The moment I appeared, every gaze in the hall swung toward me in a wave.
My heart thudded faster.
I hate crowds…
I hadn't expected this many people. Swallowing hard, I moved to find the spot with my name.
My seat was tucked into the farthest of the far corners of the vast chamber—perfectly showcasing my place.
"Who's that kid?"
"Oh, you know. The bastard that good-for-nothing sired outside."
"Ah… He actually managed to have a child. I've been wishing for one myself…"
"Was it seven years for you now? It's hard for anyone in House Etam—main line or cadet—to have children. So imagine how recklessly that scoundrel must've been wagging his lower half around to beat those odds…"
The murmurs pierced the hush and lodged in my ears.
…What on earth did that man get up to?
Not just a scoundrel, a dog scoundrel—his infamy must be spectacular.
"Still, for that booze-reeking lout's brat, the kid looks decent enough…"
"If push comes to shove, why don't you adopt and raise her yourselves?"
"Adopt?"
"Sure. Better adopted than growing up without parents like that. And children are rare as it is."
…Huh?
Wait, there's a possible route where I get adopted into a cadet line?
No—except I'm not actually blood-related to this family.
Once that comes out today, that goodwill will vanish, won't it?
While I was thinking, the doors swung wide. The buzz cut off at once.
Everyone rose, even their breathing stilled.
I scrambled up too, standing awkwardly beside my chair.
"Entering: the 12th Head of House Etam, His Grace Duke Miriel Etam!"
With the doorkeeper's booming cry, a broad-shouldered old man strode down the carpet. Veins stood out over the gold-and-silver-ringed fist, and a long scar marked his cheek.
Behind him filed the direct-line elders with black hair and golden eyes.
Among them, wearing that faint smile, was Erno Etam.
Walking with lazy, arrogant ease, he stopped when he spotted me and waved.
…What?
If I didn't wave back, he looked ready to keep waving forever.
"What the—why's that brat—"
"Brat? He's a devil…"
"But who is that kid he's waving at…?"
"What else—his mood swings. They're daily. Guess it started again."
As he kept at it, more and more gazes drifted my way. I flapped my stubby hand in a quick little wave.
Only then did he, last to arrive yet perfectly unhurried, sit right beside Duke Miriel Etam.
"We will begin the New Year's Assembly. I trust you've all brought proposals that please me."
Proposals?
What is all this?
Eyes darting, I suddenly recalled a line from the novel.
House Etam's year begins with everyone in the ducal household announcing their annual plans.
"You call this a plan? Spent the whole year drunk out of your skull and ignoring your home, and now your brain's pickled too? I could arrange for you to live in a barrel of liquor forever if you'd like."
Correction:
The year begins with a glorious thrashing.
Almost no one presents a plan Duke Miriel Etam actually likes; and if he doesn't, every sordid thing they did the past year gets dragged into the light.
My jaw dropped.
Maila—why didn't you tell me this part!!
While I gaped, the first person called stepped forward, face dark with nerves.
The duke tilted his chin with arrogant indifference.
The man laid a thick file down carefully and began.
"This year, I intend to begin a new study… Recently, a new plant was discovered in the Eastern Continent that emits a peculiar fragrance said to calm the mind and body, and based on that—"
"Did you not read the existing research?"
Skimming the file without interest, the duke cut him off and flicked the papers back.
"P—pardon?"
He drew a short breath; the duke spoke.
"Your head's a flowerbed. Study herbs long enough and flowers bloom in your skull? This was researched already, you amoeba-brained fool. Do you wear your eyes on your soles? Then again, after you took research funds to frequent high-end taverns, drunkenly bellowing that you're Etam blood, harassing women at the establishment, then nearly dying from nibbling random poison weeds—splattering filth all over my name—perhaps it makes sense. Tch. What? Did you leave your wits in the afterlife when you crawled back? Shall I send you to fetch them?"
"N—no, Your Grace!"
"No? Good. Explain what, exactly, is 'no.'"
"N-not that—Your Grace is entirely correct! I'm sorry, Your Grace… I'll redo it."
What I witnessed up close was a spectacular session of public shaming and flaying. He looked on the verge of tears, like he'd short-circuited.
…Okay, but didn't he kind of deserve that?
Getting drunk, making a scene, harassing women?
After that, it was rinse and repeat: anyone who stood before the duke got skinned alive.
The cascade of curses and humiliating past deeds thundered through the chamber.
What on earth did these people do in a single year?
Faces of those not yet called turned paler and paler.
Next up was a boy—looked about thirteen or fourteen.
Probably a cadet-branch kid; he was stiff as a board, almost crying.
"Y-Your Grace… M-my goal and plan for this year is… to place within the top ten at the Academy…"
"Last year you ranked 87th in the first term and 128th in the second, yet you propose the top ten? Do you consider that realistic, or are you just saying anything to get through this moment?"
"N-no, sir. I-I think… if I work hard… it might be possible…"
"Might be possible? So you're not even saying you will. Then what do you think your odds of success are?"
"Um…"
"I've heard about you. Recently your teachers' evaluations hit rock bottom. Word is you've been running with a bad crowd, neglecting your studies and bullying your classmates…"
At the duke's words, the boy went chalk white.
"Liam? There are things even a blockhead can be recycled into, and things that can't. I do happen to enjoy crushing others with power—but that's because it's my power I earned. Without me, what's left for you? You've got diddly-squat, and yet you bully a classmate to the point of a suicide scare and let the complaint reach my ears—do you think you're in your right mind? I refuse to have an unrecyclable blockhead come out of my house. Stone doesn't even burn; do you have any idea how troublesome it would be for me to dispose of you?"
Duke Miriel didn't let up for a second. I stared, mouth hanging open.
If he'd been born in Korea, he'd be a famous rapper.
"I—I'm s-sorry…"
"Listen carefully. If I hear one more rumor about you smearing filth like this…"
The voice that had been almost calm sank, suddenly ominous.
His gaze slid toward a middle-aged man and woman seated to one side.
Judging by their bluish faces, they were likely the boy's parents.
"Expect to end up like the degenerate."
Gasp—that line.
That was the greatest curse in this mansion.
"Expect to become the degenerate."
It meant my father… or the man presumed to be. In other words: expect to be expelled from the family.
And there was nothing more miserable than being cast out of House Etam.
"Hh—huff… y-yes… yes, Your Grace…"
I did feel a bit sorry for the boy, trembling and on the verge of tears, unable even to sob—but school violence is inexcusable.
The procession of cadet and main-line children continued.
As I watched, a thought crept in.
Huh? Don't tell me I have to do this too?
The further the names went, the more sweat trickled down my back.
…Uh?
Uh…?
Uhhh…?
A bad feeling crawled up my spine.
"Next, Master Calan Etam; Master Silian Etam."
Two strikingly handsome boys strode forward.
"I don't really want to do anything this year. I'm planning to take a rest, Your Grace."
"Same—no particular plan. I'm stuck right before 5th Circle, so I'm taking a break."
A black-haired boy the spitting image of Erno Etam, and a red-haired boy who stood out at a glance, declared their "ambitions" with gusto.
So those are Erno Etam's sons.
They were the brothers who'd play the sis-con role toward the heroine in
They both had wounds of their own and were helpless against the heroine's sunshine.
"Very well. Proper rest is necessary."
Though he'd flayed everyone else, the duke said nothing to their brazen declaration of a sabbatical.
Right—this world runs on money, connections, luck, and talent…
And I have none of the above.
"Continue."
"Yes. Next, Lady Eirin—please come forward."
"…"
…I'm doomed.
The turn I'd dreaded finally came.
"Lady Eirin?"
"Y-yes, sir…"
I shuffled out of my seat and stood before the duke.
Up close, his presence was crushing.
He looked like he was made entirely of muscle. You couldn't call him an old man even as a joke.
His indifferent gaze skimmed over me.
"Speak."
Plan? …Plan? …Plan?
My mind went blank.
"M-my… my pwan is…"
I only had one plan.
"T-to… to leave the house… s-safely…"
Maybe because my brain had shorted out, the words bypassed it and came straight out of my mouth.