you saying you got invited to the Aether Exhibition with my painting? So the rumors were true.”

The painter looked deeply hurt—but Charlotte quickly crushed whatever dignity he had left.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m the one who got the invitation. Do you think your paintings would be this famous if you stayed a poor commoner? It’s my noble name that got you this far!”

She jabbed his forehead with her finger.

“Don’t get any funny ideas. Be grateful you even got a taste of fame, lowlife. Huh? Why are you standing up?”

“I’m not going to paint for you anymore.”