I Have A Damn Family Again - Chapter 82

Chapter 82: A Tiny Sprout (4)

The moment my hand slammed down on the table, the sneering fools abruptly fell silent, their mouths clamped shut like puppets with their strings cut.

Someone else’s first date? Their choice of location? Their meticulously planned itinerary?
Right. As if their self-proclaimed rules applied to everyone. As if they had the authority to dictate the terms of courtship between two nobles.

"Don't you find it laughable? That I, a member of House Bagrand, and Harnie, a member of House Theresia, should be expected to adhere to your petty regulations?"

However, the power of their rules existed solely within the confines of their own social circle. The moment family names were invoked, especially those of a ducal house, their carefully constructed hierarchy crumbled.

Their actions weren't simply unsolicited advice or meddling.

They were treading into the territory of disrespect and insult. Their words, open to interpretation, could be construed as a direct challenge to our authority.

"Why the sudden silence? You were all so eager to offer your opinions just a moment ago."
"..."

The nobles, faced with the weight of our lineage, could only cower in silence.
Yes, this needed to be addressed, and decisively so.

"You there."
"Y-Yes?"
"Tell me, who among you decided that you had the right to impose these ludicrous standards upon us? I'd love to ask them personally."

The young man I'd singled out, face caked in makeup, stammered, instinctively stepping back.
He seemed to possess a modicum of authority within this group, so I'd likely chosen well.
In situations like this, self-preservation often trumped loyalty. Especially if it meant throwing someone of higher standing under the proverbial carriage.

However, this young man didn’t utter a single name.
Which meant…
He was likely the architect of these ridiculous rules.

Leaning forward, I met his gaze directly.

"Tell me. Who decided that I should subject Harnie to such a mind-numbingly dull first date? I'm curious to hear what makes your precious itinerary so exceptional that it warrants the attention of House Bagrand and House Theresia."

Suddenly, Harnie interjected,

"Carsein. The person you're speaking to is the one responsible for creating this ridiculous rule."
"L-Lady Harnie…!”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Yes. He's the one who insists that every first date should involve gazing at the same tired scenery, attending the same opera, strolling across that dreadful Cloud Bridge, and ending with a cliché campfire under the night sky."

Perfect timing.

By highlighting the flaws in each element of the pre-approved itinerary, Harnie had given me the ammunition I needed to dismantle their carefully constructed dating guide.

“How utterly pointless. You expect me to subject Harnie to such a tedious experience for our first date? I’d rather spend my time exploring the wonders of foreign lands at the festival.”
“I’d rather die than endure such a predictable campfire. I find the sight of colorful snowflakes illuminating the night sky far more captivating.”
“Instead of wasting time on that dreadful Cloud Bridge, I’d rather shower Harnie with gifts from the festival and enhance her beauty.”
“And that opera? It’s positively ancient! Just because something is considered ‘cultured’—“

Together, Harnie and I launched into a scathing critique, systematically dismantling their ridiculous rules.

It was somewhat amusing to see Harnie squirming beside me, sending me desperate signals to stop, overwhelmed by the sheer cheesiness of it all.

And so, to summarize:

"Hmph. Don't you ever utter such garbage in my presence again."

My words hung in the air, silencing the noble couples, who were left to slink away, tails between their legs.

***

Having thoroughly coated the party in a thick layer of cheesy, over-the-top declarations, I finally made my exit, drawing a small amount of satisfaction from the stunned expressions of my fellow nobles.

There was, however, one small problem:

"Ugh..."

My dear fiancée was suffering from a severe case of secondhand embarrassment, displaying symptoms disturbingly similar to the nobles I'd just decimated.

"Carsein, my skin still hasn't recovered from all that cringe. Where on earth did you learn to say such things?"
"...I didn't learn it."
"R-Right, of course not. No one in their right mind would teach such things. Did you perhaps stumble upon some strange book? Maybe an etiquette guide filled with… unusual advice?"

My dear fiancée, is that any way to speak to your beloved partner?

Meeting my gaze, Harnie cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Well, thank you for your help, regardless. It seems that group won’t be bothering me anymore.”

Harnie then explained that she’d been pretending to have a fiancé to ward off unwanted suitors. It was her way of maintaining control, a desperate attempt to avoid being sold off in a political marriage.

While fabricated love tokens had effectively deterred some persistent individuals, the social circles proved more tenacious, relentlessly probing, demanding details that aligned with noble courtship rituals.

She might have called them old-fashioned, but even I had to admit, their rules were positively archaic.

"Those days of harassment are finally over. Now that everyone knows you’re my fiancé.”

Harnie visibly relaxed beside me, her voice filled with relief.

“Now, I really should compensate you properly for your help. Perhaps…in the carriage?”

She offered, extending her hand towards me, inviting me back to the waiting carriage. I readily accepted, clasping her hand in mine.

“Lead the way, my dear fiancée.”

.
.
.

Unlike our journey to the party, we encountered no incidents involving rogue swamp wyrm lungs or spooked horses.

The sub-episode had unfolded as intended, and the three servants, heeding my words, had likely removed the planted dangers.

Our coachman, having received proper medical attention, held the reins with a steady hand.

Every outcome, perfectly aligned with my memories of the game.

My theory was confirmed; it was possible to complete episodes ahead of schedule.

And with that knowledge, my path forward became clearer.

I’d intended to make a request of Harnie, a small act of repayment for the damage inflicted upon my reputation.

However, that thought quickly vanished.

“...”

Harnie, exhausted from the day's events, was dozing lightly, head bobbing as she struggled to focus on the documents in her lap.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly, attempting to fight off the relentless pull of sleep, but it was a losing battle.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, those captivating violet eyes hidden behind heavy lids. Her body slumped forward, losing its battle against exhaustion.

‘Oh dear.’

After all my efforts to ensure a smooth, incident-free journey home, it would be a shame for her to end up with a bump on her head.

As she swayed precariously, I gently steadied her, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
"Hmm..." A soft murmur escaped her lips, but thankfully, she remained asleep.

Come to think of it, even after spending a night at the manor to escape the watchful eyes of her own household, Harnie still seemed incredibly sleep-deprived. She'd mentioned having work to do, her voice thick with exhaustion.

She was clearly pushing herself to the limit. Clinging to her documents even in her sleep.

‘There was a time when I would sacrifice sleep, studying tirelessly in secret, desperate to escape that house.’

Although my circumstances paled in comparison to the life-or-death situation she faced, I understood her desperation.

I couldn’t just leave her like this. But what could I offer?

It seemed I had no choice.

I shifted closer to Harnie, discreetly sliding open the small window that separated us from the coachman.

“Coachman. Listen carefully, and lower your voice. We’re changing routes.”
“Where to, Young Master?”
“The destination remains the same. However, I want you to take a detour through the main roads of the capital. Drive slowly, at a leisurely pace.”
“But Young Master, that will significantly delay our arrival. Are you certain?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m specifically requesting a slower route.”

The coachman nodded in understanding, adjusting his course and reducing our speed.

As the carriage slowed to a gentle crawl, I carefully maneuvered Harnie, guiding her head to rest comfortably against my shoulder.

This might be considered a tad forward, this unintended physical contact, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It might not be the most conventional pillow, but it was the best I could offer under the circumstances.

"Tsk, tsk. Falling asleep in front of a man with his eyes wide open. Shameless."

Just a playful tease, of course.

Her documents...that seemed to be the last obstacle.

Once I removed those, she'd have at least an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep before we reached her home.

With the utmost care, I gently extracted the documents from her grasp.

'There. Now she can finally rest...huh?'

Reports detailing the economic status of various territories, along with strategic assessments of their geography, resources, and trade goods, filled my vision.

One report, however, caught my eye, its title strangely familiar.

[ Shatrain Territory Report ]

Harnie's weary sigh when asked about her lack of sleep.
Her explanation - she had work to do.

These documents, clutched in her hands throughout our journey, meticulously reviewed and organized. Even during our brief stop at the party venue, she hadn't let them out of her sight.

This was it. The very same document she'd been poring over moments ago, her eyelids finally surrendering to exhaustion.

And then, I recalled the words she’d muttered as we’d boarded the carriage earlier.

"I told you, I’ll make it up to you. Just wait and see. I’ll come up with something you’ll be happy with."

A promise uttered through a pout.

'...Don't tell me...'

I stared at the slumbering Harnie, my mind struggling to grasp the situation.

It all added up. This had to be it. The grand gesture of repayment she'd been preparing, the source of her exhaustion.

The effort it must have taken to compile this information, sacrificing precious sleep, weighed heavily on my conscience.

'To receive such kindness from a stranger, kindness I've never even received from my own family...'

I was overwhelmed, my emotions a tangled mess.

***

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.

Although the midday sun had brought a brief respite from the biting cold, the air grew crisp once more as twilight descended, my breath forming white puffs in the fading light.

Yet, a lone figure remained outside the grand manor.

Flora stood rooted to the spot, gaze fixated on the imposing front gates of the ducal residence, her small frame bathed in the soft glow of the rising moon.

Her family, hearts aching at her distress, draped a fur cloak around her shoulders, attempting to shield her from the encroaching chill.

"Flora, you can't stay out here like this. It's too cold."
“Sister Arina.”

At her eldest sister’s touch, Flora’s head turned briefly, her gaze lingering for a fleeting moment before returning to its fixed point - the manor gates.

Arina sighed, gently taking Flora’s hand in hers.

“Flora, winter is almost over, but it's still freezing. Let's go inside and wait, alright?"
“...I’m fine.”
“But your legs must be aching from standing here for so long.”
"I’m not in pain, Sister. I’m truly fine.”
“Sigh.”

A heavy sigh escaped Arina's lips.

Flora had been like this since earlier that afternoon, unmoving, her behavior a source of growing concern.

She stared at the same spot, lost in her own world, oblivious to her surroundings. Even the maids' gentle pleas to come inside fell on deaf ears.

She’d only left her post briefly for dinner, her gaze still drawn to the front entrance as if compelled by an invisible force.

And the cause of her distress was one person, Carsein.

'This has never happened before. What could he have possibly said to make Flora act this way…?’

She'd heard whispers that Flora had visited Carsein's room before his departure, engaging in a private conversation.

The content of their exchange remained a mystery, but one thing was certain: it was the catalyst for Flora’s current state.

'I can't ignore this any longer.'

This was beyond the pale. Arina resolved to confront Carsein the moment he returned.

“...“

As Arina turned to leave, her younger sister remained rooted to the spot, her gaze unwavering.

"Don't be hurt... Carsein…"

It was just a scratch, barely worth mentioning. A few minutes of pressure would stop the bleeding. Anyone else would laugh at her overreaction.

And yet, the sight of that crimson liquid filled Flora with an unexplainable dread. She couldn't calm down, her anxiety growing with every passing moment.