Chapter 6

Chapter 2. A Job Is Still a Job

It had already been nearly a month since I possessed this body.

In that time, the season had shifted clearly from late winter into spring.

A pleasant spring breeze slipped in through the open window.
The thin linen curtains fluttered, brushing against my hair.

‘Time really flies.’

I was lost in a quiet, sentimental mood—

Until an annoyed voice called out in front of me.

“Little Madam? What exactly are you doing…?”

“Mm? Why, Moretti?”

I turned with a bright smile.

There she was—standing before the blackboard with a book in hand.
It didn’t suit her at all, yet technically that was her proper role.

After all, she was Edmund’s private tutor.
Whether she was a competent teacher—or even a teacherly person—was another matter.

In her twisted, biting tone, Moretti said:

“Weren’t you the one who insisted on attending the Young Lord’s lessons with him?”

Which, translated, meant:

‘You’re the one who forced your way in, and now you’re just daydreaming?’

I smiled sweetly and answered:

“Yes. Which is why I even went to the Duke himself to get permission.”

‘Of course—the Duke only agreed so I could sit in and “watch over” you too.’

—That was what I meant.

Moretti’s face twisted in frustration.

Honestly, the woman was tireless. And apparently incapable of learning.

It had already been two weeks since I’d started sitting in on Edmund’s lessons.
By now, we’d had at least half a dozen such exchanges.
And I’d won every time.

Yet she never gave up. She kept trying to nitpick and undermine me.
If nothing else, I had to admit—her persistence was impressive.

Maybe she could tell I was cursing her silently, because her voice sharpened as she asked:

“Then you are paying proper attention to the lesson, aren’t you? In that case—when was the Treaty of Soleitia signed?”

“Year 893. But Moretti, you haven’t even explained that treaty yet. It’s not in today’s lesson. We won’t get there for at least two more classes.”

I didn’t just answer—I pointed out that she had asked something ahead of the syllabus.

Moretti flinched.

“Ahem. I must have been mistaken.”

“Oh dear. Are you all right, Moretti? You’re still young—it would be a shame if your memory were already failing.”

I spoke with gentle concern, but her face flushed red and blue with anger.

She couldn’t say more, though.
She couldn’t very well admit she had asked on purpose, assuming I wouldn’t know the answer.

“My memory is perfectly fine, thank you. At least you’re paying attention in class.”

“Of course. I review thoroughly in the library.”

I replied with a bright smile. Moretti’s eye twitched.

This so-called study was practically empty of books—its shelves bare.

Moretti had taken every book to the library, and she alone carried the key.
The only books Edmund could see were those she was authorized to give him during class.

So managing to wrest the library key from her had been one of my small victories this past month.

‘She hadn’t even allowed Edmund, the Young Lord, to step inside the library.’

Moretti had been the tyrant of this villa. Until I came.

At the mention of the library, Edmund’s expression turned stiff.

I knew what he was thinking:

‘Is she mocking me, since I can’t even enter the library freely?’

His cheeks had filled out a little with some weight, softening his face, but he was clearly sulking.

‘Ah… when will I finally earn real points with him?’

I was planning to find a chance to let Edmund go to the library freely.
He’d love that—and it would raise my favor points with him for sure.

And that wasn’t all. Over the past weeks, I had been steadily setting up a much larger plan.

‘Just wait a little longer, Edmund. Don’t cry from gratitude later.’

I chuckled softly to myself.

Whatever he thought he saw in my innocent smile, Edmund turned his head sharply away.

Then he focused back on Moretti’s lesson, frowning in concentration.
He was so focused, his smooth brow was creased.

He was like a thirsty beast, drinking in knowledge.

And I knew why.

‘Because Moretti had been teaching him half-heartedly all this time.’

The Duke didn’t want his true heir to receive a proper education.
Of course he had given her instructions.

“Do not educate him properly. In fact, the opposite.”

So Moretti always gave him shallow, wrong lessons.

‘Even with just a few basic books from the library, I could tell her teachings were wrong.’

But that changed once I joined the class.

Before, she only scolded, beat, and punished Edmund.
Now, because I sat in, she was forced to teach properly—if only to avoid my constant corrections.

“Hmm, that formula was disproven and corrected in the second-year academy textbook.”
“That interpretation is wrong. I saw the updated grammar in a book just last year.”
“Isn’t this timeline inconsistent with the official records?”

—And so on.

After a few of these pointed remarks, her lessons became much better.

Which was why Edmund could now listen, focused and satisfied.
That, too, was a small gain.

I thought with a secret smile:

‘In the original story, Edmund later suffered embarrassment and hardship from this poor education. But this time—he won’t.’

Though, of course, that wasn’t the main issue.

When I smiled to myself, Moretti pouted with obvious displeasure.

During the break, Moretti called me aside into the next room, speaking in a low, threatening voice.

A complete change from the past few weeks, when she had acted utterly subdued in front of me.

“You really are foolish, aren’t you? Doing something so stupid.”

“What are you on about now?”

I shrugged, but she smiled smugly and whispered:

“I’ve already reported you to the Duke. Told him you’ve been interfering with my ‘teaching.’”

“What interference? All I did was correct your mistakes.”

“And that was your mistake. You’re openly defying the Duke’s will.”

“….”

That was true.

Correcting her shoddy lessons brought me no real benefit except small satisfaction.
If the Duke heard of it, it would only bring trouble.

“I was ordered by the Duke himself not to give Edmund proper lessons.”

“….”

“And you’ve been too busy harassing me to realize what you’re doing.”

Her mean little smile was full of self-confidence.

‘Hmph. So she really did report it to him.’

Moretti returned boldly to the study and snapped at Edmund.

“Break time ended long ago! Back to your seat!”

At her back, I raised my middle finger.

‘Do you think I can’t outplay you?’

Before returning, I glanced out the window.

At the end of the only road leading to the villa, a small cloud of dust rose.
As if a carriage were approaching quickly.

The next subject was basic magic theory.

Moretti wasn’t a mage, nor a scholar of magic.
But there was no one here to challenge her.

“Copy this magic circle and then reverse its spin by channeling mana into it. This is the foundation of magical amplification.”

Edmund hesitated, then earnestly began following her instructions.

That was when I acted.

Rip!

I snatched the paper he had just copied the circle onto.
And tore it into pieces.

Both Edmund and Moretti shouted together in shock:

“What are you doing?!”
“What do you think you’re doing?!”

They looked at each other awkwardly—then both glared at me.

“So you hate the idea of me getting a proper education that much?!”

That was Edmund’s accusation.

“Even if you dislike me, this is too far!”

That was Moretti’s outraged cry—complete with fake tears trembling on her lashes.

But her true thought was the opposite:

‘That stupid girl is ruining herself. Perfect. Even better!’

Little did she know it would choke her own neck.

Just then, noise erupted throughout the villa.

With a thunderous rumble, a carriage rolled to a stop before the gates.
It bore the crest of House Cohen.

Moretti rejoiced inwardly.

‘Finally!’

This was why she had been so bold today.

‘All the times she sided with Edmund—I’ve reported them all to the Duke!’

She hadn’t actually believed I was on Edmund’s side.
But by framing it that way, she could get me driven out.

‘Who cares about the truth?’

From the carriage stepped the Duke’s chief steward—Baron Lomond himself.
One of the Duke’s closest aides.

Moretti smiled triumphantly, greeting him eagerly.

“Welcome, Steward.”

She expected him to ask about Cassia’s supposed crimes.

But instead—something completely unexpected happened.

The steward ignored Moretti entirely.
He went straight to me, bowing deeply.

“It is an honor to meet you, Little Madam.”

“Welcome, Baron Lomond.”

I received his greeting with calm ease, as if I had anticipated it all along.

‘No way…?’

A creeping, inexplicable unease began to rise in Moretti’s chest.