《Jewel Perfumer: Hand Me My Riches This Instant, You Stinky Swine!》


 1. Midlife Crisis

    Do you prefer private vehicles or public transport? Maybe both? For me, it¡¯s neither. I actively do my best to avoid them. It certainly takes a toll on my frail body to walk forty minutes each day, twice in fact, back and forth from my rented apartment to the office. But I like it very much. Not to mention it¡¯s healthy for both body and mind. Plus, it¡¯s free. So yay! Haha¡­


    No music, just thoughts. I watch the children go home from their schools, some elderly people tending to their needs by visiting various shops, and fellow workers who stroll about, and cars. Many cars. There''s traffic so large, so endlessly long I wonder whether it¡¯d make any substantial difference in time were I to take a bus.


    The air hence isn¡¯t as fresh as in some rural areas, but still, the air is air. Not much need for unbroken fields of poppy and lupin walled with clean cliffs to enjoy life.


    As for the noises? You may find them annoying. Me? I like them. Occasional beeps of honks included. Am I a masochist? I do get that a lot. But no. Let me explain why, okay?


    In the office, it¡¯s always silent. Occasionally people chatter, bumbling meaninglessly meandering formalities. I do too. You can imagine how suffocating it is to talk when you don¡¯t want to and smile when you don¡¯t want to. So yeah, the noisy city actually calms me. I feel free walking here. I feel at peace amidst the disorderly chaos.


    Especially considering it¡¯s my last day.


    Hey! Don¡¯t get any wrong ideas! I didn¡¯t mean last day in a sense like the very last day. But, uhh, like, last day at my job. I¡¯m not dying! Okay?! Today, I decided I was done with the boring job, and that I have enough capital to pave my own path, and-and that I will fully focus on my own perfume business I¡¯m about to launch!


    So today, I brazenly strode to my supervisor¡¯s supervisor, chest raised high, fists clenched. In battle mode! And demanded! I demanded a twofold raise that¡¯s long been due!


    He assaulted me with an arsenal of lame excuses. I knew where it¡¯d go. Quarterly review blah blah. At best a five percent increase¡ª To hell with that! Minimum of fifty! And so I said! Ehm, shouted, actually. And so I got fired!


    They don¡¯t know my worth! Incompetent fool! I do three people¡¯s work, so that¡¯s the least I deserve. Why should I, then, receive the same pay as the guy who, say, doomscrolls social media instead of working on the sales during work hours?!


    You may ask me then, why don¡¯t I just do the same? Because I take everything I do seriously! That¡¯s my mantra in life!


    So what if they don¡¯t appreciate my efforts? Hmph! They¡¯re the only ones losing on this!


    Anyway! Who¡¯s calling me at such a poignant point in my life?!


    I run my hands through my pinkish purse with red fury and grab my trembling phone as my hands vibrate AND wham it onto my ear!


    ¡°What do you want, bitch?!¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Not the best way to start a conversation if you ask me, I do admit.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I force a smile right after.


    ¡°How have you been, bitch~¡±


    Way better.


    ¡°Jewel¡­ are you like¡­ fine?¡±


    ¡°Of course! I always am~¡± I muse as the granny carrying groceries beside me shoots me a worried glance.


    Scram, old hag. I wave my hand at her with a kind smile, barely resisting flipping a finger off.


    ¡°So what''s the deal, Iris? You know it''s the middle of the week, right?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday, you wrote to me you''d talk to the big guy at the company. So I was just worried¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªThat I''d say something stupid and get into trouble?¡±


    ¡°Exactly! You know me well. Almost as well as I know you.¡±


    I cross the district, and a truck stops by me as the lights shine red. Then, I continue to walk with the herd, stepping off the crosswalk.


    ¡°Wanna go have a drink?¡±


    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Iris. It''s the middle of the week.¡±


    I stop. I just got fired. Right.


    ¡°And? Let''s celebrate your promotion! I will bring Homer too!¡±


    Who the heck is Homer? Her new boyfriend?


    Love, hah. An exercise in futility.


    I''m not any bit jealous, per se.


    What? You think I''m lying?


    No, really not. As kind as she may be, men mostly court her for her petite body and pretty looks.


    As for me? Well, at least I''ll know it''s genuine since there''s not much going on for me in that respect. Not like I care anyway. I''ve lived to be thirty, all alone. Then I might as well live another thirty in a similar manner and be done with life!


    ¡°That book you sent me yesterday!¡± I yell at her through the encoded dimension. ¡°THE worst read I¡¯ve had in a while!¡±


    ¡°You say so, but you¡¯ve binged it through the night, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Well, kinda¡­¡±


    Sure, I don¡¯t like the disastrous ending where the dragon invasion takes place and where they basically ravage all the territories and waste all the characters, but the story till that point is fine, albeit slightly too dark for my tastes.


    What stands out to me are those very characters. No cutesy or courtesy. Everyone¡¯s just after each other¡¯s throats, and atypical of a villainess story, the heroine isn¡¯t loved but actively hunted to death by what¡¯s supposed to be male love interests.


    ¡°Any similar reads¡­?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s actually a prequel to the story. I figure it¡¯d explain a lot¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why didn''t you first send me the prequel then?! I bet it¡¯d explain many things that happened!¡±


    ¡°Oh, you see¡­¡±


    I stand behind another intersection, waiting for the cars to stop as the traffic lights give a signal.


    ¡°You were always complaining about your job. That you are meant for something grander. So¡­¡±


    Hmm? What¡¯s she mumbling about? I nod to myself as people start crossing the road, and I join in.


    ¡°Perhaps you can rewrite it. A sequel fitting the story. The job is very, very demanding. But the pay is worth the effort.¡±


    You hear the tremendous honks close to me?


    The very moment I turn my head, I see death in the form of a truck speeding up to me. I drop the phone, frozen.


    Then, a sharp, constant pain before I can laugh. Then darkness.


    Tears roll down my face.


    My face?

 2. Broken Mirror

    Things that take me by surprise are very few in number. I¡¯ve experienced a rough childhood, tough parents, health issues, failed friendships, and the list of vague traumas goes on and on. You get the idea. Recent years have been somewhat soft in comparison. Life has been fine, although a little stressful. Not perfect, but good enough.


    This? I¡¯m not sure where to categorize it. I¡¯m not me, definitely. No, I¡¯m me, but I¡¯m not in my actual body. I also got younger and prettier, so I¡¯m dumbstruck between a decision to feel creeped out or elated.


    Glassy tears continue to flow down like rain. Sitting opposite a chunky wooden window with a gilded frame covering all my sight, I stare back at my rosy eyes, light and soft, expressive. I raise my small hand to my pale and puffy cheeks and shakily pluck the tears away with my thin fingers. Then I brush the silky strands of cotton candy hair covering my forehead and waving down to my frilly shoulders.


    I just died, didn¡¯t I? Yet, strangely enough, I don¡¯t feel a shock or sadness, just emptiness. I don¡¯t even think these tears are mine.


    No, I was killed by one of the few people I considered a genuine friend.


    By Iris, sent here by her, don¡¯t you think so too?


    Why and how? Where even am I?


    Don¡¯t tell me¡­ No, it can¡¯t be¡­


    It can¡¯t be that cursed novel¡­


    Madness Menagerie. A novel written by a sadist. At first, it¡¯s sunshine and butterflies. There is a slight romance, and the primary focus is put on companionship between the heroine and the familiars she summons. The familiars help her reestablish the status of her fallen noble family, and she slowly yet surely progresses to become an esteemed spiritualist.


    Yet the latter half of the book takes a 180-degree turn as everything spirals downward. Her partner betrays her, and the potential harem members do their best to ruin her life. Demons attack, and if that isn¡¯t enough, dragons then move to destroy everything and everyone. From your standard cozy reverse harem academy novel, the story becomes a tear-jerker, a misery porn. Honestly, I really loved that part of the story, too, since I¡¯m not a big fan of romance, and I liked it even more than the cozy part, perhaps, but I really hate bad endings. What¡¯s the point of the story if every character you cared for dies? Don¡¯t you agree? The world simply ended! And now I¡¯m possibly inside that very world, predestined to perish with it!


    I bite my lip, rapping my fingers against the medieval table as it rattles, leaning forward. What time is it in the story, and more importantly, whose life did I steal? Is it a story anymore to begin with, or a dream, or a reality? Maybe I¡¯m just delusional, and I¡¯m reborn inside a different story, game, or perhaps even heaven¡­ though I wasn¡¯t a religious kind.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Pink hair, pink eyes. Thin lips, small chest. A porcelain doll with a button nose and a pointy chin. An anime girl with a broad forehead and oversized eyes¡­ A single character comes to my mind. But she was what, like forty? Whereas I look to be around twenty. Then again, Iris did tell me about a prequel¡­


    Could I be¡ª


    The double doors behind me fling open, and from the reflection of the mirror, I scrutinize the short blonde who waltzes in. The woman with the maid outfit, woolen dress in muted colors, clearly looks pissed, marching with heavy strides toward me like a soldier at war. I hurriedly wipe the tears away.


    ¡°Lady Cassandra! Why did you make the young master cry? He¡¯s just a kid!¡±


    Cassandra¡­ The cool and mysterious side character who suddenly disappeared in the latter part of the story. I didn¡¯t even consider why she got removed from the plot and thought the author simply forgot about her.


    You know, I quite liked her. She was an easygoing professor and didn''t meddle in any student affairs. But when it came to alchemy, she was basically a guru, a genius. No matter what extraterrestrial problems the heroine brought to her attention in regard to alchemy, Cassandra would easily solve them for her. And now, I''m here, and I¡¯m her. Or, well, I inhabit her body. So then what happened to the real Cassandra?


    ¡°My Lady?¡± The maid persists pesteringly. She stops beside me, crossing her arms and tapping her right toe against the ceramic, raising her thick brows. Her round face then softens as she asks, ¡°Are you alright? You look bland.¡±


    Yeah, no clue who she is. Maybe you remember? No? Not either? Hahh. So she¡¯s not even a side character, but an extra. You know, like the numbers filling the seats in the stadium while some tournament is going on.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± so I ask.


    She tilts her head, confused.


    ¡°What¡¯s that question supposed to be? Did you hit your head perchance, My Lady?¡± she asks, lowering her gaze. ¡°It''s Esmeralda. I know you always call me Essie, but surely you didn''t forget my real name even if you spent nine years in the academy¡­¡±


    Nine years? So she¡¯s implying I just came back from there?


    People go to the academy more or less at eighteen. I should be around twenty-seven, then.


    ¡°Am I twenty-seven?¡± so I ask to make sure.


    Essie steps back, backing her shoulders, her face scrunched. ¡°You are to be twenty-seven in two weeks. Did you lose your memories, subchance?¡±


    I turn my head right and look her dead in her emerald eyes. Then I nod.


    ¡°Hahaha¡­¡± Essie laughs emptily. ¡°This is an interesting strategy. However, I doubt it will save you from the engagement.¡±


    I shoot up, springing toward her. Then I grab her by the shoulders with my slender hands, pressing, piercingly looking down at her as she hitches. ¡°Engagement? Engagement as in a marriage sense?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± she exhales, awkwardly narrowing her eyes. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s your duty as the Lady of our household, after all¡ª¡±


    I swing right and push her as she stumbles and flails to the soft mattress.


    This was not mentioned in the story!

 3. Forever Failure

    ¡°I refuse!¡± I declare! Pointing a sharp finger at her splayed figure with as much determination as I can muster in my delirious eyes.


    Marriage? So you tell me I am here not for cool magic hocus-pocus in a medieval fantasy, on an epic quest to save the world, but to become a hole with a posh title and spread my legs? That I am to be cattle, whored in silk, bred for bloodlines, milked for heirs. That I am to dress as a ceremonial cocksleeve, wrapped in sugary lace spun from generations of woven bridal fairytales and threaded virgin blood, topped with a cute little ribbon you¡¯d smack on a birthday cake, handed off as a wedding gift. That I am a sacrificial lamb, led to slaughter, paraded at a victory banquet, laid out for a war feast while noble rot toasts over my moaning corpse? As if! Surely Iris sent me here to save the world instead. Not this! If not, the world can go to hell for all I care! It deserves destruction! The gods shall shove their divine stratagems straight up their celestial asses!


    ¡°You haven''t even met him,¡± she mutters, leaning her hands behind her and pushing, sitting up, straightening her posture, her short legs hanging down the bed, lightly swinging as I rant to you.


    ¡°And that''s exactly the problem!¡± I yell at her, scratching the hair on my broad forehead.


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± she huffs, tapping a fist beneath her dimpled chin in a thinking manner. ¡°I''ve heard he''s handsome.¡±


    ¡°Who cares?! Listen well, Essie! There are countless handsome bastards everywhere. You have a cheap soul if you care for appearances alone! Looks are just a bonus, not a determinant!¡± I state the obvious.


    ¡°You say looks don¡¯t matter, but I wouldn''t want to marry someone too fat, or too ugly, or well, too girlish, ah, and too short too,¡± lists the shorty. ¡°Would you?¡±


    Well, preferably, me neither¡­ but I''ll omit that part. That''s beside the point I''m tryna make!


    The blonde shrugs as she raises her palms sideways. ¡°I do understand your concerns, but that¡¯s how things have been done for those of noble lineage since¡­ forever. Most settle for a partner after they finish the academy.¡±


    ¡°Most?¡± I turn back to the mirror as I glance at my minimalistic outfit. A sleeveless and high blouse with a pleated white bodice and dark navy ruffled sleeves, a cinched waist of navy, and a similarly pleated miniskirt.


    ¡°You said ¡®most¡¯. Meaning, there are exceptions, aren¡¯t there?¡±


    Hands clasped behind my back, I walk here and there, observing the blatantly expensive and elaborate furnishings in the form of glasses and portraits and then the furniture, either carved or finely painted, the bare walls shielded with golden leaves.


    In Madness Menagerie, just as the heroine was about to finish the academy, exactly in her ninth year, the cataclysm began and all went hail mary. As such, not much coverage as to what happens normally upon finishing the education period. Though there definitely were hints, and I would have noticed if I didn''t just skim through it on a caffeine induced night¡­


    ¡°Ah, yes, you can take the civil route and get assigned to a ministry after swearing allegiance to the imperial family. Maybe instead become a church member and devote your life to one of the three gods. Or maybe further pursue academia¡­ or enroll in the imperial army, though that''d be a bit of a stretch since it''s quite hard to get there considering there have been no wars in ages and all that¡­¡± Essie finally responds after pondering for a while, then stands and lightly beats her dress to straighten the creases before clearing her throat. ¡°Anyhow. I''m sure it''d be more productive to complain to your father, the Lord. I''m just a maid, a lowly servant, after all¡­¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Oh. Right. Makes sense to me. Thanks for the great idea.


    ¡°Where?¡± I ask her, turning backward and pressing my hand against her shoulder. ¡°Where¡¯s he?¡±


    Her emerald eyes widen with regret.


    ¡°My Lady, you just returned from the academy this morning, and it''s not even evening yet. You haven''t seen your family in three years, and the very moment you arrive, you reprimand the young master. Now you want to sour the Lord''s mood as soon as he gets back from the inspection at the town. Maybe delay the matter for a few days? It''s not like you''re getting engaged tomorrow¡­¡± Essie does her best to employ diplomacy, her voice softening.


    ¡°No! Now!¡± I shout, marching toward the double doors. ¡°Where is his room? I can wait!¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± she insists from behind. ¡°Why are you in such a hurry?¡±


    ¡°Hear me out, Essie. You nip the problems in the bud instantaneously and indiscriminately before they snowball into a catastrophe! Always do! If you ignore what''s before your very eyes, then you¡¯re no more than a slave to circumstances!¡± I dictate as I march through the pompous hallways, grabbing my navigator by hand.


    ¡°Right or left?¡±


    ¡°Lady Cassa¡ª¡±


    ¡°Right or LEFT?!¡±


    ¡°Left¡­¡±


    The other servants pause to take a look at us as we tread along the exotic plants and past the decorative mosaics.


    Thirty years. For thirty years, I lived caged, wore a collar I prided myself on. Attending school and sacrificing childhood for the promises of a better future. Attending college and sacrificing potential for the promises of a better future. Attending work and sacrificing time for the promises of a better future. Repeatedly, repeatedly, and repeatedly, I''ve been lied to. Only recently did I realize how lazy I was, giving up on freedom for comfort and choosing ease over choice, refusing to question the realities of life. Society grooms us into obedient peasants, into dogs who can merely bark about worldly affairs far from our reach and do nothing. The times may change, yet the principle stays the same no matter the era. From feudal lords to CEOs, from nobles to politicians, and from serfs to corporate workers, and though the names shift, the leash stays.


    Now, I do whatever I want, wherever I want, with whomever I want! Even death failed to stop me! If I sit on my ass and do nothing, then I deserve what is coming! But if I do my best and still fail, then at least I will die with no regrets whatsoever!


    It''s always been this way. I always do my best. This is my mantra in life!


    But now I can see more.


    There is no tomorrow, only today. There is no then, only now. There is no maybe, only must. There is no whichever, only what must be. There is no whichever, only only.


    ¡°We''ve¡­ ha¡­ arrived¡­ ha,¡± Essie breathes heavily, exhausted in every sense of the word. Her head lowered and chest puffing, she directs straight ahead with a weak hand.


    There, beside the enormous double doors with iron knockers, stands a boy with pink, side swept hair and tapered sides.


    He glares at me with his dried, sapphire eyes, and on his right cheek burns a red marking of a slap.


    Who is this kid?


    He sharply points at me and shouts in a high pitch, ¡°You dirty slut!¡±


    Who is this dipshit?

 4. Superficial Sacrilege

    I stop beside the cheeky boy and pinch his puffy cheek. He gasps as his smug face crumbles. His blue eyes wet.


    ¡°Let go let go let go¡ª¡± he orders in desperation.


    ¡°Who did you call what again?¡± I ask, stepping on his toe. ¡°Apologize this instant.¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°I asked not whether you want to apologize or not,¡± I say calmly, running a finger through my wavy hair, pressing and scratching the pink out of my skull. ¡°I said apologize¡ª¡±


    ¡°My Lady!¡± Essie grabs onto my arm, standing in between us, still huffing and puffing from exhaustion. ¡°Please temper yourself!¡± she implores I calm the fuck down.


    Very well. I let go. For now.


    Is this the young master she was referring to? To the best of my knowledge Cassandra¡ª I ¡ª only have two mildly younger brothers, both of whom are major characters. But this boy is too young, thus he can¡¯t possibly be any of those two.


    He stumbles back, pressing his hand onto his cheek with a sore expression. The boy then, over again, eyes me up and down with a disgusted glare.


    ¡°So why did you call me a whore?¡± I smilingly ask the boy with a knee-length tunic. ¡°How old are you anyway? Who taught you such preposterous words at such an age?¡±


    His lips quirk as he musters as much anger as he can on his fine little forehead in the form of creases. Then he points at me, my legs.


    ¡°You walk in such revealing attire despite your noble lineage!¡± he shouts spitefully, spitting an assault of questions in a high yet somewhat manly pitch: ¡°Do you have no shame at all? Do you do the same in the academy too? Do you not care about our family reputation? This is an insult toward our ancestry in its highest form!¡±


    Huh? I look down, and indeed, it¡¯s revealing. The skirt barely covers up. The type of clothing one would wear for clubs and parties, not work or day-to-day life. That¡¯s beside the point, though. Why is a boy, at such a young age, concerned about such matters? Surely there is an influence behind.


    ¡°Did your mother tell you this?¡± I ask, narrowing my eyes. I just threw a guess, and yet his appalled expression confirms it.


    ¡°Everybody can see it,¡± I hear the resentful whispering coming from behind. ¡°This Laothoe is greatly ashamed. I was of the opinion that you would change for the better after attending the academy for so long¡­ yet what a great disappointment you¡¯ve procured upon our names, Young Lady.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Turning my head and glancing back, I note an approaching woman with an assortment of makeup on her long face. She looks about fifty, doing her best to come up as someone in their thirties, which only makes it worse.


    Worst of all, despite her violet dress with long-hanging sleeves and vivid colors that build a pretense of aristocracy, she smells foul. So foul in fact, I cannot help but pinch my nose at the tang of disgusting smell assaulting my nostrils.


    Laothoe holds a light yet large fan covering her lower face, stopping right before me and staring me down with her sapphire eyes, her tightly clipped, light violet hair standing on end.


    I turn and face her.


    ¡°You clearly don¡¯t lack in academics,¡± she mentions scornfully, waving the fan a bit. ¡°And despite your outstanding academic performance, in all the other walks of life, primarily ethics and language that are of the utmost importance for an esteemed noble lady,¡± she utters with arrogance, glancing at his son for a moment, then back at me, and finishes, ¡°You fail to meet the minimum criteria.¡±


    This is so very interesting¡­ Perhaps she was the one who instigated an immediate engagement just as I returned from the academy in the first place? A second wife, huh. She wants me gone, doesn¡¯t she?


    According to the plot, Father had a wife he loved dearly, and together they bore four children, two daughters and two sons. Yet she later passed away. And he later married another woman, this very bitch before me. But I didn¡¯t know if they had kids, if any. Anyway, what could he have possibly seen in this painted peacock?


    Laothoe was one of the minor characters, gossiping at the noble banquets about this and that. Basically, a stereotypical prideful noble, a filler character with no depth. I¡¯m not going to jeopardize her as long as she doesn''t ever mess with me. No, really.


    I smile like a stupid donkey and glimpse at the boy, pointing at missus with my thumb. ¡°Is this the whore who taught you the words?¡±


    His face goes pale. That I can tell why. I look at his elegant mother, who now fumes in silent rage behind the brocade of a red fan.


    Try me, you repugnantly pompous, overtly promiscuous, overly pseudo-intellectual bitch. I¡¯ll drag you down to the trenches and beat you at my own game.


    ¡°You see, she¡¯s covering her whole body because there¡¯s nothing to show. She even covers her face with a mask of overexcess makeup.¡± I enlighten the young boy with a plain expression. ¡°So she¡¯s envious. And envy is bad. Envy is one of the seven demon generals. You know that much, don¡¯t you? You wouldn¡¯t want your mother to get devoured by envy, would you?


    At the mention of Envy, the boy pales and shakes his head left and right. A kid is still a kid at the end of the day, huh.


    ¡°You dare utter such vulgarity before my face?¡± Laothoe utters, finally breaking her fast. ¡°You¡¯ve only become more arrogant over the years. The Lord will be greatly disappointed also.¡±


    Heh. Is that all she can retort?


    ¡°Yet I suppose your actions served your purpose. For the past week, there were so many suitors lining before our household from all across the nobility. Yet such a pity that most neglected your supposedly bright mind and talked of your delicate body instead¡­ It made it so hard to find the perfect fit¡­ But I dutifully picked the one who would savor your youth the deepest¡­¡±


    Laothoe¡­ This hoe is fucking dead to me¡ª


    Sharp, steady steps sound across the hallway. We all look to the side, observing the approaching figure. A short man with similarly short pink hair and ocean clear eyes, with a bright belted tunic with dark surcoat.


    So this is him¡­ Priam Dardanos¡­

 5. Ruined Reincarnation

    His eyes calmly run through all four of us in a relaxed manner as he walks close by. Beside him treads an old muscular man with a pointy gray beard and big ears, more or less his height, a bit on the longer yet slimmer end. And despite looking this old, he is younger than the lord.


    When one looks at Priam, despite him being in his sixties, they would at most give him thirty. That has to do with his powers, of course. After all, Duke Dardanos is arguably among the ten strongest humans in the realm of Midgard. When the demons attacked, he single-handedly killed Greed by sacrificing himself.


    The primary reason for his death wasn¡¯t the demon general though, but the shrewd brother now standing beside him, smiling at me with a mask of warm hospitality put on his oblong face.


    Lampus is a merchant of high caliber who has many businesses and connections spread across the nobility and beyond. Lacking in looks and strength, he makes up for them with his eloquence and astuteness of the high pedigree that served him to make such great ties.


    So naturally, I smile at him also. What? You didn¡¯t just think I would try making enemies with this smartass, did you? I couldn¡¯t care less about his questionable morals.


    Barely any characters had any, if any, morals in Madness Menagerie. Certainly not the male cast, not the large portion of the side cast, and most certainly not the heroine. In such a world, attempting moral high standing is a surefire way to suicide. This is not Earth. Hypocrisy is never forgiven, and most are yet to be brainwashed by the vague values set by society. Why? Because they don¡¯t have schools. They don¡¯t have constant propaganda machines drilling through their young, pure minds. Instead, relatively wealthy children are to attend libraries to learn about the world before higher education. They have instructors, but those serve only to guide them, not shackle them.


    Priam, or well, Father¡ª he first pats the little boy¡¯s head as the child looks up at him with an open mouth. Father smiles at him with closed eyes. A smile not of Lampus¡¯s that one would wear on a masquerade, but a real, father¡¯s smile.


    He then looks at the hoe for a brief moment before nodding and setting his eyes on me, his lips deepening. ¡°Glad to see you back, Daughter.¡±


    I don''t know what to say or how to say it. Hey, Sir, I''m an outlander, and I''ve in actuality snatched your daughter''s body. He¡¯d probably believe that too since it''d be easy to confirm. What then, you may wonder. Well, they label us as outlanders and actively hunt to crucify all of us poor transmigrators. This is not widely known, but as someone who¡¯s read the story, I know it, and so I know that mentioning my origins should be the last thing on my list to do.


    The Duke then sharpens his eyes, his voice hardening. ¡°Troilus is very young still. You should forgive him for his immaturity.¡±


    ¡°No, the fault was mine wholly,¡± I say, meeting his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s me who should apologize. I was the immature one.¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I approach the boy and also repeatedly pat his messy hair as Father watches keenly. I lock eyes with Troilus and soften my expression. ¡°Will you forgive me?¡±


    He stares at me with a question plastered on his small face. Then nods.


    Right, his mind is probably wandering in wonderment, is this the same woman who was acting like an animal just then?


    ¡°But can you, next time, voice your arguments as a noble should, without calling me names?¡± I say to the boy, lowering my head to his level.


    ¡°Oh, did he talk badly of you?¡± Father intervenes with a reprimanding gaze, then directs his eyes to his wife. ¡°How strange. I¡¯m sure Troilus loves you at least as much as we all here do.¡±


    He then looks back at me, putting a hand on my shoulder and pressing his forehead against mine. ¡°Not as much as your father does.¡±


    Oh well, this is awkward.


    I shouldn¡¯t sweat it too much. Remember, this hot guy is an old man, and he¡¯s my father.


    This makes it sound even creepier¡­


    Lampus openly laughs from the side, brushing his lower eyelid. ¡°The praises of your qualifying project research spread everywhere. Well done! As expected of Dardanos!¡±


    Oh. Research. Haha ha- ha¡ª


    What kind of research?


    What research?


    Can I even return to the academy knowing nothing about anything in the first place¡­ Am I not just begging to get busted?


    ¡°How strange indeed. I¡¯m sure our child must have heard such vulgarity from the house servants,¡± the hoe says, clipping her fan shut, revealing her ugly face in its fullness for the world to behold. ¡°I will make sure to discipline him and investigate the matter.¡±


    She¡¯s smarter than she looks; I¡¯ll give her that. Predicted her defeat and didn¡¯t make a tantrum. And just like that, Laothoe takes the child by the hand and leaves with heavy strides of her heels.


    The Duke glances at his brother. Lampus strokes his thick mustache rising over toward the pointy tips as it stretches. ¡°It was nice meeting you, Cass. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll have time to talk. I¡¯m here for a while,¡± he says as he too turns and leaves with a shrug.


    Essie opens the door for the Duke and me as we enter the ducal study. As it closes, strong smells of ink assault me immediately, and turning my head left and right, I note various documents scattered across the long table. At the end of the oval table is a smaller, adjacent rectangular table, and at its end is a grand chair with trimmings on its edges. Father takes a seat there, and I sit to his closest right.


    Then silence.


    Silence permeates.


    His face stays stoic, expressionless. Yet his lips quiver ever so lightly, and his skyly eyes focus with a sharp glint of underlying death.


    He leans forward, clasping his hands together and leaning his chin against the tip.


    This can¡¯t be it, right? Surely it¡¯s not what I think it is.


    He lifts a single finger from his folded hands.


    Pointing. At me. My neck.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±