Chapter 103

Fifteen days earlier.

Ten days before boarding the train to Arnmolt.

"Damn it."

The curse slipped out before Harold caught himself. He gave a start and looked around. Fortunately, whatever their uncle was agonizing over, the boys were sound asleep in the bedroom.

Even so, Harold listened for a moment to make sure there were no bare feet padding across the floor.

"..."

Thankfully, the boys' breathing was still coming from inside the bedroom. Harold scratched his head. Lately Edgar had, for whatever reason, made a game of trying to move around without his uncle catching him.

He wasn't doing anything dangerous, and he seemed to find it funny getting scooped up and carried off every time, so Harold was playing along.

But cursing in front of the boys was out. Even Harold knew that much.

Once you started, chances were high you'd let one slip in front of them without thinking. It was one of the things Harold was always careful about around his nephews.

If he ever did slip up—

"...Hm."

His sister-in-law's face floated up in front of his eyes — not his brother's. His brother wouldn't have made much of it, but his sister-in-law was another story. She'd have thrown a glass of water in his face without dropping the peaceful smile. Anyone who'd married Albrecht Bertholdt wasn't to be taken lightly, and Cecilia Barbosa had been no exception.

Anne had trailed around after Cecilia for a reason. If Anne had found scholarship a bit more entertaining, she would surely have followed Cecilia down the academic path.

The old memory brought an involuntary smile to his face.

It had been back when Harold was still at the academy. Albrecht had taken a research office at the academy, where he was writing papers Harold couldn't make sense of, and Cecilia had been working two doors down.

Harold and Anne had watched the two of them fall in love. Even if neither of them had realized they were a couple until the day they heard the two were getting married.

Those had been good times. There would never again be a stretch of his life like that one, when he'd been free of the need to think.

"..."

The Harold Bertholdt of those days would never have dreamed he'd end up spending whole days staring at numbers.

Even now, poring over pages full of figures, he could hardly believe it. But he'd been the one who'd said he'd do it, so he couldn't complain. He couldn't quite believe that part either.

Should he have asked Mattheus after all? Had thinking he'd go through the bank's materials himself just been bravado? Was it too late to call Mattheus in?

But Mattheus was down at the domain, handling business alongside Günter's nephew. Mattheus was the only person he could hand domain work to. Summer would bring plenty of work at the domain, so Mattheus would have to go back down then too.

...Günter had been killed the moment he came back from the capital. Better to keep some distance from Mattheus. On the next trip down, they'd put more guards on him. Or Harold could go down with him.

Harold glanced toward the boys' bedroom. Judging by how much they were looking forward to the Reichnek trip, the Bertholdt domain might not be out of the question. Things had changed a lot since they'd first refused to go, too.

Harold sighed and picked up the papers he'd set down with the curse.

If he didn't do it, no one would. Ignoring it wouldn't make the papers sort themselves either.

Thankfully, it wasn't as complicated as he'd braced himself for. Fortunately, or unfortunately, no one else was left in the Bertholdt family, and Harold had gone a long time now without drawing on family support. The others were two small children still years away from starting at the academy, so in practical terms, his brother had been the only one spending family money.

Still.

"...What in the world were you thinking?"

Harold couldn't hold in the frustration and muttered it out.

He'd already checked the sort of transactions where large sums moved. Wasn't that the whole point of Günter hauling all those documents up from the domain?

This wasn't domain business — this was what his brother had spent at the Bertholdt estate in the capital. Living expenses, that sort of thing. Wages for the staff at the estate, repairs, and so on.

If his brother had run some separate, secret fund, Harold would have no way of knowing. But his brother hadn't kept secrets like that.

The entries were tidily organized. Cash outlays were bound to have gaps, but anything paid by cheque left a trace through the bank. His brother had gone through and organized it once again. As if he'd predicted someone would end up looking at these records. Follow these numbers and you'll find what you're looking for.

Harold trusted his brother. The Albrecht Bertholdt he knew hated wasting time on pointless work. If his brother had organized things this way, there was a reason.

Whatever anyone else thought of him, to Harold, Albrecht Bertholdt was family. He'd known him since birth, and the same went the other way. Harold was familiar with his brother. Genius intellect aside, Harold had always understood him.

Harold read his brother's thinking between the numbers.

He'd already known.

His brother had been preparing for his own death. He'd said so in the will, too. His brother had known that any day could be the day he died, and he'd done everything he could.

No — everything he'd tried to.

He just hadn't finished what he'd set out to do. That must have been his brother's one mistake.

"...Damn it."

Looking at an expense entry from last winter, Harold cursed again.

He tossed the papers back onto the desk and dragged a hand roughly down his face.

His brother hadn't meant to die. Of course, nobody goes through life meaning to die, but his brother had all the more reason to live. How could he close his eyes in peace with young twins still sleeping tucked against each other in the same bed?

But Albrecht was too smart to have gone through life believing everything would work out. Harold could hear his brother's laugh.

See, Harold? I ended up dead after all. Good thing I got things in order, right?

That was no comfort at all.

His brother had prepared for the aftermath of his own death with a thoroughness that bordered on cruel.

And the world had, just as cruelly, given him no time.

There was only one thing his brother had lacked. Time. Time to know he might die and put in order what needed to be settled for the ones who'd be left behind.

If he'd had a little more time, his brother could have left a proper explanation.

No — Harold could have prevented his brother's death.

Probably.

Perhaps.

If there'd been time.

"..."

So much for coaxing Grisha. Harold gave a weary laugh.

He'd said he didn't want to regret decisions he'd made in the past. How many days had it even been?

Harold steadied his breathing. He picked up the papers that had fallen under the desk, tidied them, and quietly headed for the bedroom where his nephews were sleeping.

Even breathing. Edwin, who slept quietly, hadn't moved much from the position Harold had laid him down in. But Edgar had rolled himself up in the blanket and drifted into the far corner of the bed.

Harold picked up Edgar's doll from the floor and set it by his head.

He couldn't imagine what his brother must have felt, preparing for what came after his own death while these boys were still here. But Harold knew one thing.

I'm counting on you, Harold. Look after the boys.

His brother had trusted him.

Harold wasn't going to betray that trust.

But separately from all that, his brother had left him the hardest homework of all.

The boy who was certain his father's death hadn't been an accident.

Someday, perhaps, the day would come when he'd have to explain to that child why his father had died. Harold prayed that day would never come.

"..."

The dark predawn broke, and the sun came up.

Sensing morning, the sheepdog yawned hugely and ambled over to Harold's side. Harold put the papers away somewhere the boys couldn't reach, then took Nabi out to the hotel garden.

Nabi bounded around the garden, working off the stiffness of the night. After three or four excited laps, he came back to Harold. Harold filled the bowl he'd set out in one corner of the garden with water. Only after making sure Nabi had drunk his fill did he lead the dog back inside.

"Uncle!"

Edwin came running to Harold at once. Edgar, caught in Linda's grip having his shirt buttons done up, squirmed but didn't try to leave. Harold took Edwin's hand, ruffled Edgar's hair, and headed into the dining room. Freed from Linda, Edgar followed Harold with Nabi in tow.

Another day for House Bertholdt was beginning.

---

Present day.

The Reichnek estate, Arnmolt.

"Hi!"

"...Hello."

"Ha ha ha! What's with that? Why so formal? Are you shy? Cute!"

"..."

Harold watched the children with a fond smile.

Undeterred by the lukewarm response, Adelheid wasn't the least bit put off. If anything, she laughed harder.

"So which one are you?"

"I'm Edwin."

"Then you're Edgar? Got it. Edgar's the shy one. I'll remember now."

"...That's not it."

He'd heard about her from Grisha's letters, but seeing her in person was another thing entirely. Harold watched that fiery red hair, never still for a moment, darting all over the place, and had to work to keep from laughing.

Where on earth had a child like that come from? Grisha had been a quiet, well-behaved boy. He still wasn't very different.

Then again, looking at the family as a whole, Grisha was the odd one out. Even Claudia looked, to anyone who didn't know her, like a picture-perfect noblewoman stepped out of a painting.

But House Reichnek was famous for producing generation after generation of exceptional knights. Claudia hadn't wanted to become a knight, but that wasn't for lack of talent.

Never mind the Duke of Lambert, commander of the eastern base.

No wonder Grisha hadn't been afraid of Harold at the academy. Harold had thought this tiny thing was fearless as they came. Looking at all this, Grisha had inherited both the Reichnek spirit and the Lambert temperament that didn't know how to be scared.

"Hey, big sister."

Edwin called out to Adelheid with a bright smile. Adelheid's face lit up like sunlight after rain.

Edgar shot his twin a look of pure betrayal. Harold had no idea what there was to feel betrayed about, but apparently children had their own children's business.

"What is it, Edwin? Something you want to know?"

"Do you like riding, big sister?"

"They say I could ride before I could walk!"

"Can we watch you ride? Uncle said he'd teach me."

Edwin looked at Harold. Harold nodded with a fond smile.

At that, Edgar seemed to get restless too, his mouth opening and closing as he looked back and forth between his uncle and Edwin. Adelheid was sneaking glances too — not the look of someone who minded — so Harold waited quietly.

Edwin was snickering — he'd caught it too. Edwin swallowed his laugh and played along as Adelheid, thrilled, chattered on about the colt her grandfather had given her for her birthday.

"M-me too!"

Edgar spoke up.

"Edgar?"

"I... I like riding too..."

Adelheid burst out laughing. It didn't seem possible for her to smile any brighter, and yet the ten-year-old girl managed it.

The boys would be all right at the Reichnek domain. For once, Harold could set the worry aside and smile.