1

“Would you investigate this Miss Garland for me?”

One day, in a room at the Nightray manor, Echo’s master Vincent gave her a single photograph and issued an order.

Dahlia Garland.

It was a name she’d never heard before. A face she’d never seen.

The Garland mansion was located on the outskirts of Reveil, the capital.

For an aristocratic residence, it was relatively small. Standing in the woods, surrounded by trees of deep green, the modest mansion seemed a bit like the hideaway of a witch who’d turned her back on the world.

Up in one of the elms that ringed the property, Echo was watching the window of a second-story room from the shadow of the green leaves. Her face, which still held something childlike, was as expressionless as a doll’s, and she was so quiet that it was hard to tell whether she was breathing.

Her unwavering gaze was fixed on one point.

That point was a woman. She sat in a rocking chair by a window whose lace curtains were open, completely exposing the room beyond. She was reading.

This lady, with her long black hair and slightly shadowed expression, was Dahlia Garland.

That’s a very thick book, Echo thought to herself. What could she be reading?

Her expression didn’t flicker.

Not that Echo is interested…

She’d begun her surveillance an hour ago.

For the whole of that hour, Dahlia had been sitting by the window, in the same attitude, absorbed in that book. For all that time, Echo had continued her surveillance without making the slightest movement, and Dahlia’s slender fingers had continued tirelessly turning pages. Echo thought she might intend to spend the entire day that way.

According to the information she’d received from Vincent beforehand, Dahlia was nineteen years old, and the Garland family’s only daughter.

The Garlands weren’t all that influential socially, but they had a long history, and even aristocrats in the upper echelons of society acknowledged their superiority. The current head of the family, Dansen Garland, was already getting on in years. Dahlia had been born to him late in life, and her mother had already passed away.

It was possible that the mansion didn’t employ many servants, either: During the time Echo had been watching, no one had visited Dahlia’s room.

“That aside,” Echo murmured, her expression as unchanging as ever, “…she’s lovely.”

Echo wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by appearances, either of people or things, yet this woman had won even Echo’s admiration.

It wasn’t simply that she had pretty features. There was a certain delicacy about her, something ephemeral, as if she might break at the slightest touch.

It could also have been the untraceable scent of danger.

Echo thought back over the conversation she’d had with her master before leaving the Nightray manor.

“Why are you investigating her?”

Echo never refused orders from Vincent, and she usually didn’t ask questions. However, as she looked at the photograph she’d been handed, she had spoken, unexpectedly.

In the photograph, Dahlia was looking straight at the viewer, her gaze listless. It might have been the tinge of melancholy in her eyes that had caught at Echo’s heart.

Even as she asked the question, Echo didn’t expect a proper answer.

Vincent, her master, was a secretive person, and in addition, he saw Echo as nothing more than a convenient tool. Echo was well aware of that. She knew that was all she was: someone who simply accepted her master’s orders, without question or comment.

…But Vincent did answer.

“Because she’s a venemous insect.”

“A venemous insect?”

“Yes. A venemous insect that’s defiling something important to me. …So you see…”

“…”

“I have to eliminate that bug.”

“Hee-hee. Hee-hee-hee.” Vincent giggled happily. Then he seemed to lose interest in talking. As if he’d tired of speaking with Echo, he yawned and lay down on the sofa.

He’d closed his eyes, and for a short while, Echo had gazed at him wordlessly. Finally, though, she’d turned and left. Then, guided by the address written on the back of the photograph she’d been given, she’d made for the Garland mansion, heading toward the outskirts of Reveil.

Still—

As motionless as a statue, Echo thought.

There isn’t much point in staying here longer.

If Echo was a statue, then Dahlia was as changeless as a painting titled Lady Reading Book by Window.

For Echo, it wouldn’t have been difficult to spend the whole day this way, but she wanted to avoid returning to the Nightray manor empty-handed. Just as she was beginning to consider infiltrating the mansion…Dahlia closed her book with a soft thump and looked up. She glanced at a point in her room, as if to confirm something.

Then her lips moved slightly, and she rose from the rocking chair. She looked slightly flustered.

“‘Time’…?” Echo murmured; she’d read Dahlia’s lips. The woman seemed to be concerned about the time.

Echo wondered whether she had an engagement of some sort.

Dahlia set her book on the side table, stood up from her chair and started toward the door that was visible at the back of the room.

However, she paused abruptly, then returned to the window. She reached for the curtains, closing them slowly. Just before they closed completely, Dahlia glanced through the thin gap in the curtains. She was looking outside the window, at the elm trees that surrounded the manor. In Echo’s direction.

…She noticed me? She can’t have, Echo thought. It had to be just a coincidence.

But then, right before the curtains closed…

Dahlia looked straight at Echo and gave a faint smile.

2

—“Ten years.”

It was easy to say, but it felt like an extraordinarily long time.

Let’s see, in days that would be… And in hours, it’s—

Oz tried to work out the arithmetic in his head, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort and gave up.

He sat on a sofa in an office in Pandora Headquarters, hugging a cushion to his chest and watching Gilbert’s profile as he spoke with Reim Lunettes.

Traces of the old Gilbert still remained—his curly black hair, his slightly almond-shaped eyes—but his features and his height were emphatically those of an adult. Ten years… That was the amount of time that had passed between Oz’s fall into the Abyss and his return. The amount of time by which Gilbert had left him behind.

He smokes…

That ten-year blank.

He’s gotten good at shooting…

That ten-year blank.

He uses a tougher pronoun…

That ten-year blank.

“…?” Registering Oz’s gaze, Gilbert turned.

His expression seemed to ask What’s wrong?, but Oz didn’t pay any attention. He kept studying his valet’s grown-up face. He gazed steadily, or rather, dazedly.

“Wh-what, Oz? Is there something on my face?” Gilbert put a hand up to touch his cheek, looking slightly bewildered.

“Yes,” Oz answered, simply.

“Huh? What, sauce from the pasta I had at lunch—?”

“Eyes, a nose, and a mouth.”

“…Hey.”

“What?”

“It would be weird if those weren’t there.”

“You asked. I told you.”

“Only that wasn’t what I meant when I asked you.”

“Oh. Eyebrows, too.”

“Now look here…” Gilbert said, sighing.

“And? Were you done with your discussion, Gil?”

Reim, who’d been watching Oz and Gilbert’s pointless exchange, answered in Gilbert’s place. “Yes,” he said, with a wry smile. “We’ve finished, Oz-sama.”

Oz hadn’t been paying attention, and he didn’t know what they’d been talking about. He hadn’t had anything in particular to do today, so he’d looked in at the office to gloat about it. Oz responded to Reim with an apathetic “…Hmm.”

“Gil, what are you doing next? If you’re done with work…”

“No, I, uh, I’m going to see Break next—”

“…Break?” Oz echoed, a bit dubiously.

Break wasn’t one of Gilbert’s favorite people. They weren’t exactly sworn enemies, but Gilbert wouldn’t actively seek him out if he didn’t have business with him.

Oz thought Break might have summoned Gilbert. When he asked, though, Gilbert answered a bit evasively: “No, that…isn’t it.”

Oz cocked his head to one side, perplexed by Gilbert’s reaction.

“Maybe I’ll go with you, then.”

“D-d-d-d-don’t you dare…!!”

Gilbert shook his head violently, turning him down with tremendous force.

Oz hadn’t expected to be refused, and the ferocity set him blinking, but it didn’t take him long to pick up the scent. There was something interesting here.

It wasn’t anything important, Gilbert explained, obviously trying to cover up the confusion he wasn’t quite able to hide. If Oz came along, he said, he’d only be bored.

“Hmm. I see. I guess I won’t, then.”

When, smiling brightly, Oz told him he’d go back to his room, Gilbert was visibly relieved.

As he sensed the intent behind Oz’s smile, Reim’s expression changed slightly. Privately, he seemed to sympathize with Gilbert.

When they stepped from the office into the hallway, Oz waved good-bye to Gilbert. As Gilbert hurried away down the hall, Oz kept waving at his receding back. Smiling, he called, “See you later, Gil.”

Gilbert said, “Yeah,” waved back a bit apologetically, and left.

Even after he was out of sight, Oz kept waving.

“…I really will see you later, Gil.”

He beamed.

3

Gilbert Nightray, aged twenty-four.

Son of the noble House of Nightray, one of the four great dukedoms.

As far as looks went, he was a handsome young man with a sharp air about him.

When he made appearances at social functions, his figure and reticent attitude stole the hearts of many fine ladies.

At balls, he received countless invitations from the fairer sex.

However, Gilbert hardly ever responded to these invitations.

His chilliness only served to raise his reputation among the women of the aristocracy.

Not that Gilbert wanted or intended any such thing. …Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Well, well. Congratulations!”

Break applauded. Glowering, Gilbert retorted, “…There’s nothing good about it.”

The two of them were facing each other in one of Pandora Headquarters’ many reception rooms, one that was often used for conducting clandestine meetings. To augment his applause, Break took a party cracker out of an inner pocket and was just about to pull it when he seemed to realize something.

“This makes for a nice, round thirty, doesn’t it? Although there’s been quite a gap since the twenty-ninth…”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t keep track.”

“Requests to socialize with an eye to marriage—just what I’d expect from a distinguished aristocrat. What a popular fellow you are.”

“…I wish they wouldn’t.”

The four great dukes—Barma, Nightray, Rainsworth, and Vessalius—were high-ranking aristocrats with great authority.

Many nobles and important merchants approached the dukes in the hopes of somehow currying favor. The surest way to do so was to join their two houses—in other words, to marry in. This meant it wasn’t particularly unusual for the sons of the dukes to be flooded with requests to socialize.

It had been about ten years since Gilbert went from being a servant of the House of Vessalius to an adopted son of the House of Nightray. He’d received many such requests. However, nearly all of these applications had been turned down by the Nightray family due to the applicants’ social status and other such reasons.

That said, a few requests had made it across that high barrier and reached Gilbert himself.

Twenty-nine so far, according to Break.

The latest request, which Gilbert had received the other day, brought the total to thirty.

“There hadn’t been any for the past couple of years. I’d finally started to relax…”

Gilbert felt like lodging a complaint or two with someone.

“My, that takes me back. You were, what, sixteen or so?”

Break had a faraway look in his eyes. Gilbert, forced to remember past trauma, groaned.

Gilbert had made his social debut as a member of the House of Nightray at sixteen.

That year, a fever of excitement had blazed through high society.

The appearance of a dark, handsome young man with a shadow about him had thrilled the ladies of the aristocracy, and afterward, Gilbert had received an astronomical number of requests to socialize. During that year alone, Gilbert had personally met more than ten women.

Gilbert had had zero immunity to such things, and he’d immediately been plunged into a whirlpool of confusion.

Back then, the person he’d gone to for help (and oh, how he’d lived to regret it!) was Break.

The villainous schemer who’d sent Gilbert to the House of Nightray with the suggestion that they use each other.

“When I close my eye, I can see it so clearly! Your face, as you came to me for help… ”

“Don’t remember stuff like that!”

“You looked ready to burst into tears. You were blushing, embarrassed… ‘I cannot even imagine seeing someone with the intent to marry her, but I have no idea how to turn them down without causing them shame…’ You were such an earnest, good little boy, Gilbert-kun.”

“Knock. It. Oooooooooooooff!!”

Gilbert howled with enough force to wring Break’s head clean off his neck, but Break’s expression was composed.

“I came to you with a serious problem, and you turned it into a game—”

“I did absolutely nothing of the sort!” Break said, sounding wounded. “As a matter of fact, when you did as I told you, it went well, didn’t it? I gave you those strategies for your own good, you know.”

“Yeah, right,” Gilbert spat, growling.

How to make the other party give up naturally, without turning them down directly?

At the time, Gilbert hadn’t even managed to fully accept Oz’s disappearance. He’d had no hope of coming up with any decent ways to handle the situation on his own.

Gilbert had gone to Break for advice, and had been given several strategies. Being Gilbert, and young, he’d carried them all out conscientiously. Looking back now, he thought he’d been an idiot, but it was also true that he’d had nothing else to try.

He didn’t want to remember, but he certainly couldn’t forget.

“…You made me pretend I had weird fetishes… Made me two-time so that I was sure to get caught… And you…”

No matter how little he wanted to remember it, the very worst memory rose in his mind.

He couldn’t remember the woman’s face or name anymore, but he vividly recalled the sound of her angry voice. That voice had hurt his heart as well as his ears.

“What is this, Gilbert-sama?!”

“What…? It is a letter…to you…”

“It most certainly is not! This wasn’t written to me! Look!”

“I-I am sorry. Umm.”

“That alone would be unforgivable, but just look at this…this…this filthy content!”

“…I-is it really such an odd letter…?”

“Shameless wretch! Here, I’ll read it for you. ‘Ah, Ada-sama, your lovely form sends my poor heart mad.’”

“Whaaaaaaaat?!”

“That’s not all! ‘Ah, lady, like a bud that has yet to blossom… I want to worship you for eternity.’ Y-you’re the lowest of the low!”

“I-I-I-I-I-I did not write that…”

“Pervert!!”

Following Break’s instructions, Gilbert had handed the woman a love letter to Ada and pretended that it had been an accident.

Not only that, but Break had written the depraved missive, and he hadn’t told Gilbert what was in it beforehand.

Several other, similar things had happened, and finally…

As he carried out various schemes, even Gilbert began to have his doubts:

“Um, Break…”

“I hear the ladies are leaving according to plan. I’m so happy for you!”

“Th-that’s true…but, um, I feel…”

“??? What do you feel?”

“At the same time, I feel as if I’m losing something important…”

“Something important?”

“Y-yes. It’s hard to describe…”

“It’s just your imagination. You’re actually well on your way up the stairway to adulthood. ”

“…Am I really?”

“Yes, yes. Now, for the next strategy—”

He’d found himself in some terrible scrapes.

Gilbert thought it was a wonder his reputation in aristocratic society hadn’t been ruined.

“…Huh…? In that case, why am I asking him for help again…?”

As Gilbert muttered, he stared at the wall with an expression of gloom.

It kept him from noticing.

Gazing at Gilbert. Break’s expression sharpened abruptly, and he added, under his breath, “Well, it seems I wasn’t the only one moving in the shadows… Your little brother, for one.”

In the next instant, Break broke into a smile that made him seem truly reliable.

“Well, never you mind. Thanks to that, you got by without having to court anyone. All’s well that ends well.”

“Th-that’s true…but…”

Gilbert grimaced and put up a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to agree willingly.

True, thanks to Break, Gilbert—who wasn’t at all used to dealing with women—had managed to keep himself single without caving to external pressure. Possibly the proposal boom was over—although he still drew notice at social functions, he hadn’t gotten any actual requests to socialize for the past few years.

Oh. That’s why, when this one came in out of the blue, I automatically went to Break for help—

Privately, he regretted it. He felt as if he’d made a thunderingly bad decision.

Still, at the very least, he’d managed to throw Oz off the scent. He thought he deserved a pat on the back for that.

For better or worse, Break was the only person he could go to for advice in matters like this, and, more than anything, he wanted to keep the fact that he had gone to Break for advice a complete secret.

…Particularly from that master of his, who had no qualms about publically declaring that his hobby was valet-baiting.

Gilbert swore a private oath to himself.

I never want Oz to find out about this… Anyone but Oz…!! Even if it kills me!

“And? Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

“…Dahlia Garland. Apparently she isn’t from a major house, but her family is distinguished—”

“So he says, Oz-kun. Do you know her?”

“Mmmmm, the name doesn’t ring any bells.”

Oz, who seemed to have popped out of nowhere to stand beside Break, folded his arms and put his head to one side, as though deep in thought.

“I see…” Gilbert nodded. “Well, I’d never heard of her, either.”

“Even if she’s an aristocrat, there are plenty of those around,” said Oz.

“Right. She might have said hello to me at a party once, but I don’t remember everyone who… Hmm?”

“Hmm? What’s wrong, Gil?” Oz said.

“Oz—?!”

Gil nearly died of shock.

In response, Oz raised a hand, greeting him with a casual “Hey.” Gilbert’s mouth flapped uselessly; the words wouldn’t come. Oz pouted, sulking a little; it looked contrived. “Why didn’t you tell me? That was cold.”

Gilbert fought to keep his composure, and failed. He was clearly flustered.

“Y-y-y-you… Oz! How long have you been there?!”

“The whole time. I was sitting behind Break, back to back, listening.”

—After he’d parted with Gilbert in the hall, Oz explained, he’d rushed around and gotten ahead of him. “And it worked! ” he said, flashing a V for victory. Too late, Gilbert remembered that Oz would easily go that far to startle him. The thought of his own carelessness dragged him into a depression lower than the ocean floor.

“So Gil’s been popular for a long time?”

“Hasn’t he just! Between his family and his looks, he’s prime real estate, you know. On top of that, I think the combination of his cold appearance and those vaguely melancholy eyes tends to tickle feminine hearts. And then, every time someone makes advances, young Gilbert comes crying to me…”

“Lucky! That sounds like fun!” Oz said, delivering that heinous remark with a bright smile.

Gilbert felt an overwhelming desire to disappear.

“So, Gil, what’s this Dahlia lady like? Is she pretty?” Oz’s expression was excited.

“…No idea,” Gilbert said, uncooperatively.

“Don’t you at least have a photograph?” Oz asked.

“N-no.” Gilbert shook his head.

“Aaaah, this is it! Here you go.”

Break had a photograph pinched between his fingertips—who knew where he’d pulled it from—and he held it out to Oz.

Taking the photo, Oz exclaimed, “Wow, she’s gorgeous!”

With a start, Gilbert pressed a hand to the breast pocket of his jacket, where he’d been carrying the photograph. “Break, when did you—?!” he yelled. Break just smirked smugly.

Gilbert stretched a hand out toward Oz—“Give it back!”—but Oz dodged gracefully, still examining the photograph.

“Matched brunets,” he muttered, and then, in a very casual tone: “Say, Gil. Are you going to go out with her?”

“…No. Don’t be stupid.”

“Huh. What a waste.”

It was hard to tell how serious Oz was. “Just drop it,” Gilbert mumbled.

This is exactly what’s meant by “The master knows not what his valet’s heart holds,” he thought. Just as he was beginning to think that, for now, he had to figure out a way to muddy the waters and make his escape, Oz struck his own chest with a thump. With an absolutely brilliant smile, he said, “Well, if that’s how it is, Gil, I understand. Just leave it to me!”

Oz flashed a sharp thumbs-up and continued, ignoring Gilbert, who’d been rendered speechless.

“If his valet is in trouble, it’s a master’s duty to do something about it! Right?”

“My, my. The paragon of masters, Oz-kun, that’s you. I’ll help,” Brake chimed in, applauding, and the two of them put their heads together right away and began making plans of some sort. Gilbert could only stand there, aghast. This was going in the worst possible direction.

As he spoke with Break, Oz looked happy through and through. That gave Gilbert an awful feeling, too.

If this keeps up, it’s going to be a disaster.

…And so.

On reflex, Gilbert roared, “I-I-I’ll handle this one myself! I’m not who I used to be!”

At those words, Oz and Break both broke into warm smiles.

As you’d expect, their expressions said:

Now things are getting interesting!

4

When, concerned about the time, Dahlia had left her mansion, she’d made her way to a dressmaker’s shop on a narrow lane one block down from Reveil’s high street.

The boutique Night Butterfly.

As the shop’s name suggested, the show window was hung with evening dresses meant to be worn at soirees. The designs were showy and provocative: Most of the gowns had plunging necklines and gaping backs, and all were the sort that would attract men’s eyes. They might easily have been made for just that purpose.

Echo, who was lurking on the roof of the antique store opposite the boutique and had watched Dahlia enter the shop, glanced at the dresses and gave her murmured impression:

“…Gaudy.”

Her voice held no emotion, but she meant the words from the bottom of her heart.

…Really, though—

Echo was a bit puzzled. The array of dresses in the shop seemed to clash terribly with Dahlia’s quiet demeanor.

“Or,” she muttered, “could it be…? Are women like her the type who are most likely to cut loose at night…?”

She didn’t know. Echo couldn’t begin to understand what was supposed to be fun about wearing an audacious dress and attracting male glances in the first place. But, she thought, maybe Echo thinks that way because Echo is only a tool, and ordinarily, women take pleasure in attracting attention from men.

Hmm…

Echo folded her arms and tried to imagine it: Herself, at a soiree, dressed in a sophisticated gown that practically reeked of pheromones. An endless stream of gentlemen called to her, and she met them coldly, managed them, appraised them.

Only one fortunate gentleman would make it through this strict selection and win the right to be her partner.

For example:

“Hello, Eko-chan. You’re particularly enchanting this evening.”

“—!!”

Startled by Oz’s surprise appearance at her imaginary soiree, Echo choked and lost her balance.

She nearly toppled right off the roof, but at the last minute, she somehow managed to catch herself. She’d made quite a clatter, and she wondered uneasily whether they’d heard her inside the antique store. When, however, she’d waited a little while and no one had come out, she gave a small sigh of relief.

At the same time, she began to feel irritated.

Wh-wh-why did Oz-sama show up there? Echo doesn’t really…

As Echo thought this, her cheeks went red.

She shook her head, chasing away Oz—who had obstinately taken up residence in her brain and was wearing a truly first-class smile—and turned her attention back to the boutique.

It hadn’t been very long since Dahlia had gone in. Echo didn’t care that much about her own appearance, but she did know that women took time to choose clothes. Echo didn’t mind waiting. She settled down on the roof of the antique store, made herself unnoticeable, held very still, and waited.

An hour passed. Still, Dahlia showed no sign of leaving the shop.

Is she still picking out clothes? …Wishy-washy… Echo thought, a little disgusted.

It wouldn’t hurt to make sure. She climbed down to the street. A new customer—a lady with excellent timing—was just about to enter the shop, so Echo strolled past, pretending to be a passerby, and shot a quick glance inside through the open door.

As far as she could see, the only person there was the shop attendant. Echo’s heart skipped a beat. She’s gone?

But in the next instant, Dahlia surfaced from the recesses of the shop. Hastily putting some distance between herself and the boutique, Echo slipped into a nearby shadow and hid.

Dahlia’s cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe she was happy over a bargain she’d found. She passed Echo without noticing her and walked away, down the street. …Just as Dahlia passed, Echo caught an odd scent drifting from her.

It was very faint…and yet…

That’s… But…

It was a scent Echo was used to, but the circumstances made it hard to identify.

The smell of…blood—?

Nothing about Dahlia’s day after she returned to the mansion was particularly unusual.

Once she’d confirmed that Dahlia had gone to bed, Echo returned to the Nightray manor.

When Echo entered the drawing room, Vincent was lying on the sofa, gazing absently up at the ceiling.

He might not have been thinking about anything at all. It was just as likely that he was plotting something nefarious.

Echo was in Vincent’s service, but she didn’t understand her master’s inner workings. —Somewhere, hidden deep down, was the feeling that she was afraid to understand.

“Echo has returned, Vincent-sama,” she called.

Her back was to the door; she’d closed it behind her without turning. At her voice, Vincent’s face turned toward her.

“Welcome back, Echo. Come here…”

He beckoned, and Echo crossed to the sofa. Then Echo noticed the small, charmingly wrapped box on the table in front of the sofa. As if he’d registered Echo’s gaze, Vincent said, “It’s from her,” in a cold voice. “Homemade cookies and biscuits, apparently…”

At the word “her,” the face of the Vessalius woman Vincent had been seeing lately appeared in Echo’s mind. Ada Vessalius.

Echo knew Ada was Oz’s little sister. She also knew Vincent certainly wasn’t seeing her because he liked her.

“Just dispose of those for me, would you, Echo?”

Vincent spoke as if he couldn’t have cared less. He added something spiteful about how they might have powdered newt in them, but Echo didn’t really understand that bit. She just nodded, silently.

“So? How did things look?”

“Yes, sir—”

Dahlia’s actions, or at least her actions today, had been quite ordinary.

However, the strangeness she’d sensed here and there—how was she to report that?

Echo began to speak, organizing her thoughts as she did so.

Dahlia had read a book all day, she told him, starting in the morning. She’d left the house once to go to a boutique, and after returning, she’d spent the rest of the day fairly monotonously.

After she finished speaking, Vincent muttered, “…No flaws that would make it easy to ruin her socially, then…” He sounded bored.

Then he glanced at Echo.

“What else? Anything you can think of…”

At Vincent’s question, although she still didn’t know how to explain it, Echo reported it:

The scent of blood she’d picked up from Dahlia when she left the boutique.

On hearing that, although Vincent’s bored expression didn’t change, a faint shadow of joy stole onto his lips.

“Is that right…” he said. “How interesting…”

That was all.

“Hello, Gil. I hear you’re meeting her tomorrow…?”

When Gilbert visited the Nightray manor and walked into the dressing room, he found Vincent sprawled on the sofa, as if lying in wait.

Vincent didn’t specify whom Gil would be meeting, but it was clear he meant Dahlia Garland. Dahlia’s request to socialize had come through the House of Nightray, so it wasn’t odd that Vincent knew about it.

“…Yeah.”

Gilbert kept his answer short; he wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation. He’d come back to the manor to pick up some clothes to wear to his meeting with Dahlia. He didn’t keep any formal clothes of the sort he could wear to meet a noblewoman in his bachelor’s apartment.

“You don’t look very cheerful… You’re not looking forward to it, Gil?”

“Not particularly. I’m just meeting her to turn her down. There’s nothing ‘fun’ or ‘not fun’ about that.”

“Hmm. So you’re turning her down…”

“Of course I am.”

“For the sake of your little master…?”

“—”

The longer he talked to this brother of his, the more bogged down he’d get. Knowing this, Gilbert let his silence answer for him and got to work choosing formal clothes.

Dahlia had said that, if he didn’t mind, she would prefer to meet in town. As a general rule, when two noble houses were involved, it was normal to begin by greeting each other properly at one family’s house. However, Gilbert appreciated the lack of formality, and he’d had no objections.

In addition, she’d said that she’d rather meet casually, without trying to put up a front for each other. The thought that, in that case, his ordinary clothes might be good enough had crossed Gilbert’s mind, but the roughness of those ordinary clothes had made him reconsider.

Casual is good, but… I really am meeting her, huh…?

At first, he’d thought about turning her down through a letter or something and ending it that way.

He couldn’t even consider seeing a lady socially, and Gilbert didn’t care two pins for the House of Nightray’s reputation. In that case, a letter would be the simplest way to do things, and it would also be the easiest on his nerves.

However, Gilbert had decided to meet her properly and turn her down. This had been partly due to his own serious nature, but even more to one of Oz’s teachings that he’d taken to heart:

“Always treat women with kindness and sincerity!”

As he thought back over this and that and grabbed a random suit:

“Shall I help you pick out clothes?”

Gilbert turned down Vincent’s teasing offer with a brusque “No need.”

As he absently chose clothes, he thought about Dahlia. Had she spoken to him at a party? He didn’t remember it. Still, if she had, the fact that he’d forgotten it was rude in and of itself. On top of that, Gilbert had already made up his mind to turn her down.

This is depressing…

Gilbert didn’t understand women.

That said, he was fairly sure that any woman would be hurt if she requested permission to formally socialize and was turned down.

He did know that much. And tomorrow, he’d be doing exactly that.

Even as he slipped into a gloomy mood with a fair measure of guilt mixed in, Gilbert roused himself.

I’ll do it. I can do that much on my own now…!

He’d already run several mental simulations since leaving Oz and Break at Pandora. After making such a dramatic declaration, he had to do it, no matter what. He told himself that letting those two get involved would make the situation much, much worse, so it was easier to tackle it himself. Gilbert seemed quite busy: depressed, head hanging, a black suit in hand, then muttering to himself, then looking up and rousing himself to action. Through it all, Vincent watched him lovingly.

“Later, Vince.”

Having calmed down, Gilbert was on his way out of the dressing room. Vincent yawned and lazily fluttered a hand at him.

“Oh, that’s right. Gil…”

Vincent spoke to Gilbert’s back. Gilbert didn’t turn.

“What?”

“Take care you don’t get eaten…”

“???”

“—All women are venemous spiders, you know.”

“‘All’ is going too far.”

With that reproving retort, Gilbert left the dressing room. As he walked down the corridor, his face cold and expressionless, questions swirled through his head.

Why had his little brother said a thing like that? That all women were “venemous spiders.” …That they all had venom.

No doubt some women were like that, Gilbert thought, but there were also women who weren’t. He knew one. A woman made entirely of kindness, cheer, and grace.

A woman who was worlds apart from “venom.”

Ada-sama—

As he silently called her name, his heart grew warm. That wasn’t venom. On the contrary, it was medicine.

That aside, because he was walking while absorbed in thought…

Gilbert, who knew the Nightray manor like the back of his hand, got lost.

“—Your precious Ada-sama is no exception, Gil.”

Back in the dressing room, dozing, engulfed in drowsiness, Vincent murmured to himself.

“…But don’t worry. I’ll get rid of any flies that come buzzing around you…”

Just as he’d always done.

A smile of dark joy crept over Vincent’s face. …But, he thought. From what Echo’s report had told him, this particular fly seemed a bit different from the flies that had come before it. In that case, it might be interesting to watch the situation play out, at least for a little while.

As he thought, Vincent fell asleep.

…And, finally…

Echo, who’d entered the dressing room in search of her master, gazed at his peaceful, sleeping, smiling face. In a very, very small voice, she muttered:

“……He looks evil when he sleeps.”

5

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not very good with formalities.”

That was the first thing Dahlia said to Gilbert when they met the following day, at noon, in the park they’d designated as their meeting place.

In person, Dahlia’s quiet air was even more pronounced than her photograph had suggested.

When she stood, she seemed like a slender, shade-blooming flower that could be plucked easily by hand.

To Gilbert, she seemed to stand quietly, self-effacingly, unfurling delicate petals in secret.

When he thought back, comparing them, most of the women who’d made earlier requests to socialize had actively approached Gilbert. Even if they hadn’t, they’d eyed him appreciatively with bold, sticky stares. Both types had made Gilbert utterly miserable.

Dahlia wasn’t like either.

After she apologized, she didn’t seem to have anything to say. She looked down, turning her gaze from Gilbert, and fell silent.

In its own way, this bewildered Gilbert.

“…” Silent Dahlia.

Maintaining a superficial calm, Gilbert kept his mouth shut.

I-I have no idea how to deal with this!

It was beginning to make him feel dizzy.

On a weekday, at noon, in a corner of a sparsely populated park, an aristocratic couple sat facing each other in silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

A fresh breeze blew through the park, caressing the trees and setting the leaves rustling. But the two of them were—

Silent.

Silent.

……Silent.

What am I supposed to do?! Is it all right to start turning her down now?! Gilbert asked himself.

If anyone who’d known him for a long time and knew him well were to see him now—

His face was pale, his mouth was drawn, and his internal confusion was gushing out all over the place.

If this was how it was going to be, Gilbert thought, it was better to broach the subject right away and get it over with. He opened his mouth.

“Um, listen—”

“Gilbert-sama.”

“……?! Wh-what is it?” She’d gotten the jump on him in a matter-of-fact voice, and he felt his heart jump guiltily.

“Shall we stroll for a bit?”

Dahlia looked up, smiling faintly. Bewildered, Gilbert could only nod.

True, endlessly facing each other in silence this way was strange. Side by side, the two of them started down a footpath that wove through the wide park.

However, once they’d started walking, Dahlia fell silent again. For his part, Gilbert was badly flustered, and the words wouldn’t come. As they walked, they kept a subtle distance between them, a space just large enough for a child. What in the world is this? Gilbert thought.

Not good…

He thought desperately. He thought, but:

I…have no idea how to get started!

Gilbert’s mind was a small boat tossed by raging waves.

Two people, strolling along in silence.

“I’m sorry, Gilbert-sama. —Have I inconvenienced you?”

“Huh?”

Dahlia had spoken rather abruptly, but Gilbert somehow managed to keep his voice from cracking when he responded.

“My father…decided the matter for me. I didn’t know what to do, either.”

Dahlia’s words reached Gilbert’s ears, then slowly sank into his heart.

At Gilbert’s sudden unresponsiveness, Dahlia tilted her head slightly, perplexed.

Finally, on a sigh, Gilbert said, “—I see.” As far as his actual feelings were concerned, those words had brought him relief so potent that he very nearly sank to the ground.

This sort of thing wasn’t uncommon in aristocratic society. Women in particular often found themselves in marriages that had been orchestrated without regard for their wishes.

Unlike the previous cases, Dahlia hadn’t asked for permission to see Gilbert of her own accord.

That alone made Gilbert feel as if he’d been rescued.

“That is what happened…”

At Gilbert’s murmur, Dahlia glanced at him.

“So you’d settled on your answer from the beginning.”

“Huh?”

“You seem terribly relieved.”

“Erg.” Busted.

“You were thinking of how to turn me down without hurting me, weren’t you?”

Was it that obvious?! Gilbert thought in disbelief.

This was awful. He’d wavered and agonized, and on top of that, instead of saying it himself, he’d made the other party pick up on his intent and say it for him.

Gilbert wasn’t at all quick on the uptake where relations between the sexes were concerned, but he did know just how unmanly and pathetic that had been. It depressed him so much he felt like falling to his hands and knees.

But before he collapsed into depression, there was one thing he had to do. Gilbert stopped in his tracks.

A moment later, Dahlia also stopped and looked at him. “Gilbert-sama?”

“…I’m sorry.”

He made a heartfelt apology. At his words, Dahlia shook her head.

“Please don’t apologize, Gilbert-sama.”

“No, I’ve been terribly rude to you.”

Conscientiously, Gilbert bowed his head low.

This gentlemanly, chivalrous attitude seemed to startle Dahlia. Her eyes widened slightly.

Then, wondering a bit, she said, “You don’t quite seem like a man from one of the great noble families, Gilbert-sama.”

“Yes, I know. See, I wasn’t always— I-I mean, I have not always been—”

“…Please don’t worry about it.”

“???”

“You don’t have to be formal with me.”

Dahlia giggled as she spoke. There was something friendly and a bit childlike about her smile.

“Okay.”

Still a bit bewildered, Gilbert responded with a wry smile. He felt very apologetic toward Dahlia.

Lying in bed the night before, he’d run through all sorts of ways to turn her down. He’d felt compelled to get rid of Dahlia as soon as possible, treating her as if she were some sort of contaminant.

Gilbert was ashamed of himself. At the same time, he remembered his brother’s words: All women are venemous spiders.

The thought that he’d been right, that there really were women who weren’t, warmed his heart.

Even though it hadn’t been very long since he’d met her in person, Gilbert was fully convinced of that.

“Only… Do you think you could spend just a bit longer with me?”

Dahlia sounded apologetic.

“If I go home too readily, Father will scold me…”

“…Ah, I see.”

It all made sense to Gilbert now. In aristocratic society, when parents arranged for socialization and marriage, it was usually done with strategic intent. Dahlia probably couldn’t just say, “Oh, that’s all right,” and go home simply because Gilbert wasn’t keen on the idea. Besides, it was easy enough to give her what she needed.

“If you’re sure I’ll do,” Gilbert said. Dahlia smiled and nodded.

“Thank you very much. …That really is more like you, Gilbert-sama.”

When Gilbert looked perplexed:

“Being casual,” Dahlia said, pleasantly.

“It’s a bit of a walk, but there’s a lovely fountain up ahead, with benches beside it.”

Dahlia pointed down the footpath as she spoke, and the two of them set off again.

Apparently this was the first time Dahlia had been to this park, but she’d investigated it beforehand.

If possible, she’d told Gilbert, she’d like to sit and use up a bit more time talking. Her hesitant tone made Gilbert realize that she was being painstakingly considerate of him, and that made him feel even more apologetic.

Still, he thought, …somehow, I did manage to settle this on my own.

True, he’d been saved by Dahlia’s perceptiveness, but at least he hadn’t borrowed help from anyone.

He was a little proud of that.

Walking beside Gilbert, Dahlia spoke, looking up at the trees that lined the footpath.

“I don’t often leave the house, you see. This all feels very new to me.”

“Yes, you do seem like a bit of a homebody— Uh, I mean… Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. My father worries that I’ll never get myself married off… Oh no, I’m sorry.”

Having both said a bit too much, they both apologized, both smiling uncomfortably.

As they walked, Gilbert mentioned that he was living on his own, and Dahlia’s eyes went wide. Apparently the idea of a member of one of the four great dukedoms living alone in a lower-class neighborhood really was startling. As she looked at Gilbert, Dahlia seemed impressed.

“You’re really amazing, Gilbert-sama. Living without help from anyone…”

“No, it was just too uncomfortable to stay in that house.”

Once the words were out, he realized he might have said a bit too much again. He’d never told anyone he wasn’t very close to his true feelings on that subject. He wished it hadn’t come up. Telling her the reason would only make the atmosphere more awkward.

Dahlia was watching Gilbert, her mouth closed. Gilbert worried she suspected him of something.

However, Dahlia said, “I see…” Then she smiled gently. “If you live alone, does that mean you cook for yourself, too?”

“Huh? …Oh, yeah. A bit.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ve never even set foot in a kitchen.”

She must have sensed that he hadn’t wanted her to ask. Gilbert was secretly moved by the way Dahlia had changed the subject for him. What a nice person, he thought.

Gilbert had completely relaxed. He and Dahlia chatted. Unless he was with someone he was close to, Gilbert tended to be taciturn, but now, unusually for him, he talked about this and that. Since he wasn’t able to talk about Pandora activities, they mostly discussed trivial, everyday things.

During the conversation, Oz’s name came up.

“Oz…sama?” Dahlia repeated the name.

Oops, Gilbert thought.

As far as the general public was concerned, Oz—Oz Vessalius, of the House of Vessalius—had died ten years ago.

Only a few aristocrats with ties to Pandora knew that Oz had returned from the Abyss.

For that reason, Gilbert had to pretend he’d meant someone else with the same name.

“Yes— He’s a…friend,” he explained, awkwardly.

Oz was his master. Ordinarily, he’d never dream of calling him a friend, even in jest. He wanted to declare “Oz is my master” to everyone, at all times, with pride and confidence. He wanted to boast about it.

Gilbert’s heart was leaden with guilt and remorse.

As Gilbert answered painfully, his eyebrows drawn together, Dahlia looked a bit puzzled, but she responded, “I see. What sort of person is he?”

At her casual question, Gilbert fell silent. How could he describe Oz to a third party?

I’m proud to call him my master. The words were on the tip of his tongue.

He desperately swallowed them back down, searching for some other, harmless expression.

He thought, and thought, and…

“…He’s…hard on the heart, in all sorts of ways.”

“Is he!”

Then Gilbert told her about how Oz kept him scrambling on a daily basis. He hadn’t intended it to sound particularly funny, but at each little anecdote, Dahlia giggled merrily.

He felt as if she was probably laughing at the way Oz had him twisted around his little finger, but somehow it didn’t bother him.

Once he’d more or less finished talking, Dahlia said, “You really treasure this Oz-sama, don’t you.”

Gilbert, who hadn’t expected to hear that, responded with a startled “Huh?”

“Hee-hee! I can tell. When you talk about him, it’s as plain as day, Gilbert-sama.”

Even as he felt a mild jolt at the idea that he was so easy to read, he had no choice but to acknowledge it.

“…Is that right,” Gilbert answered, simply.

Talking about himself and Oz had begun to feel awkward, and Gilbert changed the subject.

This time, it was Gilbert’s turn to ask Dahlia how she spent her days. However, Dahlia told him she spent all day reading, and that her routine seldom varied. It seemed to Gilbert, though, that this sort of quiet life did not particularly suit her.

After that, they talked of all sorts of things: the books Dahlia liked and things that had happened to Gilbert while he was living on his own.

The air around them was soft and warm.

This isn’t a bad way to relax, once in a while, Gilbert thought.

Of course—

He knew there was really no place for him in a world this gentle.

Somehow…just being with this woman is really calming, Gilbert thought.

At length, as they walked down the footpath, Gilbert caught sight of two women up ahead.

The women were crouched down with their backs to him.

By the look of things, they seemed to be in some sort of trouble. This park drew many lower-class visitors, and the flamboyant dresses the ladies wore stood out rather sharply. Dahlia also noticed the pair; sounding a bit worried, she asked, “Have they fallen, do you think?”

With a nod to Dahlia, Gilbert began to walk a bit faster, approaching the two women from behind.

He called to them, politely: “Can I be of any assistance…?”

—In that instant, for some reason, his heart thudded violently. What’s going on? he thought.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” said one of the women.

“Yes, I’ve broken the heel of my shoe,” said the other.

The pair turned to face him, saying:

“Tee-hee! You really are…too kind. ”

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH?!” Gilbert screamed.

From that yell, you’d have thought he’d encountered the most horrible monster in the world, and Dahlia shrank back, startled.

“Whatever’s the matter?” she called to him, but Gilbert couldn’t answer.

To Dahlia, the individuals standing in front of Gilbert seemed to be a beautiful lady and a lovely young girl. They were so well favored that, if the two of them were to walk around town together, many men would no doubt turn to look at them, stare, and feel compelled to compliment them.

However, Gilbert had screamed as though his soul were evaporating. Dahlia could only tilt her head—“???”—in bewilderment.

One of the pair, the energetic young girl, pouted a bit.

“I beg your pardon. You’ll hurt a girl’s feelings, taking one look and screaming like that.”

At her words, the other, an alluring beauty, said, “Myyyy, isn’t that the truth!”

Then they looked at each other, and, in perfect harmony, said: “Quite! ”

Gilbert knew that, behind him, Dahlia was calling him repeatedly, but he couldn’t answer.

The two women gazed at Gilbert with shining eyes.

“Gilbert-sama? What’s wrong?” Dahlia asked.

“…”

“Gilbert-sama?”

“…”

“Are you friends with these ladies?”

“NO!!”

Gilbert whipped around with incredible force and yelled at Dahlia.

At his ferocity, Dahlia gave a small shriek, and Gilbert apologized involuntarily. “Ah—I’m sorry.”

Gilbert’s response made the two women puff out their cheeks in a dissatisfied way.

The young girl clung to Gilbert’s back, catching the tail of his black suit jacket and tugging on it.

“How mean, Gil-sama! How could you say we’re not friends?!”

“—Oooooh, but he isn’t wrong, now, is he?”

The beauty spoke in a significant tone, circling around to Gilbert’s side. She put a hand up to his jaw, tickling him under the chin with a slim finger. Gilbert had completely frozen up. The beauty shot a sidelong glance at Dahlia.

The glance was so seductive that even Dahlia, a woman, felt a chill run through her.

“Our relationship with Gil-sama is a special one, you know. We’re much more than friends.”

Gilbert’s mouth opened and shut as though he was trying to say something, but no words came out.

He was mouthing, You guys.

The beauty and the lovely young girl only looked at him in innocent bewilderment.

As a matter of fact, the well-favored pair was, quite thoroughly:

Oz (lovely young girl)

and

Break (beauty)

—in the flesh.

Oz, in a dress and natural, barely there makeup, put his lips near Gilbert’s ear.

He whispered:

“Just leave it to us, Gil. She’ll give up after this for sure.”

Gilbert seemed petrified. For a moment, Oz looked perplexed. Then he cracked a mischievous little smile and blew in Gilbert’s ear.

A violent shudder ran through Gilbert from head to toe, unfreezing him. The moment he could move again, he shook Oz and Break off with a completely discombobulated expression, grabbed Dahlia’s wrist a bit roughly, and trotted off down the path, almost running.

“G-Gilbert-sama?!”

Pulled along forcefully by one hand, Dahlia kept glancing behind her.

“A-are you sure it’s all right to leave them? Those two women are—”

…Men! Those are men!!

He’d never be able to say it, Gilbert thought, with tears in his eyes.

After they were out of sight…

Oz slumped, heaving an exhausted sigh. Break massaged his own shoulders, working out the stiffness. Both Oz and Break felt as if they’d given it everything they had.

The Anti-Socialization Plan.

Gilbert had said he’d turn the lady down himself, but Oz and Break had no intention of simply sitting on their hands and watching him.

Gilbert wasn’t used to women. Of course things wouldn’t go well. They couldn’t just leave him to his own devices. They had to help.

Ordinarily, cross-dressing wasn’t anywhere on their list of preferred activities, but even so, they’d carried out their strategy, donning dresses they didn’t want to wear and appearing in front of Gilbert. As Oz, who’d come up with the idea, had said, “This is all to mess with Gil… I mean, to help Gil. If it’s for that, I don’t mind if I get hurt.”

And, since they were doing it anyway, they’d decided to go for broke. They’d quelled their sense of reluctance and shame by brute force.

“By the way, Break,” Oz said.

Break glanced over at him. “Hmm?”

“Was Gil crying?”

At Oz’s words, Break delicately pinched up the frilly skirt of his long dress.

“I’m sure he was moved by our kindness. He can’t have imagined we’d go this far for him, I’d wager.”

“Oh, I see. So that’s what it was…” Oz looked down at himself and nodded, his expression satisfied. “He didn’t have to run, though. Gil’s so bashful. Ah-ha-ha.”

“Isn’t he just. Ha! Ha! Ha!” Break said, laughing airily.

After they’d laughed together for a bit, their faces abruptly went serious, and they exchanged sharp glances.

Then:

“Shall we move on to the next item?”

They grinned.

At last, Gilbert and Dahlia entered the square that held the fountain.

Gilbert was breathing hard. In part, this was because he’d just run a good distance, but most of it was due to his mental upheaval. Beside Gilbert, Dahlia was catching her breath, one hand pressed to her chest.

She didn’t seem as if she exercised much as a rule, and the run might have been hard on her.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert apologized. Dahlia shook her head slightly. Her cheeks were flushed. “Let’s sit on one of the benches and rest.”

At Gilbert’s proposal, Dahlia, still out of breath, said, “I…I’m sorry…May I ask…?”

“Hmm?”

“Those…women, back there…”

Gilbert considered pretending he couldn’t hear. Dahlia went on.

“Was the smaller one…Oz-sama, perhaps?”

She knows?!

Gilbert twitched.

He was sure he hadn’t called Oz’s name back there. Dahlia was very perceptive.

Dahlia looked puzzled; she seemed to be thinking hard. She murmured, “…But why would he dress as a woman…?”

Gilbert had no hope of explaining that one.

6

“……What in the world is that?” Echo muttered.

She’d been following Gilbert and Dahlia on orders from Vincent, and she’d witnessed Oz and Break’s cross-dressing intrusion from beginning to end.

It had been a terrible brouhaha. She’d nearly gotten a headache just watching it. Still, this morning, Vincent had said:

“It’s likely that some odd characters will show up today, too…”

She’d been told as much before she left. On top of that:

“Watch the whole thing closely and report it to me, would you? It should be rather amusing.”

Echo thought she had no idea what was amusing about this.

As Echo watched, Gilbert ran off, pulling Dahlia by the hand. Oz and Break, who’d stayed behind, put their heads together and began whispering. Echo had absolutely no interest whatsoever in finding out what they were talking about.

Echo must go after Gilbert-sama.

With a small nod, Echo launched herself, beginning to leave the shadow of the tree. Just then…

“Hey, Eko-chan! Here, over here!”

“?!?!”

Suddenly hailed by Oz, in spite of her best efforts Echo came very close to falling. She’d been sure she hadn’t been noticed.

Break, sounding thoroughly entertained, chimed in. “We’d like your help. Come on out.”

To Echo’s ears, his voice seemed like venom so lethal it would kill on contact.

7

That night.

After Gilbert parted with Dahlia and returned to his apartment, carrying a shopping bag filled with the makings of dinner…

“Man, Gil, that’s not safe. You forgot to lock up.”

Oz sat up from where he’d been sprawled on the bed, tossing a casual welcome Gilbert’s way.

Gilbert’s eyes went wide with shock. Then, on reflex, he scolded, “You’re the one who’s not being safe!”

He’d thought Oz had gone back to Pandora with Break.

…And yet here he was, in the apartment, by himself.

That meant Oz had walked through town on his own to get here. Apparently nothing had happened, but he could conceivably have run into all manner of trouble.

Oz looked as if he had no idea why Gilbert was yelling at him.

Almost immediately, though, he broke into a proud smile.

“Heh-heh! What did you think of today, Gil?”

“…”

Gilbert’s only response was a weary silence. His shoulders drooped. Then, looking a bit sullen, he walked into the kitchen and set down the shopping bag.

There were a million things he wanted to say, but stupefaction and a feeling of exhaustion weighed on him even more heavily. Even if he opened his mouth, the only thing likely to come out was a sigh.

Oz and Break’s plan had consisted of more than simply surprising Gilbert in drag.

What had followed had had enough force to blow the cross-dressing clean away.

Gilbert and Dahlia had reached the fountain square. Then, right there—

No. He didn’t want to remember. Gilbert shook his head, banishing the scene from his memory.

…They’re terrible. They’re the worst combination ever.

He was gloomily, pessimistically sure of it.

He didn’t even have the energy to get mad. In the kitchen, he made tea for himself and Oz, then handed Oz’s cup to him.

“Thanks,” Oz said, artlessly. He blew on his tea to cool it, then raised the cup to his lips. With a glance at the shopping bag in the kitchen, he said, “What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta. …Or that’s what I was planning on. What would you like?”

“Pasta’s fine. Everything you make is delicious, anyway.”

“…All right. Wait just a bit.”

Nodding in agreement, Gilbert unpacked the shopping bag.

“Did that Dahlia lady give up for you?”

“…”

At Oz’s casual comment, Gilbert fell silent for a moment. Then: “She wasn’t interested in the first place.”

“…Huh.” Oz’s eyes widened slightly.

“We’d already settled things before you two showed up in weird clothes.”

“You had, huh?” Oz muttered. He seemed disappointed. “We had lots of other stuff planned.”

Oz looked up at the ceiling as he spoke.

“So, what, it’s over already…?”

“I’m meeting her tomorrow. We promised when we parted ways today.”

Gilbert’s muttered words brought Oz’s eyes down from the ceiling. He looked straight at Gilbert.

Gilbert slightly averted his gaze from Oz.

“Please don’t cause trouble tomorrow.”

Oz blinked. Then he laughed. “Oh, I see, I see.” Then, in a very nonchalant tone: “Gil, are you getting married?”

Now why did he make that leap?! Gilbert thought, startled. He choked a bit, then realized Oz was teasing.

I knew it, he thought. His mischief-loving master was just having fun with this, using it as a reason to mess with him.

Gilbert scowled a bit.

“…I might. If I did, I’d prefer a lady like her.”

At that…

Oz turned his face away from Gilbert and murmured “—Huhn…” in a small voice.

8

“…And that was what happened.”

Echo had gone to Vincent’s room, late at night, to give him a brief report of the day’s events.

“I see,” Vincent said from the bed, between yawns.

Echo had told him about what Dahlia had done at the Garland mansion (which Echo had been watching since that morning); about Dahlia’s rendezvous with Gilbert; about Oz and Break intruding in drag; and about the rest of Dahlia’s day, from the time she’d said good-bye to Gilbert and returned to the mansion until she’d gone to bed. That was all.

Vincent hadn’t been particularly interested in Oz and Break’s cross-dressing.

“So Gil’s meeting her again, hm…?”

“—Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Fine. That aside… Echo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wasn’t there something else? Something you should tell me…”

“…No, nothing.”

“The Hatter spotted you…trailing him. Didn’t he?”

Vincent spoke as if he’d seen it himself. Echo was speechless.

“Make your report, Echo…”

Vincent’s voice was sleepy and perfectly casual.

Even so, his words held an absolute compulsion for Echo. There was no way she could deceive him. Echo dropped her gaze to the floor as she mentally reviewed the incident she wanted so badly not to remember (and not only because she’d been seen while tailing someone).

The ghastly happening at the park, which she would have loved to wipe from her past.

“We need your help, Eko-chan.”

That was what Oz had said to Echo when she emerged from the shadow of the tree. Naturally, Echo had turned him down without a moment’s hesitation. Oz had looked disappointed and said she could at least hear him out before saying no, but she knew it wasn’t necessary.

She knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

“Echo refuses,” she’d repeated.

“You’re going to be Gilbert-kun’s child!”

Break’s tone had been smooth and assertive. Echo thought, Is this person deranged?

However, speaking in a perfectly calm voice, as if he were discussing matters of universal common sense, Break said, “His illegitimate child, you know. You are a child Gilbert-kun fathered with a working girl. Today, by sheer chance, you’ve happened to see Gilbert-kun in the park, about to get his hooks into a new woman, and you are unable to stand by in silence. Oh, I know, I completely understand how you must feel.”

It made no sense. Echo was convinced it wasn’t “Is this person deranged?” but “This person is deranged.”

“Aristocrats hate scandals like that.”

Oz chimed in after Break.

“If you show up and call Gil ‘Father,’ that lady’s bound to give up on him. I was planning to do it myself, but then Break said you were here today, too. And in that case…”

Echo couldn’t fathom what “in that case” was supposed to mean.

“Gil’s a pushover. He’s never going to be able to turn her down well on his own. …So.”

This was all for Gilbert’s sake, Oz—wearing a dress—said emphatically.

Echo looked at him coldly.

“You are quite clearly enjoying yourself.”

“Ha-ha-ha! No, no, not at all…”

Oz denied the accusation with an expression that said, quite clearly, that he was enjoying himself.

“That’s right,” Break agreed.

“Please, Eko-chan. Do it for my valet!”

“Echo refuses. Echo wants no part of this. It’s impossible. You’re annoying.”

“Don’t be like that!”

Oz leaned forward so that his lightly made-up face was very close to Echo.

Echo averted her gaze.

“Keep that face away from Echo, please. It smells like powder. Echo refuses.”

As she obstinately brushed him aside, Break, who’d somehow managed to get around behind her, clapped his hands onto her shoulders. It didn’t feel as if he was exerting much force, but Echo found herself unable to move. “Let Echo go,” she said. Break pretended not to hear.

“Do help us out, there’s a good girl. You’re perfect for the part. ”

Echo wanted nothing to do with that terrible suggestion. She tried to shake him off by force.

But then:

“Is it all right with you if a woman manipulates and wounds Gilbert-kun?” Break whispered in a very low voice, right next to Echo’s ear. He added, “This is for Gilbert-kun’s sake. Your master would want it as well.”

Echo flinched. It was an awful threat.

Once Vincent was involved, Echo couldn’t say no. She had nowhere to run.

“…Echo will do it.”

Echo responded with deep reluctance.

On seeing Echo cave at a mere whisper from Break, Oz looked curious, but Echo said nothing.

She only glared at Oz—the person responsible for this ridiculous idea—with near-lethal force.

Whether or not Oz was aware of the intent behind that sharp glare, he said, “—Oh, right. I brought some cute little-kid clothes. Wanna wear ’em, Eko-chan?”

Echo most certainly did not, and said so.

However, in the end…

In the bushes, with just the bow from the outfit on her head, Echo received a detailed explanation of the plan. Then she went to stand in front of Gilbert, who was sitting on a bench in the fountain square.

She fixed Gilbert with a stare, and said with all her might, “Fa-Father…!”

The shame and humiliation were so great she thought she might die. Behind the bench where Gilbert and Dahlia sat, Oz and Break peeked out from the bushes and flashed thumbs-up at her: “Good job!” Both wore smiles so bright it made Echo want to murder them.

Gilbert seemed dazed and distracted, more than surprised. When Dahlia said, “Father?” and looked from Echo to Gilbert and back, he leaped up from the bench as if he’d been stung and began scanning the area.

Oz and Break had already retreated into the bushes, but Echo could still feel their eyes on her. She thought she could hear Oz saying, “Go, go, Eko-chan!”

Echo stomped down on her feelings, deciding to get this humiliating farce over with as quickly as possible. Then, in a manner that was actually rather grand, she pointed at Dahlia sharply.

In a perfectly flat monotone, she said, “Father, who is this lady? You’re toying with another woman, aren’t you?”

Dahlia only blinked, stunned.

Looking at Gilbert with a perfectly blank face, Echo told him, “Don’t make any more poor little kids like me.”

With an expression as though he’d just suffered memory loss, Gilbert sat down on the bench with a thump. Dahlia looked at Gilbert. She seemed concerned, and she said something to him, but Echo didn’t catch what it was.

At this point, Break had told her, she was supposed to pretend to cry with all her might, but Echo knew there was no way she could manage something like that.

She was at her limit. There was a lot more to the plan she’d been given, but she skipped all of it and went straight to the end. As the final blow, she said:

“Stupid Father.”

She’d been told to scream it on a sob, but she just delivered the line in the same flat monotone. Then she walked away.

There is no way Echo will ever be able to report this, she’d thought.

“…And that…also happened.”

She’d been forced to report all of it.

Echo had never had a hope of deceiving Vincent.

After hearing her out, Vincent laughed: “Heh-heh-heh.” It was a thoroughly amused laugh.

He laughed for a good while, then said, “I see. That sounds quite entertaining. Did you enjoy yourself…?”

“…No.”

“To think he’d use me to play with you. I mustn’t let him get away with that.”

His tone was indifferent, but the words carried a clear tinge of enmity: A negative emotion strong enough to make Echo shiver involuntarily.

“No, I really can’t let him get away with that. Playing with my ‘things’ without my permission… Isn’t that right, Echo? Don’t you agree…?”

Vincent tossed Echo a question she couldn’t possibly answer. Echo lowered her gaze to the floor in an attempt at escape and stared, silently. She thought he might press the issue, but Vincent seemed to lose interest in her almost immediately. He looked up at the ceiling and muttered, “I see…”

Then, with a significant smile: “He’s meeting her again tomorrow, hmm? —I may just stop by to play, too…”

From his gaze, he seemed to be anticipating something.

9

A big full moon peeked through the window of the apartment.

Gilbert had taken Oz back to Pandora a few hours ago, and now he was alone in his room.

He was sitting up in bed, smoking a cigarette.

As he exhaled smoke, he thought to himself, heavily:

…That was a day and a half.

The attack of the cross-dressers. The sudden “Father” assault.

He was used to Oz and Break’s terrible pranks, yet he felt completely wrung out. What had Dahlia thought during her day with him? …Still, Gilbert thought. He remembered how she’d been during the “illegitimate child” fiasco, and after Echo had left.

For a little while, Dahlia had seemed speechless, but at last she’d smiled.

“You’re surrounded by all sorts of entertaining people, Gilbert-sama.”

The words could have been taken as biting sarcasm, but he was confident that Dahlia’s had been honest and straightforward.

When they parted at nightfall, Dahlia spoke to Gilbert.

“I really…enjoyed this whole day, Gilbert-sama.”

“No, I’m sorry about all the… I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean it. I really did have fun. It’s nice to leave the house and spend time with other people, isn’t it?”

“…Thank you for saying that.”

Although he didn’t put the rest into words, Gilbert felt as if she’d rescued him.

After a day like that, he’d fully expected to hear complaints or grievances.

He’d offered to escort her home, but Dahlia had refused. “Only…” She looked at Gilbert; she seemed to be on the verge of saying something.

“If you don’t mind, could we meet again?”

“Huh?”

“Just as friends, I mean.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. However, he thought, he’d done nothing but cause her trouble the entire day, and thanks to Oz and Break, she’d gotten pulled into all sorts of weird situations. …And had he thanked her and apologized to her enough? He felt he hadn’t even begun.

He had to thank her properly, he thought.

Above all else…

There was a part of him that was rather pleased with the idea of seeing Dahlia again. Even as he noted that particular aspect of himself with surprise, Gilbert answered, “Sure.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. I was sure you’d turn me down.”

As she spoke, Dahlia put a hand to her chest in relief.

They’d decided to meet the next day, at the same place and time as today.

Tomorrow, he’d have to make sure Oz and Break didn’t interfere.

“Come to think of it…”

Gilbert glanced out the window. He thought about what Oz had been like, when they’d parted after he took him back to Pandora.

“Oz seemed…a bit different somehow.”

10

A big full moon shone through the bedroom window.

It was three in the morning.

As Dahlia lay in bed, her eyes blinked open, and she sat up in one smooth motion. She opened the curtains and looked out. Outside the window, moonlight streamed down over the elms. She watched them for a little while, fixedly, as though confirming some shape; then she pushed back the covers, lowering her feet to the floor.

Slipping a cardigan on over her nightclothes, she crossed to the door that opened onto the hall.

Just as her hand touched the knob, there was a knock at the door.

At the same time, from the hallway, a rasping voice spoke: “—Black Widow.”

At the voice, Dahlia flinched, and a shiver ran down her spine. “…Yes,” she answered, hoarsely.

“What are you doing? The gathering is well under way.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

Dahlia glanced back at the window.

“No excuses. You may be sure a fitting punishment awaits you.”

“…I understand.”

“Hurry. The Great Mother is expecting you.”

At those words, Dahlia opened the door.

…But no one was there: Only darkness lurked in the hall. It was as if it had always been that way. Not even the ghost of a presence remained. For a little while, Dahlia gazed into the darkness, accustoming her eyes to it. At last she sighed.

“Gilbert-sama,” she murmured. “I’m sure you’ll…”

Letting her words trail off in midsentence, Dahlia disappeared down the hall.

11

The next day.

“The same place and time as yesterday… How very stodgy of you, Gilbert-kun.”

Break spoke from the shadows of the bushes in the park.

It was a little before noon. Gilbert stood waiting, alone, at the spot he and Dahlia had decided on yesterday. Oz was sitting on the grass beside Break. The two of them had followed Gilbert to the park again.

“Uh-huh,” Oz responded, listlessly. He was sitting with his back to Gilbert, as if he didn’t want to see.

“—?”

Break glanced at Oz.

“What’s wrong, Oz-kun?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing.”

Oz ducked the question. Break said “Hmm…” He seemed to be pondering something. Oz stared blankly up at the sky. It was a beautifully clear day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Even so, as Oz looked at it, his expression seemed vaguely glum.

“Oz-kun. Mistress Dahlia seems to be late. Gilbert-kun is fidgeting.”

“Huh.”

“You don’t seem very interested in this today.”

“—That’s not it…”

At Break’s words, Oz changed positions, glancing in Gilbert’s direction.

Beyond the gap in the bushes, far away, Gilbert stood, obviously waiting for someone.

He seemed a bit restless; he was glancing down at his pocket watch, concerned about the time, and searching for Dahlia, and looking into the distance.

Letting his gaze rest absently on Gilbert, Oz muttered, “So. Gil.”

“???” Break cocked his head, perplexed by Oz’s murmur.

“What sort of woman do you think he likes?”

Oz’s words had been quite casual. “Hmm,” Break said. “Well, I expect he’s not comfortable with ‘strong women.’ Our Gilbert-kun is quite the pushover, you know.”

“He sure is.”

“He’s not much good with talkative women either, or women who wear flashy clothes. …I’d assume he’d be interested in the opposite sort.”

“—But the Dahlia lady was exactly like that.”

Oz thought back.

Yesterday, he’d come into close contact with Dahlia. The woman had seemed slender, fragile, and modest. When he’d seen her and Gilbert standing next to each other, he’d even thought, They look good together.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow,” they’d promised when they parted.

Gilbert had said the socialization issue had been shelved. He’d said Dahlia hadn’t been interested in the first place, either.

It was probably the usual story: Dahlia’s parents had pushed the deal through on their own. …Yet even so, they were meeting again.

What did they mean by it?

A completely physical relationship with no illusions on either part… No. No way. Couldn’t happen.

Not even if the world turned inside out.

Oz was well aware that Gilbert wasn’t the kind of person who could do something like that. If Gilbert did somehow manage it, Oz thought he’d actually be impressed, in a way.

If it wasn’t that, then what was it?

Of course, although they were master and valet, Gilbert could do anything he wanted in his private life.

It’s nothing I should be criticizing, but —

As Oz thought, next to him, Break gave a small snort of laughter.

Oz sent a hard, sidelong glance at him.

“What…?”

“Noooooo, no, absolutely nothing at all.”

Break had a shameless smile on his face.

“That’s really annoying.”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh…”

“Uwah, this old guy is seriously creeeepyyyy…”

Oz lobbed an insult at the smirking Break, but he was aware that he was fumbling a bit.

Those requests for permission to socialize with Gilbert.

Those were something Gilbert had experienced during that ten-year blank, the years Oz knew nothing about.

His valet-baiting hobby wasn’t the only reason Oz had gotten involved in this anti-socialization strategy. There’d been a kind of delight in it, as though he was getting to interact with the Gilbert from those missing ten years.

But. Still.

“Gil, are you getting married?”

He’d only meant to tease him a little.

“…I might. If I did, I’d prefer a lady like her.”

Gilbert’s expression had been sullen when he said that. Oz thought he’d probably just been rising to the bait, accepting the fight Oz had picked with him. In that case, he should have just been able to wolf-whistle and make fun of him. Instead, for a moment, he’d found himself speechless.

Ever since then, his heart had been full of something murky and uncomfortable.

Oz’s gaze dropped to the grass at his feet.

Just then:

Tunk.

As Oz sat lost in thought, Break tapped him lightly on the forehead with a loose fist.

On reflex, Oz looked at Break; he was clearly annoyed. There hadn’t been any pain, but he rubbed his forehead anyway.

“I told you, Break, don’t tease me.”

When Break spoke, although his voice was still teasing, there was something thoughtful in it.

“You’re an intelligent boy. Buuut…”

“—”

“…I see you’re still clumsy when it comes to yourself.”

Break spoke as if he’d seen through everything, and Oz tried to come up with some kind of retort. However, before he could:

“Well, now. What do you suppose Gilbert-kun is up to?”

As if drawn by Break’s words, Oz looked in that direction.

Gilbert had just given up on waiting for Dahlia and begun walking. He seemed to be headed out of the park.

“Planning to go to the Garland residence, I’d wager,” Break said, and Oz nodded.

Dahlia still hadn’t appeared, and he probably intended to ask after her at her house.

As he gazed at Gilbert’s profile, Oz muttered, “…Gil looks really upset.”

…Has something happened to Dahlia?

As he headed for the park gate, Gilbert thought. It was easy to imagine that something might have happened. Dahlia’s father, the head of the Garland family, had engineered this request to socialize; Gilbert had turned it down, and Dahlia had accepted his refusal. Dahlia hadn’t been interested in the idea in the first place, which had saved Gilbert and ended the matter. Yesterday, they’d killed plenty of time together before they parted, just in case, but…

There was no guarantee that Dansen, the head of the Garland family, had accepted the situation quietly.

When Dahlia had returned home, she might have been forced to shoulder the blame somehow.

Dahlia had been charged with the duty of joining her family to one of the four great dukedoms. However, she had not done so, and on top of that, she’d planned to meet a member of the Nightray family again as a “friend.” On learning of this, Dansen might have forbidden his daughter from going out.

If that was the case, what should Gilbert do?

It’s my fault, not hers! I’ve got to tell him that…

He couldn’t see her socially, let alone marry her. There was no changing that, no matter how nice Dahlia was. He didn’t know how much good it would do for him to go to the Garland residence when he’d already reached that conclusion.

…Even so. This time, he had to tell them clearly, by himself, without flinching.

I—

Yesterday, Dahlia had saved him right and left, and he hadn’t done anything manly in front of her. That made him even more determined to succeed this time. Gilbert strode along, backed by an enthusiastic aura that seemed out of place on him.

I’m…going!

Behind him, Oz and Break had begun to tail him, but Gilbert completely failed to notice.

12

On the outskirts of Reveil, Gilbert hurried down a lane that wound through an elm forest.

…There was no wind. The forest was silent.

Finally, Gilbert’s field of vision opened up, and as he left the forest, the Garland mansion came into view. For the main residence of an aristocratic family, the building wasn’t very large. However, although old, its appearance exuded solidity and respectability, as if it were a clear physical expression of the Garland family’s long history and honorable traditions.

Possibly because the elm forest made them unnecessary, no wall circled the mansion, and there was no gate. He examined the building from a distance, but all the curtains in all the rooms were closed, and from the outside he couldn’t tell which room was Dahlia’s. Wordlessly, Gilbert walked up to the front door.

Standing before the door, he took a deep breath, then tugged on the bellpull that hung beside it.

There was no immediate response; Gilbert was forced to wait for a while.

Just when he was beginning to wonder if he should try calling inside, the door opened with a long, low creeeeak.

“—May I inquire who is calling?”

A rasping voice challenged him from somewhere quite low down. It belonged to an elderly man in a threadbare black suit.

The man was small to begin with, and on top of that, his back was terribly hunched, so his head was low. The upturned gaze he directed at Gilbert clung to him clammily; it seemed more appraising than suspicious.

Although he felt rather repulsed, Gilbert spoke resolutely. “I am Gilbert Nightray of the House of Nightray. Is Miss Dahlia Garland at home?”

“…Hmm. What business might you have with the young mistress, sir?”

Gilbert had introduced himself as a member of one of the four great dukedoms, and yet the Garland family’s butler didn’t seem overawed in the least. On the contrary: With an air of superficially polite insolence, he had answered Gilbert’s question with one of his own.

Gilbert made no attempt to sugarcoat the matter. “We’d promised to meet today, but she never arrived.”

He’d come to see if she was all right, he said.

At that, in a gesture that seemed vaguely theatrical, the butler bowed his already low head even lower.

“My humblest apologies. I see. So that is what occurred.”

“Is she feeling ill?”

The butler answered Gilbert’s question with a slight, high-pitched chuckle.

“Lady Dahlia began feeling poorly late last night. She has taken to her bed. She has always been rather frail, and this sort of thing is not unusual… I regret that we were unable to contact you.”

Instinctively, Gilbert felt that this might be a lie. However, he didn’t have anything substantial enough to make the other man change his tune.

Gilbert asked for permission to pay her a short get-well visit, but the butler turned him down firmly, although his tone was still polite.

“…In that case…” Finding himself stalemated already, Gilbert pressed on. “Could I pay my respects to the head of the household?”

“Dansen-sama will see no one. He is not fond of people, you understand. If you really must see him, you will have to put in a request in advance. …We cannot, of course, accommodate those who are ill-mannered enough to demand that the master present himself because they are unable to see the young mistress.”

“Nrgh. Well, I…”

Gilbert was at a loss as to how to respond. Of course, the butler had the more logical argument.

Should he turn back for now, or force his way through?

Gilbert was torn.

Just then, there was a clatter somewhere overhead, from an upper story, and immediately afterward—

He heard a faint noise. No, a voice.

A voice so thin and weak it could easily have been mistaken for the wind.

Gilbert started.

Someone had called his name in a pleading tone, as if asking for help… Or so he felt.

That’s Dahlia’s voice.

Possibly the butler hadn’t heard it. He seemed perplexed by Gilbert’s abruptly sharp expression.

In a corner of his mind, Gilbert thought, This is going to create a big hassle later. …Still. Either way, I—

At this late date, it wouldn’t bother him one bit to be treated like any more of a black sheep by aristocratic society, or by the House of Nightray itself.

Gilbert’s lips curved into a faint, fearless smile.

“Sorry. I’m coming in.”

With that brief statement, he stepped into the mansion, pushing the butler aside. Beyond the door was a modest entry hall, and a large staircase that led to the second floor was directly in front of him. The butler put out a hand to catch his arm, saying, “Please, sir, you mustn’t,” but Gilbert shook him off and made for the staircase.

In a normal aristocratic household, behavior like this would likely have brought the guards down on him. However, the mansion was so quiet that there might have been no other people in it. Once he’d freed himself from the butler, no one barred Gilbert’s way.

He climbed the stairs, calling “Dahlia” as he went.

Once he reached the second floor, at the top of the stairs, he knew right away:

Through the door of one of the rooms, he could hear a weeping voice.

It was Dahlia’s voice, calling his name.

Quickly, he went to the door. The possibility that it might be locked crossed his mind, but when he twisted the knob, it opened easily. Dahlia stood beyond the door, dressed in a thin negligee. When she saw Gilbert, her eyes went wide and she fell silent.

Her eyes were red and bloodshot.

Gilbert didn’t know what to say to her, and for a short while, he was silent, too.

“You…came,” Dahlia said.

She seemed to have mixed feelings about that. Her tone wasn’t one of simple delight.

Gilbert glanced at the door.

“Your father?” he asked, briefly.

Dahlia nodded, uncomfortably. Gilbert continued. “Please let me speak to him. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Won’t you come in?”

Dahlia took a step back, inviting Gilbert into her room. Possibly she had something to discuss with Gilbert before taking him to see her father.

Large bookshelves took up most of the wall space in Dahlia’s room. She had said she loved books, and her room reflected this. She’d mentioned that she liked mystery novels, but all the books wore covers, and the titles weren’t visible.

As Gilbert gazed at the bookshelves, he noticed a faint fragrance.

This room smells nice…

A sweet aroma hung in the air, as though Dahlia were wearing perfume, or burning incense.

“I’ll make tea.”

At a small table in the center of the room, Dahlia tilted a pot and began to pour tea.

“Oh, sure. Thank you.”

“Do you take milk?”

“That’s fine.”

“I can add a drop of brandy if you’d like.”

“No, I don’t really—”

Was it his imagination? Dahlia, who’d been crying just a moment ago, now sounded as if she were in high spirits.

That’s strange, Gilbert thought.

However, as if erased by the sweet scent, the doubt faded in his mind. Dahlia approached, cup in hand, and held it out to him. “Here you are.”

Gilbert took it obligingly—or tried to take it. For some reason, his fingers were unsteady, and he very nearly dropped it. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s all right,” Dahlia said shyly. “Go on.”

As Dahlia urged him to drink, Gilbert had a vague sense that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

He took a small sip.

Dahlia was watching him, steadily.

…………? Something’s…funny—

Before he knew it, all the strength had gone out of his legs. He staggered, falling to his knees on the carpet. His senses were hazy, as though he were dreaming. The cup fell to the floor, and he fell after it, but there was no pain. Strident alarm bells were ringing in his head.

However, his body wouldn’t listen to him, and even his mind was fading, disappearing beyond the mist.

“For the Great Mother—”

Dahlia’s murmur was the last thing Gilbert heard before he lost consciousness.

A short while later.

A carriage departed from the rear of the Garland mansion, bound for the center of Reveil.

The coachman was the small, elderly butler.

Inside the black carriage, Dahlia sat in one of the two facing seats.

A prone form wrapped in a white sheet lay on the other.

13

“Sooo…What next?”

Break spoke from the shadow of a tree trunk in the elm forest that surrounded the Garland mansion. Oz, who’d watched the carriage drive away down the lane from the shadow of the next trunk over, looked back at Break. His eyes seemed to ask, What’s going on?

“Sorry. I’m coming in.”

Oz had seen Gilbert push the butler aside and force his way into the mansion after he’d been denied a meeting with Dahlia.

The sight had made him wonder if Gilbert was serious. If this was how things were, there was no place for the Anti-Socialization Plan. Break had said, “My, my, Gilbert-kun, how manly of you…” and seemed to be enjoying himself, but Oz couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

Now a carriage had left the mansion.

From what I saw, it didn’t look like Gil was inside, but…

He’d only caught a brief glimpse through the carriage’s small window; he might have missed seeing him. He’d seen only Dahlia in the carriage.

Had Dahlia left Gilbert in the mansion and gone out alone? …That would have been unnatural.

“Dahlia Garland, aged nineteen, only daughter of Dansen Garland, the head of the Garland family.”

As he spoke, his voice matter-of-fact, Break stepped from the shadow of his tree trunk onto the lane that ran through the forest.

Oz followed Break out onto the lane. He gazed down it, as though he were watching the carriage that was already out of sight.

“Night Butterfly,” Break murmured.

“Night…Butterfly? What’s that?” Oz echoed Break’s words, puzzled.

“The name of a boutique just off the high street. It doesn’t carry famous brands, but it does have a wide array of dresses designed to appeal to fancy madams. From what I hear, business is fairly good. I’ve seen a few at parties, and they’re quiiiiiite…”

“‘Quite’ what?”

“Gaping décolletage, you know. Like this. They’re dresses created to tempt men.”

As Break explained, with gestures, Oz’s face went rather red.

“They’re also designed to be quite easy to take off.”

Oz choked a little.

The topic was a bit too much for someone who hadn’t yet climbed the stairway to adulthood.

“S-so what?! Why bring that up now?!”

“Dahlia’s never been one for going out. For the past six months, however, she’s been spotted entering and leaving Night Butterfly frequently… And it isn’t as though she’s started attending parties.”

As the conversation unexpectedly connected with the subject at hand, Oz had no idea what to say. However, at Break’s next words, his expression suddenly changed.

“Besides. There are dark rumors about the proprietress of Night Butterfly.”

“…Such as?”

“That the proprietress is running a secret club under the boutique. That, although they call it a club, they actually conduct antisocial devil worship— And that, in that case, it resembles a black magic cabal, or something along those lines. Of course…”

Break paused for a moment.

“Dahlia may be involved. …Perhaps.”

Oz felt seriously uneasy. At the same time, he had a few questions.

“Break, why…? When did you check into that?”

Break’s answer was casual. “Gilbert-kun did come to me for advice about it, you know. I’ve always done at least that much for him.”

He’d had fun messing with Gilbert, but behind the scenes, he’d run proper investigations on the other parties. That did sound like Break, but Oz wasn’t quite satisfied.

“In that case, you could have told me about it, too.”

“But you didn’t ask me. —Not about Dahlia’s past. ”

At Break’s unabashed answer, Oz’s shoulders slumped. It was entirely possible that, while Break had had fun toying with Gilbert, he’d been entertaining himself by watching Oz as well. Oz glared at Break. He considered making a sarcastic comment, but decided against it.

If what Break said was true…

“Wait, then, Dahlia might be…”

“Exactly. You can’t judge by appearances. …It’s possible there was some intent behind her approach to Gilbert-kun.”

By “intent,” he didn’t mean “socialization with an eye to marriage”…

When his thoughts had taken him that far, Oz realized that something felt off. What had Gilbert told him the night before?

He’d said the request to socialize wasn’t something Dahlia herself had wanted. Her father, the head of the Garland family, had planned it.

When he mentioned this to Break, Break responded with a short, “Oh, that.” Then he said, “Master Dansen is no longer with us. He passed away about six months ago.”

14

The faint hiss of burning candlewicks.

Gilbert awoke, surfacing into a dull headache.

He seemed to have been blindfolded with some sort of cloth: His field of vision was pitch-black. He could tell that he was seated in a chair. His arms and legs had been lashed to the chair’s arms and legs, and he couldn’t move them at all. —He’d been tied up.

He’d had tea in Dahlia’s room, and then he’d collapsed.

That was as far as Gilbert’s memories went.

Where…am I?

He’d awakened to find himself a prisoner.

Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been odd for someone in his situation to feel confused or frantic, but Gilbert was calm.

He might have had a headache, but his thoughts were sharp and clear.

He didn’t immediately raise his voice. Instead, he used his free senses to explore his surroundings. In the air, he caught the lingering scent of blood. When he listened carefully, he heard faint breathing, as though several people were watching and waiting. They had Gilbert surrounded. Was Dahlia among them? He couldn’t tell that much. …But.

…She set me up?

Why? He didn’t know.

He was fairly sure that Dahlia had mixed a sleeping potion into his tea.

On top of that, the sweet fragrance that had hung in Dahlia’s room had probably been a type of incense, compounded to dull the senses. Something to keep him from noticing the drug in his tea… In that case, her methods had been meticulous and sophisticated. It meant she’d counted on Gilbert coming to the mansion from the very beginning.

At length, he heard one sharp footstep, and someone addressed him. “Are you awake, chosen ‘sacrifice’?”

The voice was a woman’s…but not Dahlia’s. It wasn’t a voice he recognized.

Although it was superficially cool, a dark fanaticism lurked deep within it.

In an indifferent tone, without flinching in the slightest, Gilbert asked a question of his own:

“So you’re the ringleader?”

“I’ll thank you to refrain from using that boorish term. —Call me the ‘Great Mother.’”

“That’s quite a name.” Gilbert sounded mildly disgusted.

“Heh-heh! You’re a steady one. I suppose I’d expect no less from a son of Nightray.”

Gilbert was a bit startled.

Did the woman know what it meant to do harm to one of the four families, to whom the crown had granted vast authority? On top of that, even among the four, the House of Nightray’s position was unique. Did she know how serious a matter it was to lay hands on a Nightray?

From the woman’s words, he could tell that she did know, and had done so anyway.

Clack, clack. The woman’s footsteps approached Gilbert.

“That is precisely what makes you a worthy offering for our god.”

As she spoke, the woman’s hands twined around the back of Gilbert’s head, and the blindfold fell away.

Gilbert found himself looking at a woman’s enraptured face. She seemed to be somewhere between thirty and forty.

Although her features were regular, they gave the impression of being somehow warped. The fault lay in her eyes. They were the eyes of one in the thrall of a mad obsession. Her showy, provocative dress clashed oddly with the old book she carried carefully under her arm.

The woman leaned in close to Gilbert, as if she meant to kiss him.

However, Gilbert ignored her and glanced quickly around the room. It was a stone chamber, and not very large. From the absence of windows, he guessed it was underground. Seven or eight women stood solemnly along the walls.

Among them, he found Dahlia.

“Dahlia.”

When he called her name, briefly, she gave a small gasp and averted her face. Gilbert returned his gaze to the woman in front of him.

“Was Dahlia acting on your orders?”

“She was. She’s known as ‘Black Widow’ here.” The woman smiled.

Black Widow. A type of venemous spider.

It was a byname, Gilbert thought. Like his “Raven.”

His brother Vincent’s words flitted through his mind. All women are venemous spiders.

He put off thinking about that until later, focused on the woman in front of him, and continued. “From the very beginning, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Her smile widened, and the woman began to speak proudly. She told Gilbert she’d researched him, studying him thoroughly to discover what sort of woman would be able to create a vulnerability in his heart.

She’s not wrong. Gilbert suppressed a bitter smile. If she’d needed a woman to ensnare Gilbert, Dahlia had been the perfect choice.

I sure am calm, aren’t I…? Gilbert thought, laughing at himself a little. I guess I really do belong to “this side” of the world—

More than he did to the bright world of marriage and socialization, of proper relationships.

Here he was, able to maintain an incredible calm.

It was equally true that, somewhere deep down, a part of him regretted having that ability. …But.

“And yet, this foolish child!”

Interrupting Gilbert’s thoughts, the woman spoke loudly, her tone acidic. She approached Dahlia.

As Dahlia flinched, shrinking back, the woman slapped her across the face with all her might. The dull sound echoed through the stone chamber. The blow had been powerful enough to send the delicate Dahlia reeling, but she only apologized in a faint voice: “I’m very sorry.”

As the woman pressed a hand over Dahlia’s neck, making her wince in agony, she glanced at Gilbert.

“When it came to snaring you, she hesitated. Such a nuisance.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened slightly.

“This after I told her I’d resurrect her precious father through the power of our god.”

“Her father?”

At Gilbert’s murmur, the woman began to speak, her face suffused with a sense of superiority.

“Ah! I see you didn’t know. The girl’s father passed away six months ago. He’s long gone. Well, of course you wouldn’t have known: She hasn’t told anyone about it. An only child and her only parent… The affection that bound them to one another must have been incredibly deep.”

The woman—the Great Mother—had been constantly searching for devotees to serve her god, and one of the believers had noticed that Dahlia seemed strange. She’d approached her, and Dahlia had come to the Great Mother in search of a miracle, becoming a believer.

“A miracle?”

At Gilbert’s muttered words, the Great Mother laughed. “That’s right, that’s what she wanted! —Oh, shall I tell you? In one of the rooms of that mansion you visited lies—”

“Don’t! Please!” Dahlia screamed, as though the woman had found an emotional wound she didn’t want touched.

“—Lies her father’s corpse, even now! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

With an expression as if she was fighting back pain, Dahlia desperately averted her face from Gilbert.

“Is that true, Dahlia?”

Dahlia didn’t answer Gilbert’s question.

Her silence spoke volumes.

It was the truth.

“And she wants it brought back to life. What a warped, foolish wish!” The Great Mother went on, sounding thoroughly amused. “But our god is merciful. The wishes of greedy fools! The prayers of guilty sinners! No doubt he will accept them both equally!”

“—Stop.”

Gilbert’s voice was low. He hadn’t spoken roughly, but his voice stopped the Great Mother’s words cold.

After hearing the words “our god,” “sacrifice,” and “offering,” he didn’t even have to ask what the women were. They were fanatics who worshipped an evil god, rather than the globally prevalent angel religion.

Not that Gilbert had the slightest shred of belief in either one.

What really existed in this world were “demons.” Grotesque beings who took advantage of the darkness, desires, and weakness in human hearts, made contracts with them, and destroyed them. They were called Chains.

These women should have been thanking their god for the fact that they’d come this far without attracting a Chain.

“I’m saying this for your own good. Let me go. …And quit doing this ridiculous stuff immediately.”

Gilbert really had said it for the women’s sake.

“You’re certainly calm.”

The Great Mother sounded amused, but there was an edge of irritation to her voice.

In a situation this tame—

If it came down to it, he could easily turn the tables by summoning the Chain he was contracted to. Of course, even without going that far, he could tell at a glance that the women were amateurs when it came to fights. There was nothing here to make Gilbert anxious or uneasy.

“Could it be that you don’t understand?” The Great Mother sounded mildly appalled. She released Dahlia, returning to stand in front of Gilbert. “If so, you’re rather dull-witted.”

As she spoke, she took the book from under her arm and held it lovingly to her breast. Then, in a soft, coaxing voice: “Fu-fu-fu. You are a true sacrifice, chosen through the words of the scriptures.”

“I’ll admit to being slow on the uptake, but I had picked up on that part,” Gilbert replied crossly.

“Your soul will be held fast in the arms of our god, never to return. —Your flesh and blood will serve to nourish him.”

The Great Mother seemed intoxicated by her own words. She was actually trembling. Gilbert stared at her coldly, seeing a woman who’d drowned in the darkness of her heart. Then, without looking at Dahlia, he spoke to her.

“Dahlia, what about you?”

At Gilbert’s question, Dahlia only looked down. “…I’m sorry,” she murmured.

So that’s it, Gilbert thought. He heaved a small sigh, although his neck was still restrained.

The Great Mother didn’t even think it suspicious that Gilbert, her captive, was perfectly composed. She continued, enraptured. “Now then, let’s slit your throat. Hollow out your chest. Offer your life to our god.”

She took a knife from her bosom and held it to Gilbert’s neck. The blade broke the skin; beads of blood welled up. For a moment, Dahlia started to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The Great Mother whispered to Gilbert, gently, madly, “Go on. Tremble. Fear. That is what—”

“Shut up.”

Gilbert slipped one of his hands free of its bonds, pulled a handgun from his inside pocket, and held it to the Great Mother’s forehead, right between her eyes.

Possibly because they’d assumed Dahlia’s incense and potion would keep Gilbert from moving easily for a while, they’d bound him carelessly, and they hadn’t even taken his gun. It was as if the thought that their sacrifice might strike back had never crossed their minds.

He’d been roundly underestimated.

It’s a complete farce.

His thoughts were cool.

He didn’t even feel like wasting lead on opponents like these.

Gilbert said, simply but sharply:

“Unfortunately, my flesh and blood belong to Oz.”

Just as he spoke, the door to the stone chamber flew open with a bang.

Then a voice he knew very well said:

“—Gil!”

15

A short while ago. Back when Gilbert was still tied to the chair, asleep.

“…Uwah, they really are flashy. Hey, this one’s see-through.”

Just off Reveil’s high street, Oz—muttering—peered into the show window of the high-class boutique Night Butterfly. Behind him, Break responded: “What did I tell you?” At his feet lay the Garland family’s butler. He’d been put out of commission with one karate chop from Break.

When Oz and Break reached the boutique, the butler had been standing by the door, obviously waiting for someone. As Oz approached the door, the butler had drawn a handgun from an inner pocket— Or rather, he had been attempting to do so when Break struck. He’d gone down quite easily.

“Are we going in through there, Break?”

Oz pointed to the door beside the show window.

Break said, “Let’s see…” He looked thoughtful. “There does seem to be a back door, but that sounds like work. Why not just go in through the front?”

Oz nodded, then looked up at the boutique’s sign that hung over his head.

After the carriage had left the Garland residence, Oz and Break had sneaked into the deserted mansion and looked for Gilbert. However, they hadn’t found him anywhere. That meant the natural thing was to assume he’d been bundled into that carriage.

Having determined the most likely destination was Night Butterfly, they’d visited the shop.

“Still…” Oz murmured. He sounded impressed. “I never thought they’d have their hideout here, right in the middle of town.”

“The best place to hide a tree is in a forest. If you want to hide a person, use a crowd.”

Break sounded as if it wasn’t unusual at all.

By making the place appear to be a high-class boutique on the surface, it would naturally attract noble ladies.

If the proprietress was the leader of an evil organization and was hoping to increase her power, she’d been wise to target the women of the aristocracy. If she managed to involve them, she’d have vast amounts of money at her disposal, and they’d only improve her camouflage in public spheres.

Oz stood in front of the door and quietly grasped the knob. He tried to turn it, but of course it was locked.

When he looked back, Break had a small key pinched between his fingers and was waggling it at him.

Break glanced at the butler, who was collapsed at his feet, and smiled. “Borrowed it. ”

Oz took the key and slipped it into the door’s keyhole. He turned it. Click. He pulled the knob, and the door opened.

No sound came from inside. The shop seemed deserted.

Without turning, Oz spoke to Break. “Okay, Break. Let’s go.”

“—Onii-chan?”

As if replying for Break, a voice cut in from the side. Huh? Oz thought.

It was a voice he should never have heard in a place like this.

Oz’s gaze darted toward its source. …It was his little sister, Ada. Not only that, but she didn’t even have her maid with her. She was all alone, here in this back lane. Startled and worried, Oz forgot his own position and involuntarily raised his voice.

“Ada, what do you think you’re doing in a place like this, all by yourself?! That’s dangerous!”

Ada’s shoulders quivered under the angry scolding.

At the same time, Oz came back to himself with a jolt. He’d remembered exactly what he was in the middle of doing. He shot a flustered look in Break’s direction, but the prone form of the butler at his feet had vanished. With a conjuror’s dexterity, Break had apparently flung the man into the shadows somewhere.

As was only to be expected, Break’s expression was slightly troubled, but his eyes said, This one’s all yours, Oz-kun.

As unhappy as Oz was to have the situation dropped in his lap, it was true that, as Ada’s big brother, he was the one who should handle it.

He turned to face Ada again. The sight of her big brother’s anger had clearly made her nervous.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, Ada. I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

When Oz apologized, Ada shook her head. There must be a reason Ada’s in a place like this, all by herself, Oz thought.

Then his gaze abruptly went to the boutique, and the shock hit him like a ton of bricks. He looked back at her.

“Ada, don’t tell me… Are you planning to buy something from this place?”

To the point where she’d go on the sly, taking the risk of walking around on her own—

His little sister had certainly grown a lot, but still, it was much, much too early for this. As her big brother, Oz couldn’t accept it.

Your Onii-chan won’t stand for it! That was how he felt.

At Oz’s words, Ada glanced at the show window, took in the display of provocative dresses, and blushed bright red.

Hastily, she looked back at Oz, saying, “N-no. No!” and waving her hands wildly. She told him that she’d come to town with her maid to do some shopping and had seen her big brother leaving the high street for a back alley. Without thinking, she’d left her maid behind and run after him.

“Oh, was that all,” Oz said, sighing with relief.

This time, it was Ada’s turn to ask. With several little nervous glances at the show window, she said, “…What about you, Onii-chan? Were you buying a dress to give to someone…?”

Oz burst out laughing.

“N-n-no! And anyway, I like younger, more innocent-looking dresses—”

“But you were on your way in…weren’t you?”

Oz didn’t know what to say.

His real intentions were different…but he couldn’t tell his sister that.

He glanced at Break, who was silently mouthing, We don’t have time to stand around chatting! at him. I know that! Oz retorted with his eyes.

He had to get Ada away from here somehow. He didn’t want to drag her into this.

However, she was already suspicious—either that, or immensely curious.

If he didn’t talk her around very cleverly, she might follow them inside—

“Well, uh, you see. Someone asked me to come here, to…to pick something up. That’s all.”

“Who?”

Oz found himself at a loss again. He thought hard and fast. Finally,

I’m sorry!

With a silent apology, he said, “For Uncle. Uncle Oscar.” He gave a strained little smile.

“Uncle Oscar…?”

“That’s right. He’s sending it to someone… A lady. But it sounds as if he doesn’t want word to get around, so… Could you pretend you didn’t see me? Pretend you didn’t see anything, Ada, and get away from the boutique. I bet your maid’s looking for you anyway. All right?”

At last, after hearing Oz through, Ada nodded timidly. Her cheeks were red. What was going through her mind? With another glance at the show window, Ada murmured, “To think Uncle Oscar had someone to give dresses like these to…”

If Uncle Oscar finds out about this, he may actually kill me, Oz thought. However, for now, all that mattered was getting himself through this situation.

“Oh, um, ummm, then, I’ll be…going.”

“R-right. Sorry, Ada.”

As Ada left, awkwardly, Oz gave her an equally awkward wave. As Oz watched her go, Break came up beside him.

“Well done,” he said, but Oz couldn’t bring himself to be completely happy about that. Once again, Break put his hand on the knob, opened the door, and slipped into the boutique.

Oz hastily followed him.

The shop was hung with gaudy dresses on display, but the lights were off, and the place was filled with a dreary gloom. As the two of them entered, their footsteps were the only sound.

“There’s no one here.”

At Oz’s murmur, Break nodded.

“They couldn’t know who might come in. If they kidnapped Gilbert-kun, no matter what they’re plotting, they wouldn’t do it in the shop. There must be a secret room somewhere…and there should be a passage that leads to it. Come, let’s look.”

“Look where?”

Oz glanced around the shop. He sounded a bit bewildered.

The shop also held undergarments meant to be worn under dresses. Like the dresses themselves, the styles were universally bold and provocative. It was a bit much for Oz—ever since he’d entered the boutique, it hadn’t felt quite safe to look at anything.

“What are you blushing about?” Break looked mildly disgusted. “Underwear no one’s worn yet is just cloth.”

Even then, boys’ hearts are such that they can’t easily make that distinction.

Oz began searching the boutique’s interior. In order to inspect the walls, he parted the dresses and undergarments that hung on them. Possibly because the shop catered to the aristocracy, the materials used were of fine quality, and Oz kept catching himself admiring the textures.

Finally, Break noticed a suspicious join in the wall of a fitting room. That section of the wall proved to be a hidden door, and when they opened it, they discovered a set of stairs leading underground.

The two of them descended in the darkness. The stairs led down to a stone corridor that stretched away in three directions: right, left, and straight ahead.

Candleholders topped by small, wavering flames were mounted on the corridor walls at fixed intervals. Thanks to that, they had no trouble seeing.

“This is a really big basement.”

Oz sounded surprised; he’d assumed they’d find one or two underground rooms at most.

“It does look as if it cost a pretty penny. Financed by the ladies of the aristocracy, I suspect.”

“So…it’s an underground temple?”

The problem was which of the three corridors they should take. Which one held Gilbert?

“Well, let’s start from the front,” Break said, carelessly.

And so…

“—Gil!”

Gilbert was aghast, both at the voice which called him as the door to the stone chamber opened, and by the sight of Oz entering the room immediately after.

Up until now, he’d kept his cool, but his surprise made him momentarily vulnerable. The Great Mother didn’t let that chance pass her by. Three of Gilbert’s limbs were still tied to the chair, and she threw her weight against it, tipped it over, and spun around, fleeing the room through a different door from the one Oz and Break had entered by.

A confused cry rose from the women who’d been left behind, including Dahlia, but they seemed unable to move. It was possible that none of them understood the situation.

Gilbert, who’d toppled over with the chair, had hit his head in the wrong place; as he watched Oz come running to him, he felt dizzy.

“Oz, what… Why…?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’! I’m your master, you’re my valet. Of course I’d show up when you’re in trouble!”

It’s supposed to be the other way around, thought Gilbert. …But this was the Oz he knew.

Oz crouched down beside the fallen Gilbert, hastily trying to untie his legs and other hand. Briefly, Gilbert told him, “Don’t bother.” He turned the muzzle of his gun on the chair and fired repeatedly, destroying the armrest and legs. Completely freed of his bonds, he got to his feet.

With the exception of Dahlia—who stood where she was, dazed—the women had gathered in a corner of the room and were huddled together, trembling.

Ignoring the women for the time being, Gilbert turned back to Oz and Break.

“You two—”

He looked at Oz, then at Break.

From Break’s composed expression, Gilbert could tell he already knew everything. Break gave a teasing smile and said, “We were worried about you, Gilbert-kun! ” in a tone that made it obvious that he hadn’t been worried at all.

…Tch. Gilbert clicked his tongue, softly.

“Say, Gil?” Oz glanced at the door the Great Mother had vanished through. “Who was the lady that ran off?”

“!” At those words, Gilbert gulped slightly. “The one who was pulling the strings behind all this. I’ve got to go after her.”

Gilbert’s voice was grim, but Break remained easygoing to the last. “Ohhh, I doubt that will be necessary.”

What was that supposed to mean? Oz and Gilbert both looked at him. Break tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, and spoke. His tone was joking, but there was an edge to it.

“—We can leave the rest to ‘them.’”

“Them?” Gilbert echoed, but Break didn’t explain further.

As if taking advantage of the blind spot in Gilbert’s consciousness:

“…Gilbert…sama.”

From her place by the wall, Dahlia spoke in a faint voice; she sounded as if she might collapse at any moment. Gilbert turned to look at her.

Her face was pale.

She’d taken part in a plot to kill Gilbert, and she knew the plot had been foiled. She seemed to have accepted that there was nowhere left to run. Among other things, her expression seemed slightly…relieved.

Gilbert gazed at her, silently. Memories of the time they’d spent together yesterday skimmed through his mind, but they already felt terribly distant.

“I don’t expect to be forgiven,” Dahlia said. “Besides,” she continued, “I don’t regret what I’ve done. I couldn’t think of any other way, you see.”

When they’d offered to bring her beloved, departed father back to life…

“But…I’m sure this was the better ending—”

“Enough.”

Gilbert cut Dahlia off.

As the Great Mother had said, Dahlia probably had hesitated. She might have been the one who’d tied Gilbert to the chair. If her hesitation had made the bonds loose enough that he could slip out of them easily…

What should I say to her? Gilbert asked himself. Should he thank her? Comfort her?

No, he thought, that’s wrong. I doubt she wants either of those. She didn’t want anyone to say they understood the pain she carried. That said, Gilbert didn’t feel like blaming her either.

Both he and Dahlia held someone irreplaceable and precious in their hearts.

For that person, they could do anything. Even commit an unforgiveable crime.

…Deep down, Dahlia and I are a lot alike, Gilbert thought.

Still, what he needed to show now wasn’t understanding or sympathy. No matter how far they went, Gilbert’s world and Dahlia’s would never intersect. And so…

And so—

“I won’t ever forgive you. Never let me see your face again.”

Gilbert’s voice was endlessly cold.

Faintly, Dahlia murmured, “—Thank you.”

16

She didn’t understand. She had no idea what had happened.

Having fled the stone chamber, the Great Mother ran through the underground corridors.

She hadn’t understood when the sacrifice intended for her god had abruptly turned a gun on her, and she hadn’t understood how two intruders had appeared in the underground chamber, a place whose secret had been so carefully guarded up till now.

The plan had gone wrong.

The idea that this plan, which should never have gone wrong, had in fact done so, had thrown her into extreme confusion.

“Why…?! Why, my god?!” she screamed, panting for breath.

She was certain none of her actions had been mistaken. Back when her life had held no meaning for her, these scriptures had come into her hands, quite by accident, through a curio dealer. The curio dealer had said that the ancient tome was the only one of its kind in the world.

Through it, she’d come to know an ominous, powerful being. It had been marvelous. This is it! she’d thought.

Since then, she had dedicated her life to it, acting as the first servant of the god described in her scriptures.

She had done what must be done, in accordance with the scriptures, and had made the necessary preparations for the grand advent.

According to the scriptures. According to the guidance of her god.

That sacrifice had been the very last key to that plan.

…And yet.

…I was so close! So close! I’ll never forgive them!

She convinced herself that she was not running away.

The plan had gone awry, but she must not give up. She swore to herself that she would rebuild her organization and carry out the plan without fail.

She reached the foot of the stairs that led to the boutique and ran up without paying much heed to where she was going. …Or rather, she tried to run up, but a blow to the chest sent her flying. She tumbled clumsily into the corridor, with no idea of what had happened.

However, she didn’t let go of the scriptures she held in her hands. She must not let go.

“You won’t escape.”

A young girl’s dispassionate voice came to her down the stairs. Although there was still something childlike about it, its complete lack of emotion made it seem lifeless, like the voice of a doll.

The Great Mother looked up. Possibly because she was so terribly confused, she felt no pain. About halfway up the stairs, she found a girl with one leg raised as if she’d just unleashed a kick. The girl lowered her leg, gazing down at the Great Mother with eyes in which no emotion could be read.

Her face was young. However, the inorganic coldness about the girl struck terror into the Great Mother’s heart.

Then, almost immediately:

“See that you don’t overdo it, Echo…”

From behind the girl, something even more terrible appeared.

“I intend to discipline that one myself…”

“!”

It might have been the Great Mother’s pride that kept her from actually screaming aloud.

Standing behind the doll-like girl was a handsome, rather androgynous young man.

It wasn’t the handgun the youth held that terrified the Great Mother. She felt an unspeakable, fathomless darkness from him that was impossible to put into words. She had the illusion that the darkness was swallowing her up.

The Great Mother didn’t move. It was as though her fear had paralyzed her.

Slowly, the youth turned the muzzle of his gun on the Great Mother. I’ll be killed, she thought.

Swallowed up by his darkness.

She tried to call for help, but her throat was tight, and only a rasping noise escaped. “……Ee…yee……”

“You’re just a lowly mother of venemous spiders, and you dare attempt to defile my Gil—”

The young man spoke in a gentle, velvety voice, almost as if he were singing. He cocked the pistol’s hammer. And then…

“No, I’m afraid I can’t forgive you for that…”

Aiming straight at the petrified Great Mother, he pulled the trigger.

A gunshot echoed down the corridor—

“…Hmm. I missed.”

Vincent raised the gun’s faintly smoking muzzle. His murmur sounded unconcerned.

Echo darted a glance back at her master, agreeing in an indifferent voice. “—Yes.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped. Unlike Nii-san, I’m no good with guns…”

He didn’t seem very upset. Vincent glanced at the handgun, then, from about halfway up the stairs, pointed the muzzle back toward the corridor. However, there was no one there—only a small black hole drilled into the corridor wall.

At the same time, they heard the receding sound of the woman’s frantic, scrambling footsteps.

“She ran,” Echo reported unnecessarily.

“Quite stubborn for a worm, isn’t she… No, maybe it’s because she’s a worm.”

Vincent’s voice was suffused with joy. He and Echo descended the stairs and walked down the corridor, following the woman. Either way, he didn’t plan to kill her easily. He intended to toy with her and torment her, acquainting her with the taste of agony and despair.

The woman made a racket as she ran. It was easy to follow her.

Finally, Vincent and Echo found themselves in front of a door at the end of a corridor. The door was open, and the two stepped into the room.

It was an austere room—furnished with only bookcases, a desk, and a sofa—and it was unoccupied.

There was no doubt that the woman had entered this room. However, she was nowhere to be seen.

“My, my,” Vincent murmured, entertained. He looked around the room. Echo called his name. When he looked at her, Echo was pointing at a bookcase set next to the wall. Or, no: What she was pointing at wasn’t the bookcase itself.

There were signs that it had been moved, and a thin gap was visible in the wall behind it. There was a room behind the bookcase.

“…A secret room, hmm?”

With a sinister little chuckle, Vincent crossed to the bookshelf and peeked through the gap into the room beyond.

He could see the Great Mother’s back.

However, she wasn’t alone in the room. There was someone else there, a very familiar face.

Vincent…

…regretted having looked from the bottom of his heart.

17

The Great Mother had fled into the secret library behind the bookcase. In addition to being a library, it was a place for her to pray in peace.

It wasn’t a large room: A handful of people would have been enough to fill it. The library held the volumes in her collection that she couldn’t leave exposed to the public eye. …Not that any of them could match the value of the scriptures she cradled in her arms.

Here, in the library that she’d assumed would be a safe haven, she stood shocked and transfixed.

Her eyes were wide at the impossible sight that confronted her.

How…could there be someone here?!

A woman was sitting right on the library floor, turning the pages of a book.

Who is she…?! Why is she in this secret room?!

There was something heartwarming about the woman. She had the air of a young child who’d curled up in front of a warm fireplace with a picture book.

This was precisely what the Great Mother found so hard to believe. This was a hidden room, known only to herself. She had personally designed the space below the boutique, and the location of this little room had been selected based on her advanced knowledge of the occult. The bookcase that formed the hidden door was locked with a code that only one well versed in the occult would know.

The woman, who’d been avidly reading the volume, noticed the Great Mother and looked up.

She gasped, and then—shamefacedly, apologetically—said, “Oh, I, I’m sorry! I let myself in…”

“Young lady… How? This is—” the Great Mother panted.

“I, um, well…” As the woman answered, she fidgeted and looked quite sorry.

…It was Ada.

After parting with her brother, Ada’s concern had proved too much for her, and she’d returned to the boutique. On entering, she’d discovered the stairs leading underground. Then, since she knew her brother had entered the boutique but didn’t see him inside, she’d grown worried and gone down herself, but…

“This cellar is wonderful!”

Abruptly, Ada’s eyes sparkled, and her voice was bright and cheerful. It was the sort of response one would expect from a hungry child who’d had a mountain of sweets placed in front of her. Her enthusiasm made the Great Mother flinch and shrink back.

“I was terribly impressed, and I wandered around for a while; I couldn’t help it. What a marvelous place!”

She’d been entranced, she said, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

The Great Mother could not have been more confused. Who on earth was this woman? What was unfolding here, before her eyes? She didn’t understand it in the least.

Then Ada’s eyes fell on the ancient book the Great Mother held. …The scriptures.

“Oh, that’s…”

Diffidently, as if drawn to it, she reached out for the book. She took it in a motion that, while excited, exuded elegance, and turned the pages. The Great Mother had thought she was holding onto it carefully, but she’d been caught completely off guard.

Flustered, she reached out in an attempt to take it back.

“Now see here! Give that back! That’s more important than life itself! It’s my…!!”

However, Ada didn’t seem to hear her, and as she looked at the book, her face fell.

Then she gave a sorrowful sigh.

“…So you bought a copy. This book… I have it, too…”

“I have it, too”?

What was she saying? After her initial bewilderment at Ada’s words, the Great Mother felt indignation well up inside her. It was a ridiculous lie, she thought, and altogether too rude. She reached out to take back her scriptures, shouting as she did so. “Don’t talk nonsense! That text is the only—”

“The only one of its kind in the world. That was what the curio dealer passed it off as, at any rate, so I bought it, but…”

At Ada’s dreary murmur, the Great Mother froze.

It was the same. She’d acquired her scriptures in the exact same way.

Ada’s shoulders drooped dejectedly, and she sighed as she continued.

“It’s such a dreadful counterfeit, isn’t it…? It’s a crude patchwork of bits from all sorts of magic books, and anyway, it’s full of mistakes, and there are scores of typographical errors… As a devotee of the occult, I’m ashamed to have bought such a failure of a book— Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!”

Realizing that what she’d said indirectly disparaged the Great Mother as well, Ada hastily apologized.

…A dreadful…counterfeit? Full of mistakes? A failure…of a book?

The Great Mother didn’t have the slightest idea of what was going on.

The scriptures are more important than my life— Yet this girl has a copy, too… What? What?

The Great Mother stood, dazed, unable to utter a word. Thinking she’d angered her, Ada’s shoulders shrank inward. She fidgeted nervously as she spoke. “I-I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I’ve said something rude. …Umm, if you’d like, shall I lend you a magic book I do recommend?”

As far as Ada was concerned, the offer was based in sincere apology and goodwill. It also held the innocent, friendly desire to bond with someone who shared her interests.

However, the Great Mother was already poised on the brink of a nervous breakdown. In a hollow voice, she asked a question.

A question she should never have asked.

“What…sort of book…might that be?”

At that, Ada said, “Oh, just wait till you hear!” and rose to her feet with a smile so brilliant it made you wonder where her former dejection had gone. At the abrupt change, the Great Mother took an involuntary step back.

That didn’t seem to bother Ada. She came around to the Great Mother’s side and put her lips right next to the woman’s ear. She whispered happily, as if telling an especially good secret.

“Wussa-wussa-wussa-wussa-wussa-wussa……………”

The Great Mother froze, as though she were being dragged down by inches to the very bottom of Hell.

She seemed like one who’d come face-to-face with something more terrible than death. In contrast, Ada’s expression could have belonged to a young girl merrily picking flowers in a meadow.

As for the eyes that were trained on the two women from the gap in the bookshelf… As Vincent spied on the two, he knew from the look of the whispering Ada and the state of the listening Great Mother just what sort of words were being spoken. Past trauma reared its head inside Vincent. What he’d been told, the things he’d been shown, when Ada had taken him to the other Vessalius mansion earlier…

Finally, as if dispatching a hated enemy, Ada smacked the cover of the scriptures with girlish vehemence, saying, “It’s worth ever so much more than this book, which can’t do a thing but trick people! ”

Her words were full of sincere concern for the Great Mother. She gave a lovely smile, like a flower.

It was…

The final blow.

Even when Vincent’s darkness touched her, the Great Mother had not screamed.

But, finally, through the underground corridors, and even in the boutique aboveground…

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

…the Great Mother’s scream reverberated.

That was the end of the woman who’d made an attempt on Gilbert’s life.

Epilogue

Afternoon, the next day.

Oz and Gilbert were alone in Gilbert’s apartment in one of Reveil’s shabbier neighborhoods. Oz had eaten a lunch Gilbert had fixed for him, and was currently enjoying a cup of tea. As Gilbert washed dishes in the kitchen, he kept sneaking glances at Oz.

He thought Oz probably wanted to talk about the recent incident.

However, as soon as he’d arrived at the apartment, Oz had said, “I’m hungry,” and begun badgering him for food, and so far he hadn’t said one word about the events of the previous day.

He was eagerly stuffing his face with the scones Gilbert had put out with the tea.

Did he…just come by for lunch?

Gilbert was pretty sure that couldn’t be it, but he mentally cocked his head, perplexed.

Gilbert had things he wanted to say regarding yesterday, too.

Or rather, there was something he wanted to check.

What he’d said just before Oz and Break had burst into that stone chamber:

“Unfortunately, my flesh and blood belong to Oz.”

He wanted to know whether or not Oz had heard him.

From the timing, he thought, it could have gone either way. …And it wasn’t as if he’d be in a bind if Oz had overheard. It hadn’t been a lie: It was what Gilbert truly felt. However, if words he’d spoken from his heart when he thought they wouldn’t be heard had actually been heard…

—That would be embarrassing.

“Giiil, the scones are gone. Seconds, please. Now.”

Having polished off a heaping plate of scones, Oz pestered him for more. In a tone of weary amazement, Gilbert said, “You’ve had enough already. Eat any more and you won’t have room for dinner.”

“Aww…” Oz puffed out his cheeks in dissatisfaction.

At the sight of Oz acting his age, Gilbert chuckled and, smiling, brought the teapot over.

Oz drained his teacup and held it out, saying, “Thank you.”

As Gilbert poured fresh, hot tea, he studied Oz.

I’ll ask casually, nonchalantly—

“Say, Gil?” Oz spoke casually. “You are going to get married eventually, right? Someday, to somebody.”

His voice wasn’t teasing, but it didn’t sound grave, either. Gilbert fell silent, wondering where that had come from. Then he remembered what he and Oz had said, in this apartment, two nights ago.

“Gil, are you getting married?”

“…I might. If I did, I’d prefer a lady like her.”

What had he been thinking when he said those words? Right: He’d been bitter about being teased by Oz and Break.

He’d said it as if he was rising to the bait, picking up the gauntlet. It hadn’t meant anything more than that.

What had Oz been feeling just now, when he’d brought up marriage again? Gilbert didn’t know.

However, he gave a brief sigh.

“…I won’t. I don’t even think I could.”

“Why not? You’re kind of a wimp, but you’re nice, and you’re really good at chores. You’re ultra-prime real estate.”

“…The ‘wimp’ was uncalled for, and when aristocrats get married, chores don’t come into it.”

“Are you sure…?” Oz looked doubtful.

“Besides… None of that is the reason.”

Gilbert’s answer was brusque. At that, Oz said, as nonchalantly as ever, “Because your flesh and blood are mine?”

He did hear that!

Gilbert felt his face go hot. He’d professed his loyalty to Oz many, many times before. He knew it was nothing to be embarrassed about now, but he couldn’t help it. He turned away from Oz.

He could feel Oz’s eyes, watching his profile.

“Gil.”

“…”

Gilbert was silent for a long, long time. Finally:

“For now,” he answered.

Oz gave a mischievous laugh. “Heh-heh!”

That smile made Gilbert feel a vague chagrin, and he continued. “If I ever get married, it’ll be after you do.”

“Huh? Me?”

“You’re the next head of the House of Vessalius, you know. You’ll have to.”

“Ah… Will I? I guess I will, huh…” Oz muttered; he didn’t seem very enthused about the idea. He looked up at the ceiling, and his expression grew thoughtful.

It looked as though he was visualizing his own future.

Himself, with a loving family.

“—I can’t even imagine that,” he muttered, as if tossing the words away.

What sort of thoughts did those words carry? What did they mean?

They might have held nothing at all. Then again, they might have held many things. It was impossible to tell from Oz’s voice and expression.

Gilbert didn’t know how to respond. He thought for a little while.

“What’s the point in saying stuff like that? If we both stay single until we’re old geezers…”

At that, Oz blinked a bit. Then he grinned.

“If that happens, let’s sun ourselves in the garden together. Side by side, on the same bench.”

“…”

Gilbert imagined it.

Decades from now. A wrinkled old version of Oz, and himself, ten years wrinklier, soaking up the sun in the garden of the Vessalius manor. He imagined them having conversations like this: “Ho-ho-ho, Gil, wouldja fetch me some of that there tea?” “Yeeees, Young Master Oz. Up we get, oof! Phew…”

It felt very idyllic, and warm—

“…That wouldn’t be bad.”

At Gilbert’s murmur, Oz immediately grimaced.

“Huh? Yuck, no, I’d hate that. I just imagined it and it gave me chills. Ugh…”

“Why?! It’d be nice and peaceful. What’s wrong with that?”

Gilbert was stung. Still grimacing, Oz said, “It’s peaceful, but it’s too bland. If there aren’t any cute girls around, I won’t stand for it!”

Oz sounded petulant. Gilbert argued right back.

The apartment was filled with loud voices, and it stayed that way for a good long time…

It was noisy, lively, and somehow gentle.

A scene from the sort of pair who seemed likely to stay together for life.

That night.

After taking Oz back to Pandora Headquarters, Gilbert stopped by his apartment again, then headed for the Nightray manor. He walked down Reveil’s bustling high street. He was returning the suit he’d worn to meet Dahlia.

As he wove his way through the throngs of people, Gilbert thought back over the previous day.

After he’d said those final words to Dahlia in the stone chamber, the Great Mother’s scream had echoed through the whole underground complex.

When they looked for her, they found her collapsed in what seemed to be a secret room. She was unconscious, and on her face was the expression of a woman who’d encountered some indescribable horror… But there was no one else in the room. Gilbert and the others could only wonder.

Even Break didn’t seem to understand what had happened.

Gilbert and Dahlia parted ways in front of the boutique.

He doubted he’d ever see her again. He didn’t know what she planned to do now. Would she go on as before, living with her father’s body hidden in the manor? If so, would it remain undetected by the outside world? What would happen if people found out?

Whatever happened, it was nothing to do with him anymore. She’d probably vanish from his memories someday, as well.

“All women are venemous spiders,” eh…?

He remembered what his brother had said to him, when he’d returned to the Nightray manor to borrow the suit.

It just might be true.

Even Dahlia, who’d seemed so quiet and modest, had had venom… Darkness. Maybe everyone, man or woman, hid similar darkness, even if it wasn’t visible on the surface. Just when Gilbert’s mood had turned gloomy…a lovely voice and face abruptly rose in the back of his mind.

“Gil, don’t. You mustn’t look so sullen.”

Ada-sama…

She moved in an atmosphere of soft warmth and gentleness.

There was no woman less suited to the words “hidden venom” than Ada…no matter who else might have it.

I want to see Ada-sama, Gilbert thought, with no reason for thinking it. …He wanted to see her, and chat with her about trivial things, and have her scold him for getting so gloomy. That said, Gilbert wasn’t the sort who could just go see her without an excuse, and he wasn’t clever enough to come up with an excuse where none existed.

No, that’s wrong, Gilbert rebuked himself. You’re trying to lean on her, like a little kid. Grow up.

You’ve got to pull yourself together.

When he reached the Nightray manor, he thought, he’d have to look in on his little brother as well.

He had to tell him that the Dahlia affair was over.

“Haaaah…”

Feeling quite unmotivated, Gilbert gave a dreary sigh.

“He’s refusing all visitors?”

Echo had been the one to tell Gilbert this. When Gilbert had arrived at the Nightray manor and visited Vincent’s private room, he’d found her standing in front of the door.

Echo nodded.

“He says he won’t see anyone for two or three days.”

“Has he collapsed? …Is he sick?”

“No.” Echo shook her head. Still expressionless, she looked down slightly, as if thinking. “He has…some slight mental trauma.”

Gilbert looked puzzled. Mental trauma? To the point where he was avoiding people? Gilbert couldn’t begin to imagine what would cause a situation like that.

Still, it was a relief not to have to talk about Dahlia.

“I see,” he told Echo. Just as he was about to turn on his heel, the door opened with a click and Vincent looked out.

His handsome, clean-cut face seemed slightly haggard. “Vince…” Gilbert was about to say something concerned, but Vincent got in first.

Facing his older brother, as if trying to make things very clear, he said, “You really should forget that woman, Nii-san……”

Forget Dahlia? Gilbert thought, but as if he’d read his mind, Vincent shook his head.

“No, not that one…”

Although he’d been about to say something, he sighed, then drew back into the room again.

Click. The door closed.

Who had he meant? Gilbert racked his brains, but no one came to mind.

The expressionless Echo watched Gilbert with cold eyes.

And—

“Haaah…”

Seated on the sofa in the drawing room of her uncle Oscar’s private residence, Ada sighed sadly.

Oscar, who was on his way through carrying documents of some sort, asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.”

With a laugh that was slightly strained, Ada shook her head; she was determined not to worry her uncle. She stole a glance at Oscar, remembering what her brother had told her in front of the boutique. She wanted to ask him about it, but she’d promised to pretend not to have seen or heard anything. She banished her curiosity from her mind.

Ada had been remembering the previous day. Worried about her brother, she’d gone down into the cellar. In an underground room, she’d met a woman who, like Ada herself, was interested in the occult. Happy and exhilarated, she’d tried to talk to her about this and that, but—it had been a first meeting, after all; maybe she’d moved too quickly—she’d startled the woman terribly.

When the woman had collapsed, Ada had been worried and had gone outside to call for help, but she’d gotten lost in the city streets.

When, with much difficulty, she’d found her way back to the boutique, the door had been shut and locked.

She’d called into the shop, but had received no reply. Today, when she’d gone by the shop again, someone had posted a sign on the door that said CLOSED INDEFINITELY.

She’d felt she had to apologize to the woman for startling her.

If, by some chance, the woman had forgiven her…

…What a pity. It had been such a good opportunity.

“Did something happen? C’mon, tell your uncle.” Oscar sat down on the sofa opposite Ada, speaking magnanimously. “It doesn’t matter if it’s little or silly. I’ll hear you out.”

His words made her happy. Ada giggled, self-consciously, then began. “All right. Umm, I was thinking that it’s very hard to make friends who share my interests.”

At her words, Oscar grunted briefly. “Hmm.”

For a little while, he closed his eyes as if he was thinking. Finally, he looked at Ada with a grin, and said something that, just maybe, he should never have said under any circumstances:

“It might be better if you took someone you’re already friends with and cunningly lured her in.”

…As in, into Ada’s hobby.

Oscar’s suggestion had never occurred to Ada before. For a short while, she was silent.

Then, in a small voice, she murmured, “I see… I’ll take a beginner’s book next time, and…”

Whether Ada went on to put her plan into action or not remains a mystery.

~ Fin ~