Cedric, the butler of House Rosette, performed the same tasks every morning.
He adjusted the angle of the silver candlesticks.
He checked whether the vase in the drawing room had survived the previous day.
He organized the maids’ work schedule.
And finally, he opened the second drawer of his desk and took out his resignation letter.
More precisely, he took it out, then put it back.
The resignation letter had long since been complete.
Its wording was impeccable, it violated no point of etiquette, and it was an excellent document that expressed both his loyalty to the count’s household and the limits of his own endurance.
The issue was finding the right time to submit it.
For the last three years, Cedric had failed to find that time.
Today, the young lady threw a vase.
Today, the young lady tried to burn a letter from her fiancé.
Today, the young lady grabbed her new swordsmanship teacher by the collar.
Today, the young lady did not kill her swordsmanship teacher.
The last item was somewhat strange.
In this estate, "did not kill" counted as an achievement of sorts.
Cedric picked up his pen.
He considered changing the date on the resignation letter to today.
Then he stopped.
It was because of the commoner teacher who had arrived yesterday.
Leon Cart.
A man with a suspicious letter of recommendation, a suspicious attitude, and survival instincts that were even more suspicious.
Teachers who entered this estate usually fell into three categories.
First, those who heard the name Rosette and bowed far too deeply.
Second, those who excessively praised Lady Eveline’s talent in an attempt to raise their tutoring fee.
Third, those who were carried to the infirmary before the first lesson was over.
Leon Cart was none of those three.
He bowed just deeply enough.
He barely offered any praise.
And he did not go to the infirmary.
Instead, he made the young lady clean up the shattered pieces of a teacup.
Cedric still found that sight difficult to believe.
The eldest daughter of House Rosette.
Eveline Rosette, known as the unruly young lady.
She had personally picked up the shards of the teacup she had broken, using tongs.
At first, she had clearly worn the expression of someone ready to kill.
Cedric calculated the funeral arrangements in his head.
Should they send compensation to the commoner teacher’s family?
Or would the hazardous-duty clause in his contract apply?
And yet Leon Cart did not die.
Far from dying, he said,
"Relax your grip."
Upon hearing those words, Cedric had truly closed his eyes.
He had thought someone was finally about to die.
But no one died.
Lady Eveline clenched her teeth and picked up the next shard a little more carefully.
It was a very small change.
To an outsider, it would have meant nothing.
But Cedric knew.
In this estate, even that much was a revolution.
An old estate does not collapse overnight.
Cracks form in the walls, doorknobs begin to creak, maids leave one by one, and the butler starts folding a resignation letter every day.
House Rosette had been the same.
The young lady was a broken child.
But no one could bring themselves to say it aloud.
The count was busy.
The countess was frail.
The family’s honor had always come before the young lady.
So the young lady learned.
That it was all right to break things.
That everyone backed away when she was angry.
That once she drew her sword, conversation ended.
Cedric had not been able to stop it.
He had convinced himself that a butler’s duty was to maintain the household, not heal its wounds.
That excuse had served him for quite a long time.
Until yesterday.
"Cedric."
A maid’s voice came from outside the door.
He folded the resignation letter and put it into the drawer.
"What is it?"
"The young lady is reading a letter in the study."
Cedric’s hand stopped.
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"And she is not burning it?"
The maid fell silent for a moment.
"Not yet."
Not yet.
Those words explained everything about this estate.
It had not broken yet.
It had not burned yet.
No one had died yet.
Cedric rose from his seat.
As he walked toward the study at the end of the corridor, he recalled the words Leon Cart had left behind last night.
"Count how many lines in your fiancé’s final letter were truly addressed to you."
They were cruel words.
But perhaps they had also been necessary.
Wounds fester when they are covered up.
In noble households, the stench of that rot was hidden beneath perfume and etiquette.
House Rosette had done that for a very long time.
When he arrived before the study door, he heard paper crumpling inside.
Cedric was about to knock, but stopped.
Eveline’s voice came from within.
"Three lines."
It was an extremely quiet voice.
It was neither angry nor commanding.
It was the voice of someone seeing her own wound for the first time.
Cedric took his hand off the doorknob.
He could not go in.
What the young lady needed right now was not comfort.
Comfort was too easy.
"You are beautiful, my lady."
"You are strong, my lady."
"You have done nothing wrong, my lady."
Words like those overflowed in this estate.
And those words had pushed Eveline Rosette this far.
Cedric quietly stepped away.
Leon Cart was coming up the corridor from the far end.
A shabby coat.
Ordinary shoes.
A man who did not belong in the corridor of a noble house.
And yet, strangely enough, he looked like the person this estate needed most today.
"The young lady is waiting for you."
Cedric lowered his head.
A little more deeply than yesterday.
Leon Cart looked at him.
"Is the practice sword ready?"
"Yes. Without gold thread, a crest, or fragrance."
"Good."
He truly was a strange man.
He worried about the balance of a wooden sword before the honor of a noble house.
He noticed the shards of a teacup before the young lady’s anger.
And he spoke words that might get him killed as though they were nothing.
Cedric opened the door.
"My lady. Teacher Leon Cart has arrived."
Eveline’s voice came from within.
"Let him in."
Leon Cart entered.
The door closed.
Cedric stood before it for a moment.
He thought of the resignation letter in his drawer.
It did not seem he would need to change its date to today.
At least, not today.
He walked over to the window at the end of the corridor.
The rain was stopping.
A thin ray of sunlight settled over the old roof of House Rosette.
Looking at that light, Cedric thought,
This estate had not collapsed yet.
And perhaps.
Just perhaps.
He might have to begin something more difficult than folding resignation letters.
Believing that the young lady could change.
Cedric sighed.
"What a terribly difficult task."
But contrary to his words, the faintest smile rested on his lips.
That morning,
the butler of House Rosette folded his resignation letter once again.
Not to throw it away this time.
But to put it off a little longer.
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