A black envelope entered the garden.
Black sealing wax.
A hawk crest.
House Berhardt.
A formal protest letter.
The words alone carried weight.
Formal.
Protest.
Letter.
When those three words were attached to something in aristocratic society, people straightened up before anything else.
Before whether its contents were right or wrong.
They looked at who had sent it.
What wording it bore.
How quickly it had arrived.
And this envelope had arrived very quickly.
Too quickly.
Right after doubts had arisen regarding the delivery route of the preliminary protest letter.
As if they had never expected us to notice.
Or as if, whether we noticed or not, they intended to bury it beneath a larger document.
I picked up my pen.
My wrist hurt.
It hurt even with the medicinal-herb cloth wrapped around it.
But if I put the pen down now, Arsene’s letter would take precedence over my record.
I did not want that.
I really did not.
"Stop."
I spoke.
The messenger carrying the black envelope stopped.
He wore House Berhardt’s formal messenger uniform.
A dark navy uniform.
Silver buttons.
A hawk crest over his left breast.
This time, he was not a fake servant.
A genuine messenger who had entered through the front gate.
The servant hastily added, "It has been entered in the front-gate log. A formal messenger of House Berhardt is awaiting receipt."
Good.
A front-gate record.
This time, there was one.
That made the preliminary protest letter even stranger.
The formal messenger came through the front gate, while the preliminary protest letter had arrived through a fake servant at the west gate.
Why?
I wrote it down.
`Formal messenger: front-gate record exists.`
`Preliminary protest letter: no front- or back-gate record.`
`Discrepancy identified.`
The messenger looked at me.
His expression was polite, but his gaze was uneasy.
"I am a formal messenger of House Berhardt. I have been ordered to deliver this protest letter to Lady Seria Blanc of the Ducal House of Blanc."
"I know."
"Then why are you ordering me to stop?"
"We must make a record of receipt first."
One of the messenger’s eyebrows moved slightly.
"You may simply receive the protest letter."
"Receiving it and opening it are different things."
The garden fell silent.
Seria looked at me.
So did Eveline.
And Liana.
Without a word, Beatrice folded her fan.
Click.
The sound alone was enough.
The messenger maintained his courtesy as he spoke.
"Etiquette dictates that a formal protest letter be reviewed immediately upon receipt."
Beatrice answered quietly.
"A formal protest letter requires even more care in recording the time of receipt, the bearer, the condition of the seal, and the recipient’s circumstances. Particularly when the incident being protested is still being handled at the scene."
The messenger’s mouth shut.
Good.
Beatrice Morgan was truly useful.
Frightening, but useful.
On a fresh sheet of paper, I wrote a heading.
`Record of Receipt for House Berhardt’s Formal Protest Letter.`
Then I said, "Lady Seria."
"Yes."
"State the facts before receiving it. Do not smile."
Seria’s eyes trembled ever so slightly.
The second test.
State the facts without smiling in the face of a formal protest letter.
Seria inhaled for a beat.
The corners of her lips did not rise.
Good.
"At present, the Blanc tea party is undergoing treatment by the attending physician for Lady Eloise Berhardt’s abnormal symptoms, as well as evidence preservation."
Her voice was a little low.
But it did not shake.
"We will receive the formal protest letter. However, before reviewing its contents, we will record the time of receipt, the condition of the seal, and the delivery route."
The messenger’s face stiffened.
Apparently, he had not expected it.
He had not expected Seria to speak of procedure without smiling or spitting venom.
To be honest, I was a little surprised too.
But I did not show it.
I could praise her later.
If we survived.
A system window appeared.
[Seria Blanc: Maintaining Defensive Procedure]
[The formal protest letter’s immediate framing has been delayed.]
[Second Event Success Rate: 19% -> 16%]
Sixteen percent.
Still high.
But not a bad start.
In the end, the messenger held out the envelope.
Just as Seria was about to take it, I spoke.
"Do not receive it directly."
Seria’s hand stopped.
The messenger’s gaze sharpened.
"And what does that mean?"
"The moment the subject of the protest receives the envelope directly, they can claim the seal was damaged or its contents went missing."
Seria immediately understood.
She signaled to the head maid.
"Bring the receiving tray."
The head maid brought a white plate.
White plates were getting a lot of use today.
I could no longer tell whether this was a tea party or an evidence repository.
Reluctantly, the messenger placed the envelope on the plate.
I wrote it down.
`Formal protest letter: Rather than handing it directly to Seria Blanc, the messenger placed it on the receiving tray.`
`Seal: black. Hawk crest. Undamaged.`
`Envelope exterior: addressed to Lady Seria Blanc.`
Beatrice stepped closer and examined the envelope.
"The seal is intact."
The head maid added, "According to the front-gate log, the messenger arrived only moments ago."
"Record the time," Beatrice said.
I wrote.
`Time of receipt: while Lady Eloise Berhardt was receiving treatment and the scene record was being prepared.`
Exact timekeeping in this world worked differently.
Bells, half-hours, water clocks.
I still had not fully adjusted to it.
So I recorded it in relation to the incident.
That was better, if anything.
When someone later tried to blur the question of when, the record would also show what was taking place at that time.
The messenger spoke.
"Will you open it now?"
I looked at Seria.
Seria did not look at me.
Good.
She had to make her own judgment.
Looking at the envelope, she said, "I will open it. But the seal will be preserved."
Good.
She was learning it firsthand.
The head maid brought a thin knife.
She slit only the edge of the envelope without breaking the seal.
A folded document came out from inside.
It was thick.
Far thicker than the preliminary protest letter.
Appropriately so for a formal protest letter.
But a thick document was not necessarily right.
There were plenty of thick lies too.
They were even more exhausting.
Seria unfolded the document.
I watched her hands.
They did not shake.
Better than before.
She read the first line.
"‘House Berhardt demands an immediate official explanation regarding the physical abnormality and defamation incident suffered by Lady Eloise Berhardt at today’s tea party hosted by the Ducal House of Blanc.’"
Typical.
Physical abnormality.
Defamation.
They had carried over the wording from the preliminary protest letter exactly.
The preview and the main feature were connected.
I wrote.
`Formal Protest Letter, Article 1: defines the matter as a physical abnormality and defamation incident.`
Seria continued reading.
"‘Lady Eloise collapsed after drinking tea served within the Ducal House of Blanc, constituting a clear failure of management by the host, the Ducal House of Blanc, to ensure the safety of its guest.’"
Failure of management.
Exactly what I expected.
But one part of the sentence caught my attention.
`after drinking tea served within the Ducal House of Blanc.`
It was true.
But it was an incomplete truth.
Which cup had been drunk by whom.
What had been put into the tea.
Whether there had been a request to inspect the ring.
Whether she had drunk it herself.
All of it was missing.
Writing only part of the truth was more dangerous than a lie.
I wrote.
`Formal Protest Letter, Article 2: defines collapse after drinking tea as a management failure. However, omits the owner of the second cup, the request to inspect the ring, and the circumstances of the subject’s own consumption.`
Seria followed the lines with her eyes, then stopped.
"The next part is worse."
"Read it."
She inhaled.
"‘Furthermore, at the scene, Lady Rosette and her companion, the commoner teacher Leon Cart, raised excessive suspicions regarding Lady Eloise’s beverage and jewelry, thereby defaming Lady Berhardt.’"
Eveline’s eyes darkened with red.
My name was there too.
Commoner teacher.
Companion.
Excessive suspicions.
Defamation.
Good.
Not good at all.
Arsene had anticipated my records.
More precisely, he had made the record-keeping commoner teacher his point of attack.
And he had entangled Eveline again.
A move meant to turn this into a conflict between fiancés.
Ignoring the pain in my wrist, I wrote.
`Formal Protest Letter, Article 3: identifies Eveline Rosette and Leon Cart as parties who raised excessive suspicions.`
Beatrice spoke quietly.
"This article is dangerous."
"I know."
Eveline looked at me.
"What do I need to do?"
A good question.
But the answer was the same this time.
"Nothing yet."
"Again?"
"Yes. All the more so this time."
Eveline clenched her handkerchief.
This time, she put a little strength into it.
But she did not crumple it.
"Why?"
"Because it is what Arsene wants."
"For me to get angry?"
"Yes."
I pointed to the protest letter.
"If you get angry here, ‘excessive suspicion’ will become ‘public threat.’"
Eveline closed her mouth.
She was clearly furious.
But she did not move.
Good.
The handkerchief survived.
Seria read the next sentence.
"‘Saint Candidate Liana Bell was likewise observed to be in an unstable state at the scene, demonstrating that the Ducal House of Blanc failed to protect its guests appropriately.’"
Liana’s face stiffened.
She was being used as a tool again.
An unstable state.
Failure to protect her.
Liana had continuously described her own condition today.
She was nervous, but not dizzy.
She had drunk water.
She had checked her own cup.
All of that disappeared, leaving only one sentence.
She had been unstable.
I wrote.
`Formal Protest Letter, Article 4: defines Liana Bell as an unstable guest.`
Liana spoke quietly.
"I was anxious, but I stated my condition."
Good.
I looked at her.
Liana was trembling, but she did not retreat.
"And I was the first to request that Lady Eloise’s ring be inspected."
"I will record that."
I wrote a new line.
`Liana Bell: reconfirms that she personally stated her condition and was the first to request an inspection of the ring.`
Something in Seria’s gaze changed slightly.
She looked at Liana.
This was not an evaluative gaze.
It was probably not gratitude either.
Something more cautious than that.
A tiny fragment of trust.
Seria read the final paragraph.
"‘House Berhardt demands that the Ducal House of Blanc acknowledge responsibility for the incident, formally apologize to Lady Eloise, immediately submit measures disciplining all relevant parties, and promise to prevent recurrence.’"
The end.
The demands were clear.
An acknowledgment of responsibility.
A formal apology.
Discipline for the involved parties.
A promise to prevent recurrence.
If we answered it as written?
Seria would acknowledge responsibility.
Eveline and I would become subjects for discipline.
Liana would become an unstable person in need of protection.
Eloise would become the victim.
And Arsene would win without ever having been at the scene.
This was a battle.
There were no swords and almost no blood, but it was undoubtedly a battle.
I looked at the protest letter.
Then I found one strange detail.
The formal protest letter contained too much information.
For such a short time.
Eloise collapsed.
We made our records.
We traced the route of the preliminary protest letter.
We found the messenger bag at the west gate.
And soon afterward, the formal messenger arrived.
Yet the formal protest letter already reflected some of what had happened at the scene.
Lady Rosette and the commoner teacher had suspected the beverage and jewelry.
Liana had been unstable.
How did they know that?
It would be difficult to know unless someone had been at the scene.
Or unless they had expected it to happen beforehand.
I raised my head.
I looked at the messenger.
"When was this protest letter written?"
As if he had been waiting for the question, the messenger replied, "Immediately before I departed from House Berhardt."
"What time did you depart?"
The messenger answered politely.
"Immediately after the noon bell rang."
I looked at Seria.
Her face stiffened.
The noon bell.
The tea party had been in full swing then.
Was it before Eloise collapsed?
Probably around then.
We needed the exact order of events.
I asked the head maid, "What was taking place at the scene when the noon bell rang?"
The head maid thought for a moment.
"It was after the first cups had been collected, but before the second cups were prepared."
Good.
Very not good.
The formal protest letter was supposedly written right after noon.
At that point, Eloise had not yet collapsed.
The ring inspection had not happened either.
Yet the letter mentioned excessive suspicion regarding the drink and jewelry.
It had written the future.
Or it had written a scene that had been planned.
I recorded it.
`Messenger testimony: formal protest letter was drafted and dispatched immediately after the noon bell.`
`Scene record: immediately after the noon bell was after collection of the first cups and before preparation of the second cups.`
`Issue: the protest letter includes circumstances involving suspicions of the beverage and jewelry that occurred afterward.`
The garden became silent.
This silence was different.
For the first time, Arsene’s wording wavered.
Beatrice Morgan spoke in a low voice.
"That is serious."
The messenger’s face stiffened.
"I may have remembered the time incorrectly."
There it was.
Retreating.
I nodded.
"That is possible."
The messenger’s expression relaxed for a moment.
"Then let us confirm it again. Do you have a departure verification token?"
The messenger’s face stiffened again.
A formal messenger of House Berhardt received a departure verification token.
The aristocratic messenger system in this world was needlessly elaborate.
To keep important documents from vanishing along the way, a small lead token stamped with the departure time was tied inside the messenger bag.
I had learned it from the game.
I had really learned the most ridiculous things.
The messenger fell silent for a moment.
"I do."
"Show it to us."
"It is an internal House Berhardt token. It cannot be shown to outsiders."
Beatrice said, "Since the drafting and departure time of the formal protest letter has become a point of dispute, it will be difficult to recognize the letter’s temporal validity unless it is verified."
The messenger looked at Seria.
Seria did not smile.
"Show us."
Short.
Facts only.
Beatrice applied the pressure.
Seria demanded procedure.
Good.
In the end, the messenger took a small lead token from inside his bag.
A silver-gray piece of metal.
A hawk crest.
And a time mark stamped in tiny grooves.
Beatrice examined it.
"It is indeed immediately after noon."
Silence descended on the garden once more.
I wrote.
`Departure lead token verified: immediately after noon.`
`Part of the formal protest letter’s contents includes circumstances that occurred at the scene after noon.`
`Conclusion: a chronological contradiction exists between the protest letter’s drafting time and its contents.`
The messenger’s face turned pale.
Derin said nothing.
Eloise had her eyes closed.
Seria exhaled very slowly.
A system window appeared.
[Chronological Contradiction in Formal Protest Letter Discovered]
[Credibility of Arsene Berhardt’s Document Has Fallen]
[Second Event Success Rate: 16% -> 8%]
Eight percent.
It was still there.
Because the entire protest letter had not collapsed.
The claim of management responsibility remained.
Eloise really had collapsed.
Seria really was the host.
The fact that Arsene’s document had partly written the future was a serious flaw, but it did not erase all responsibility on its own.
That was why we needed the next sentence.
"Lady Seria."
"Yes."
"Write a reply."
Seria looked at me.
"Now?"
"Yes. Now. Immediately after the chronological contradiction in the formal protest letter has been confirmed."
"What should it say?"
I slid the paper toward her.
"Do not apologize. Do not acknowledge responsibility. But promise verification."
Seria picked up her pen.
Then she stopped.
"What is the first line?"
I answered, "The Ducal House of Blanc has received House Berhardt’s formal protest letter."
"And then?"
"However."
Seria’s eyes narrowed.
A good word.
In aristocratic society, however was a shield.
I continued.
"However, part of the protest letter’s contents includes circumstances which, according to the scene record, occurred after the time at which the letter claims to have been written. Therefore, the Ducal House of Blanc will respond after verifying both the facts of the matter and the circumstances in which the protest letter was drafted."
The corners of Seria’s mouth tried to lift.
But stopped.
Without smiling, she said, "That is good. Irritatingly good."
"I will take that as praise."
"That was my line."
"The effect of your lessons."
"You are becoming unpleasant."
"I hear that often."
Seria moved her pen.
Her handwriting was beautiful.
Not a single stroke wavered.
But this time, it did not look like a blade.
It looked like a shield.
`The Ducal House of Blanc has received House Berhardt’s formal protest letter.`
`However, part of the protest letter’s contents includes circumstances which, according to the scene record, occurred after the time at which the letter claims to have been drafted and dispatched.`
`Therefore, the Ducal House of Blanc will prioritize confirming Lady Eloise Berhardt’s condition and treatment, while also verifying the facts and drafting circumstances of the protest letter before issuing an official response.`
`Seria Blanc.`
Short.
Good.
She had not apologized.
She had not acknowledged responsibility.
She said treatment would be prioritized.
She promised verification.
And she drove home the issue with the protest letter itself.
I recorded it.
`Ducal House of Blanc First Reply: treatment prioritized / official response after verification of the facts and drafting circumstances.`
`No acknowledgment of responsibility.`
`No apology.`
`Chronological contradiction in protest letter identified.`
A system window appeared.
[Seria Blanc: Successfully Avoided an Immediate Reply to the Formal Protest Letter]
[Management Responsibility Fixation Route Weakened]
[Second Event Success Rate: 8% -> 3%]
Three percent.
Three percent again.
It was truly persistent.
But this time, I could see why.
The messenger could take the reply and leave.
But what he said while returning still mattered.
‘The Ducal House of Blanc refused receipt of the protest letter.’
‘Seria Blanc evaded responsibility.’
‘The commoner teacher insulted the messenger.’
Anything was possible by word of mouth.
Documents were slow.
Words were fast.
That was why words needed leashes too.
I looked at the messenger.
"Messenger."
He looked at me with a rigid expression.
"What is it?"
"Please confirm here what you will relay upon returning."
"I have no obligation to do that."
"That is correct."
I nodded.
"However, if you refuse to confirm it, the Ducal House of Blanc’s records will state, ‘The messenger refused to confirm the details of his report after receiving the reply.’"
The messenger’s expression twisted subtly.
A truly unpleasant method.
I knew that too.
But it worked.
The messenger was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "I delivered House Berhardt’s formal protest letter and received the Ducal House of Blanc’s first reply. The Ducal House of Blanc stated that it would prioritize Lady Eloise’s treatment, and issue an official response after verifying the facts and the circumstances in which the protest letter was drafted."
Good.
I wrote it down immediately.
`Messenger’s oral confirmation: delivery of formal protest letter and receipt of the Ducal House of Blanc’s first reply. Treatment prioritized; official response after verification of the facts and drafting circumstances.`
Beatrice said, "I heard that."
Seria said, "The Ducal House of Blanc confirms it as well."
Eveline said quietly, "I heard it too."
Liana also spoke cautiously.
"I heard it as well."
The messenger’s face was now completely rigid.
Good.
The words had been leashed too.
A system window appeared.
[Possibility of Messenger Altering the Oral Frame Reduced]
[Second Event Success Rate: 3% -> 1%]
One percent.
One percent again.
I narrowed my eyes.
What remained?
This time, the system answered immediately.
[Remaining Risk: Direct Intervention by Arsene Berhardt]
At that moment, the messenger raised his head.
"There is also an additional message."
Of course.
There would be more.
I was not even surprised anymore.
The messenger drew a second, smaller envelope from inside his coat.
There was no sealing wax.
A folded card.
A personal message.
He said, "Lord Arsene instructed me to deliver this separately to Lady Rosette."
Eveline’s hand stopped.
Arsene.
Her fiancé.
The original center of the ruin route.
Once the formal protest letter was blocked, he struck directly at his fiancée.
I looked at Eveline.
She was holding her handkerchief.
It was not crumpled.
But it was very dangerous.
The messenger read the card.
"‘Eveline. You will have to explain what happened today yourself. You cannot hide behind House Rosette’s name, nor behind a commoner teacher’s records. I hope you have not forgotten that you are still my fiancée.’"
The garden froze.
A short message.
But poisonous.
Fiancée.
You cannot hide.
Explain yourself.
Words that pulled at Eveline’s weakest thread.
I looked at the system window.
[Rampage-Inducing Wording Detected]
[Target: Eveline Rosette]
[Second Event Success Rate: 1% -> 9%]
Damn it.
The event that had been about to end shot back up again.
Arsene was truly relentless.
If documents were blocked, a personal message.
If the protest was blocked, the engagement.
If responsibility was blocked, emotion.
Eveline’s handkerchief began to crumple.
Just slightly.
Then Eveline inhaled.
And slowly said, "Write a reply."
I looked at her.
Eveline was not looking at the messenger.
She was not looking at Arsene’s card either.
She was looking at me.
"No."
She immediately corrected herself.
"I will write it."
Good.
Really good.
The old Eveline would have ridden a carriage to House Berhardt right now.
Or torn up the card.
Or shouted at the messenger.
Now, she would write a reply.
Words instead of a sword.
I slid a blank sheet toward her.
"Keep it short."
"I know."
"Do not write your emotions."
"I know."
"Do not rise to the word ‘fiancée.’"
Eveline glared at me.
"I just learned that one."
"That is why I said it."
Eveline picked up the pen.
Her hand shook a little.
But her handwriting was legible.
`To Lord Arsene Berhardt.`
She stopped there.
Eveline took one breath.
Then she continued writing.
`I will report today’s events directly to House Rosette.`
Good.
She would not explain herself to Arsene.
She would report to House Rosette.
She had elevated a personal dispute between fiancés into a matter of house procedure.
Eveline continued.
`The scene records and testimonies have been preserved, and if necessary, I will verify them through formal procedure.`
Very good.
Formal procedure.
If necessary.
She rejected Arsene’s personal summons.
Eveline wrote the final sentence.
`I did not hide today.`
The pen stopped.
That sentence was a little emotional.
But it was all right.
Because Arsene’s wording had been, ‘You cannot hide.’
Eveline’s reply was the fact that she had not hidden.
She put down the paper.
"How is it?"
I read it.
It was good.
Very good.
A little rough, but it was Eveline.
I said, "Add just one thing at the end."
"What?"
"Eveline Rosette."
The tips of Eveline’s ears reddened slightly.
"I know."
She signed it.
`Eveline Rosette.`
A system window appeared.
[Eveline Rosette: Successfully Responded to Rampage-Inducing Wording with Procedure]
[Fiancé’s Personal Summons Route Blocked]
[Second Event Success Rate: 9% -> 0%]
[Event: The Protest Letter Arrives Before the Incident]
[Result: Failure]
I exhaled deeply.
This time, it was truly over.
At least in this garden today, Arsene’s document had failed to bring Seria down.
It had failed to drag Eveline away too.
Liana had not become a shield either.
And me.
My wrist was dead.
That was not very important, though.
The messenger received three documents.
The Ducal House of Blanc’s first reply.
Confirmation of receipt for the scene-verification record.
And Eveline’s personal reply.
He did not prolong the conversation any further.
Because he knew that if he did, it would be recorded.
After the messenger withdrew, a strange silence remained in the garden.
The silence after a storm had passed.
But it was not a clear sky.
It was the silence of distant storm clouds still visible on the horizon.
Seria spoke quietly.
"Today’s tea party was a failure."
Eveline snorted.
"We did not even manage to drink a single cup of tea properly."
Liana said softly, "Still... no one became a poisoner."
Seria looked at Liana.
She said nothing for a moment.
Then, without smiling, she said, "That is true. That is quite a significant achievement."
Good.
State the facts.
Without smiling.
Without being sarcastic.
For Seria Blanc, that was a lesson.
I put down my pen.
This time, for real.
[Seria Blanc: Second Crisis Response Complete]
[Poisoning False-Accusation Route: First Block Maintained]
[Formal Protest Letter Blame-Shifting Route: Blocked]
[Eveline Rosette: Resisted Fiancé’s Emotional Provocation]
[Liana Bell: Maintained Position as Witness]
[Temporary Solidarity Strengthens.]
[Caution]
[Arsene Berhardt Recognizes Leon Cart as a Direct Variable.]
Looking at that final line, I closed my eyes.
Ah.
So that was how it would be.
Arsene recognized me as a direct variable.
This was not a good thing.
Really not a good thing.
I had originally been a private tutor destined to die within a week.
My goal had been to survive quietly.
Yet now the eldest son of House Berhardt recognized me as a variable.
Life was truly unpredictable.
No, life inside a game was fucking impossible to predict.
Seria looked at me.
"Teacher."
"Yes."
"What is our next lesson?"
I raised my wrist for her to see.
"Rest."
Seria said with complete seriousness, "That seems to be the subject you are worst at, Teacher."
Eveline agreed.
"True."
Liana nodded very cautiously as well.
I felt betrayed.
I said, "I hear that often."
All three of them looked at me at once.
Then, almost simultaneously, they said, "We do not want to hear that anymore, either."
Good.
Very not good.
As the number of students increased, so did the nagging.
At the very bottom of the record sheet, I wrote in tiny letters.
`Need wrist recovery before the next lesson.`
And immediately beneath it, a system window appeared.
[New Schedule Added.]
[Time Remaining Until Preliminary Notice for the Academy Entrance Exam: 5 Days]
I nearly dropped my pen.
Wait.
The academy?
Already?
This world truly had no intention of letting me rest.
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