The owner of a grand mansion near the Academy grounds, and an influential figure on one of the central districts—
Brack was biting his lips in agitation, unlike his usual easygoing self.
"..."
"...!"
From the top-floor office, which offered a clear view of the entire estate, Brack stared anxiously out the window.
Two figures were clashing with the mercenaries he had hired.
The man he didn't know.
But the woman… her face was all too familiar to someone from the West like him.
"That wench from House Roberc… why is she here…?"
Even if the opponent were a mere child,
a noble was a completely different matter.
With a single word from a noble, one could either live lavishly in a mansion…
or be thrown out onto the streets in an instant.
Brack knew this truth better than anyone else—from experience.
"Don't tell me she's figured out that day's incident?"
Impossible.
He had erased every trace.
At the scene, assassins including himself had acted.
The tangled aftermath had been handled by his patron lord.
His identity had already been laundered.
There was no way she—just one of countless heirs—could possibly know.
And yet—
—BOOM!
A thunderous crash erupted at the entrance of the mansion.
The mercenary he had hired—once considered fairly well-known—was now nothing more than decoration, sprawled in the bushes of the garden.
"D-damn it! For a noble to commit such violence in the middle of the street!"
But how could he not know?
From a wanted criminal surviving off scraps, to an influential figure in the central district—
his keen survival instincts had never once failed him.
And right now, those instincts were screaming at him nonstop.
Forget status, forget face.
If he wanted to live, he had to flee as far as possible.
Because she already knew about the assassination he had committed!
"Tsk. Like mother, like daughter… both troublesome."
Grabbing only the jewels he could carry, Brack hurried toward the secret escape route built into the mansion.
A rabbit must have three burrows.
Though it was an Eastern proverb, it had always resonated with him.
"Ha ha! I don't know how you caught on, but… you'll never catch me in this lifetime!"
The mansion? A small loss. He could always acquire another.
With the backing of his powerful patron, another estate would be no problem.
All he needed was to lie low until the storm passed, and resurface at the right moment.
With the jewels in hand, he could manage just fine.
"Ah, welcome. I expected you'd try to come out this way."
But why—
why was there someone standing at the exit of his secret passage, one known only to him?
"H-how did you…?"
"Fufu, trade secret."
Looking closely, Brack recognized him.
It was the slit-eyed servant who had stood at the Roberc girl's side earlier.
"Hm. You look surprisingly intact for someone who's eaten so well off others' misfortune. I half-expected your belly to be swollen with ill-gotten wealth."
Brack's brow twitched at the insult.
But he had no time to be angry.
If he wasted even a moment here, he'd be dragged off to the mana-stone mines under Roberc's wrath.
"…Wait! Let's make a deal."
"A deal?"
The youth smirked.
"Deals usually require both sides to offer terms worth considering, don't they?"
Infuriating. He was a man designed to dig under one's skin.
Swallowing his anger, Brack threw out the only bargaining chip he had left.
"Of course. Here, take this."
"Oh? A jewel, is it?"
"Yes. Exchange it for gold coins and it'll be a year's salary for you."
A servant was, at best, a discarded child of some house.
Surely that amount would tempt him.
But jewels alone weren't enough—
there was always the risk of betrayal once they were taken.
"If you let me go this time, I'll reward you with even more later."
"More than this?"
"Of course. Enough that you'll never need to bow to that Roberc wench again."
The servant glanced at the pouch of jewels, then tucked it into his robes.
"Well, I'm not in the habit of refusing bribes. I'll hold on to this."
"Then…!"
"And since I've already stripped you of everything worth taking, there's nothing left to offer. Time to come quietly."
Instead of listening to Brack's proposal, the youth drew a coil of rope from his robes and stepped forward.
"W-wait! I'll give you more, I swear!"
"Yes, yes, I heard you. Money is great. I don't dislike it either. But… it's far too cheap."
He shrugged casually, an impish smile spreading across his face.
"Do you really think your life is worth only this much? No, no… let me assess your true value."
"…You lunatic, what nonsense—!"
"You're the man behind the assassination of the Western Duchess. One word from you, and the entire West could be thrown into chaos. And you think that's worth only a servant's wages?"
The sliver of light slipping between his slit-eyes revealed a dark abyss that made Brack shudder.
"…Just how much do you know?"
"Who knows? Certainly not more than you. Which is why I'm here to capture you."
Negotiation failed.
That left only one option.
Force his way through.
Drawing the treasured blade that had been with him since his Western outlaw days, Brack charged.
"Ha! A mere servant, daring to act above his station?!"
How dare a lackey taunt someone like him!
A servant's worth was nothing. At best, leftovers from a Baron's house.
He would cut this man down himself!
"Oh my. I almost admire your courage. Even a worm will writhe when stepped on, I suppose."
The youth clapped mockingly, no trace of tension in his voice.
"Raaagh!"
Brack's aura-imbued blade slashed toward his chest—
—Clang!
And was blocked, effortlessly.
"Wha—?"
"Every one of those 'noble heirs' you mentioned earlier? All of them are beneath me—save one."
The dagger was ripped from Brack's hand, his wrist twisted painfully.
"Argh!"
A blow from the dagger's hilt slammed into his solar plexus, wrenching a strangled cry from him.
"N-no way…!"
"Even the Roberc heiress you fear so much is beneath me. Pity. To fall to a servant hiding his strength."
Brack resisted several more times, but it was futile.
Before he knew it, he was tied up tightly with rope.
"Hans Byron! What of him?"
"You're in quite the rush, aren't you? You came running the moment you heard my message. As you can see, he's handled."
"…You have my thanks. I'll repay this debt later."
Brack swallowed nervously at the shadow looming over him.
"Name: Brack. The so-called rising star of Greyhall Street, Central District. Embezzlement of public funds, bribery in civil service exams… all crimes worthy of a lifetime in the mana-stone mines."
But in the blazing eyes of the young lady before him,
Brack could tell this was far from the end.
'S-she already knows…'
Somehow, information had leaked.
She already knew he was the assassin who had slain her mother.
"There's another crime you've committed, isn't there?"
"..."
"Don't want to say it? Then I will. The assassination of the Duchess of Roberc. That was you, wasn't it?"
Thud. Thud.
Evidence fell before him one by one—
the remnants of the ambushed carriage that day,
the flaws in the alibi he had crafted in the West,
written clearly on parchment.
"If you keep your mouth shut, I'll uncover everything and execute you on the spot. I have allies in the North, so it's more than possible."
Even under threat of death, he remained silent.
But Camilla Roberc did not waver.
"I can offer leniency. If you reveal the one who ordered the assassination."
"…I know nothing."
—Gnash.
He ground his teeth so hard that even they could hear it.
"Hah. So that's how it's going to be? We'll see how long you keep quiet."
Camilla and Brack were both Westerners.
Both knew well that Western nobles were masters of torture.
All the more true for the heir of House Roberc.
"Shall I help? I'm from the West too. I could lend a hand."
"No. I already owe you for the capture. If I relied on you for the interrogation too, the debt would be too great."
Stubborn as ever, Camilla rejected his offer.
—Fufu. That fury of yours, already past mere heat and into something uncharted… that alone is repayment enough.
Her seething rage and hatred for the criminal—it was exquisite to him.
A fiery sting, like the spiciest ramen from Korea, with the little chicken mascot on the packet.
"…You're disgusting."
—Get used to it. Just as you crave vengeance, I crave flavor. A fair exchange.
That aside…
Camilla's torture alone would never break him.
'To him, dying to Camilla or dying later at his patron's hands makes no difference.'
Simple pain would not be enough.
Instead—
"Tell me, Brack. Did you know there's a place where even the greatest powers cannot reach?"
"…What now?"
Camilla looked on, exasperated, as he spoke directly to the bound man.
"Even a Duke cannot easily extend his hand there."
"..."
"Whoever your patron may be, within the Academy, student judgment is paramount."
A lie, of course.
The Academy's politics thrived on blackmail using the noble heirs.
"…Truly?"
To outsiders, it was an unknown truth.
But Brack's tone had suddenly grown respectful.
"Yes. And as luck would have it, Lady Camilla Roberc here holds the position of Disciplinary Head of the Student Council. She has the authority to shelter you, if she so chooses."
"…Funny, hearing that from the Vice President himself."
"In this case, I'm still an outsider. I have no obligation to protect you."
Camilla understood his ploy and played along.
Brack weighed them both against his patron… and finally, his lips parted.
"…I'll talk. Just spare my life."
"A noble does not speak twice. Now, speak."
Ha. As if.
Brack didn't notice it, but Camilla's eyes blazed—
already contemplating how best to deal with her mother's murderer.
But her thoughts were cut short.
"The one who ordered the assassination… was Duke Roberc himself."
"…What?!"
Her rage was blown away—
swept aside by a revelation far more shocking.