Chapter: 14
Sweat beaded on Pascal’s forehead and the bridge of his nose.
He rapidly shifted his gaze between Claude and Jeanne. Yet the Count didn’t back down; instead, he raised his voice even more.
“Ah, ah, no matter how much you went to the military academy, a commoner is still a commoner! If we don’t punish this as an insult to the nobility, our Loren will look ridiculous…!”
“Uncle.”
Claude interrupted in a low voice.
“Your concern for the estate is truly admirable. Before I learn from Jeanne-sensei, I would like to receive your guidance first, uncle.”
Claude politely gestured toward the mansion’s entrance.
Taking this silent cue to leave, Pascal reluctantly stepped forward. He shot Jeanne a sharp glare until the very last moment, but she deliberately lifted the corner of her mouth in a cheeky smile.
Once Pascal disappeared from view, Jeanne returned the sword to Lorant.
It seemed as though the matter had settled, but for some reason Claude remained, watching Jeanne with a stern expression. The air around him felt oddly sharp. Feeling uneasy, Jeanne averted her gaze.
‘Well, of course. He must be upset after seeing someone mock his uncle and cause a commotion.’
In the end, she had prevented Pascal’s assault, but perhaps had interfered a little too much. She didn’t feel guilty, but since she had caused some trouble, she decided to apologize.
“Um, Claude. I was trying to stay out of this, really—”
“Hand.”
“Huh?”
“Give me your left hand.”
Claude gestured for it, and though it felt random, Jeanne complied without question, partly out of the guilt for what had happened.
Claude then grabbed her wrist, pulled it toward him, and took a handkerchief from his inner pocket, beginning to wipe her palm.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Disinfection.”
“What?”
“You touched something dirty.”
Even though nothing had actually touched her, Claude continued to wipe her palm repeatedly. Feeling this was absurd and aware of the surrounding eyes, Jeanne quickly pulled her wrist free.
Jeanne was bewildered by Claude’s inexplicable actions, yet Claude showed a satisfied smile and approached the servant who had been knocked down.
Seeing him approach, the fallen servant quickly stood up and dusted off the dirt from his clothes.
“Apologize on behalf of the Count. Go to Gauthier-sensei for treatment.”
Startled at Claude’s command, the servant waved his hands nervously.
“Isn’t he His Excellency’s personal physician? How could someone like me—”
“It’s an order.”
The firm yet gentle tone left the servant momentarily speechless, but he soon smiled brightly in gratitude.
Claude patted the servant on the shoulder and then turned his gaze to Lorant.
“Are you alright?”
“Being bitten by a bug hurts more.”
Lorant laughed heartily.
“I’ll be heading back to the Knights now. I was actually on my way to show you around, Jeanne.”
“…Alright.”
Claude’s words trailed off, but his gaze lingered on Jeanne, eyes narrowed as if something bothered him.
“Must be nice. Some people suffer under piles of work while others leisurely go sightseeing.”
“That’s your own fault.”
Jeanne retorted sharply, and Claude shrugged.
“Then this poor classmate of mine should head inside. Enjoy your visit.”
After Claude returned to the mansion, the servants dispersed, and Jeanne and Lorant proceeded toward the Knights as planned.
On the way, Jeanne wondered why Claude had been so intent on wiping her hand.
‘What did I even touch? All I did was stop the Count from speaking…’
Her thoughts took a strange turn. If her guess was correct, Claude had implied that the “dirty thing” was her uncle.
‘Do they not get along? Well, even from a brief encounter, it didn’t seem like Claude and he would get along.’
With that thought, Jeanne’s steps became noticeably lighter.
“Then I will wait outside, Your Excellency.”
Gaston bowed and left the office, as Pascal had barked at the steward to step aside, saying it was a private family matter.
Inside the office were only Claude, Pascal, and the twenty portraits Pascal had brought.
Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Pascal sat on the small sofa in the center of the office, a place normally reserved for guests of the lord.
“This mansion is a mess.”
No sooner had he sat than Pascal began voicing his complaints, as if he had been waiting to do so.
“I know you’ve always mingled casually with the lower classes. That one from the First Division earlier—sure, I get giving capable men a chance. But women are a different story, aren’t they?”
Pascal recalled what Jeanne had done to him and let out a bitter laugh.
“If word gets out that you brought such a girl into the mansion, what will people whisper? They’ll say, following your predecessor, this Duke is obsessed with women, lacks judgment, and Loren is ridiculous. It will tarnish our family line.”
As he lectured, Pascal kept glancing at Claude, who leaned against the window and looked outside without responding.
‘How arrogant.’
Pascal continued, feigning civility despite inwardly criticizing Claude.
“You’ve just graduated, yet you’re already twenty. Normally, you should have married by now. You’ve only just received your title, so there’s a lot you don’t know, and you’re busy. That’s why I brought you portraits of young ladies from good families…”
“Count.”
Until then silent, Claude spoke.
“When did I ever tell you to sit?”
Pascal’s complaints, muttered while melting into the sofa, abruptly cut off.
‘Did I just hear that?’
Pascal, unsure if he had misheard, slowly lifted himself from the sofa.
“It’s fine to be happy to see me after a long time, but you need to be careful. If rumors start that ‘Count Pascal acts like the master of the Loren Duke house’ or that ‘Count Pascal can’t distinguish between public and private matters,’ people will think poorly of Loren, you understand?”
Claude, with his back to the sunlight, looked abyssal, his red eyes glowing eerily.
Meeting those blood-red eyes sent shivers through Pascal’s entire body. He saw a reflection of his deceased father in his young nephew.
The most terrifying and yet resented man in the world—his father.
‘What’s going on? When I last saw him last year, he didn’t have this presence.’
The last time Pascal had seen Claude was half a year ago at the funeral of the previous Duke and Duchess. Claude may have resembled his father physically, but he had none of that charisma then—a pampered young lord in outward appearance only.
‘It must just be my imagination. No, I’m just scared because he’s being arrogant as a Duke!’
Unable to admit fear of his young nephew, Pascal ignored the instinctive warning.
“Count.”
“Yes?”
“Stand up.”
“Y-Yes…”
But his body didn’t obey. Seeing Pascal’s struggle, Claude sat at the desk.
“After your grandfather passed, your father entrusted you with managing the Count of Conde and the Hub estate, correct?”
“Y-Yes.”
“The Hub estate. A fine place. Fertile plains, temperate climate, excellent wheat. As a child, I couldn’t eat bread if it wasn’t made from Hub wheat.”
Claude lightly tapped the desk with his fingernails, the sound almost controlling Pascal’s heartbeat. He felt uneasy and anxious.
‘Why is he bringing up the estate now?’
Though unsure of Claude’s intent, Pascal decided to play along.
“Of course! Hub wheat is arguably the best in the continent!”
“I take pride in that. But…”
Claude’s fingers, moving like a second hand, stopped abruptly.
“In the past two or three years, I haven’t seen Hub wheat in Brien.”
“That’s because it’s easier for Brien to distribute Labor wheat, isn’t it?”
“That may be so. But last year, the school produced bread with Hub wheat for the first time in a while. I heard it was only a temporary batch that day.”
Pascal’s mouth soured, as he had handed administrative tasks to his subordinates and didn’t know where everything went.
“Yet strangely, it lacked flavor and texture. Why did the same wheat taste different from the bread at the mansion?”
At that moment, Pascal felt as if a needle had pierced his back.
‘Did he notice something?’
He forced himself to stay calm.
“It must be the baker’s skill. Comparing a regular school baker to the best baker in Loren—Your Excellency is cruel.”
“I do have that tendency.”
Claude laughed freely, and Pascal awkwardly forced a laugh.
“And I’m curious. I had the flour delivered from the school to the Loren mansion.”
“…Pardon?”
“I instructed the same baker to make the same bread with the same flour, the one you called ‘Loren’s best baker.’ But it still didn’t taste right.”
Claude smiled faintly, but his eyes did not.
“Wasn’t the baker in a bad mood that day…?”
“Our baker, who sleeps seven hours every night and boasts biceps?”
Pascal wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“There’s another strange thing. I heard that the school usually receives wheat in bulk. Freshly milled wheat produces better bread. So I requested that Hub wheat be sent, but they sent processed flour instead.”
“Th-That…”
“They said, ‘We milled it into flour so you could use it immediately.’ At first, I thought it was considerate, but then they asked for additional payment. Isn’t that strange? Doing something I didn’t request and then asking for money.”
Claude straightened from leaning on the desk.
“Rather than gossiping about mingling with the lower classes, this was tens of thousands of times more shameful. So I reported it to my father. He said he would look into it himself and told me not to worry. I trusted him and returned to school. Then…”
Claude leaned slightly forward. Despite his soft tone, his red eyes were colder than a winter wind.
“The next time I visited, it was to deliver news of two deaths. What do you think happened?”
