How to Survive at the Academy - Chapter 197

I knew this would happen. (5)

“Are you feeling alright?”

It was only after midnight had passed that I began to feel like I could control my body properly again. As I managed to sit up, fighting off the lingering fever, I found myself lying in a cozy and soft bed.

“… Where am I?”

“This is my personal room in Ophelius Hall. Miss Yenika and Miss Lortelle asked me to bring you here for the time being.”

I remained silent for a moment at the sight of Belle standing beside me as if it were the most natural thing.

All I could remember was that I had some water and suddenly felt dizzy, that was all.

With only this much to go on, it was difficult to make an accurate judgment of the situation, so I asked Belle for a more detailed explanation.

“It seems that Miss Patricia caused a fuss.”

 

“Patricia? The oddball sorceress from the fourth year?”

 

“Yes. Didn’t you meet her once before?”

“… I’ve been involved with her before, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

The last time was when she abducted Merilda during a walk, claiming that she was mistreated at the camp and causing a scene.

Her sister, Trissiana, rushed over promptly and, as she firmly pressed down on the troublemaker’s head, constantly apologized, and that matter had passed. Afterwards, Trissiana even helped us in the Elte Trading Company’s recovery campaign.

Now that girl was causing trouble with potions. Truly, it seems people cannot change their inherent nature.

With a scowl, I deeply sighed and stared blankly into space for a while.

“So, where is she now?”

“She’s confined in Miss Trissiana’s room.”

“Confined…?”

“When I checked the room as part of the personnel inspection, she was practicing pleading on her knees with Miss Trissiana.”

The truth is, Trissiana hasn’t done anything particularly wrong, but always gets involved in Patricia’s mischief and ends up having to apologize alongside her. It was the same last time.

Probably this time as well, she would drag Patricia by her ear, bowing deeply and making a very apologetic face.

“Well, she’ll probably bring a bunch of gifts soon enough. For now, it seems you can focus solely on recovering, Mr. Ed.”

“What a series of peculiar events to endure in one’s life.”

“Don’t worry about the aftermath. Miss Trissiana is an expert in these matters…”

“… Expert in what exactly…?”

While rubbing my temples, I sat up. The headache had subsided considerably, yet there was still a slight fever lingering.

“Whenever Miss Patricia causes a major incident, she has all sorts of ways to apologize… And depending on the person she’s apologizing to, those methods can vary greatly. She’s even rumored to be an expert in apologies at the academy.”

“Well, I guess you’re not interested in such gossip.”

Belle had been embroidering, sitting at a table. Though it was no longer the late hours, and there were no more chores to attend to, she was still in a more relaxed attire than usual.

It was a rare sight to see her everyday clothes, as she was always meticulous and tidy in her work. Regardless of what she was doing, for an ordinary student to catch a glimpse of Belle’s casual attire was nearly impossible.

Yet even a plain dress or nightgown can completely change one’s impression of a person.

“Do I have bad luck these days…”

“You look a bit unwell. Are you still feeling the effects of the medicine? Feel free to rest more if you need to.”

“No, I can’t occupy someone else’s bed indefinitely. It’s just… Lately, I can’t tell if my common sense is outdated or if the students at this academy are the strange ones. With kidnapping experts, apology experts, and even drinking water terrorists…”

“… What’s certain is that you, Mr. Ed, are quite sensible and rational. There’s no need to adjust your standards of normalcy to the environment…”

Truly… upon reflection, it seems as though rational people are the minority, particularly among the students of alchemy or those immersed in alchemical studies.

What on earth is alchemy… No matter how much it’s a study for oddballs, there’s still a limit…

“So… Through what kind of circumstances did I end up collapsed in your personal room? It must have been inconvenient for you, especially when you’re already short on resting time.”

“It’s alright. I had many things to take care of tonight anyway.”

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just lay me down in my cabin?”

“Well… To be frank, leaving you alone in the cabin would have been a far riskier choice. The detailed circumstances are… complex to explain…”

Belle put the scarf she had been embroidering on top of the table and thoughtfully fell into her musings.

“Perhaps it’s best if you rest here tonight. Since I’ll have to go out periodically to check on the night duty, it won’t be a bother.”

“… When do you actually sleep?”

“I usually sleep for a couple of hours in the early morning, and I nap when I can during the day if there’s a break in my schedule. I manage to get a good night’s sleep during holidays or when the morning schedule isn’t too busy.”

So a proper night’s sleep is less of a norm and more of an event.

Even someone as physically sturdy and diligent as she is should eventually become depleted if maintaining such a pattern… However, bell seems more vibrant and lively when busy at work.

Work is her source of energy, and for some people, it’s the best nutrient. Such mindsets typically climb the ranks in bureaucratic societies.

Belle Mayar is no different.

“I thought I lived diligently, but you’re a real tough one.”

“…?”

“Nevermind.”

That’s ordinary for her. Once such a mindset is established, questioning why one lives so diligently seems strange.

With no grounds to argue, I just nodded vaguely.

“Shall I get you some simple snacks? Eating something sweet could help with your recovery.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve already overcome most of the medicine’s effects.”

“I see. I heard you’re visiting Cledric Monastery this week. I was worried about whether you’d recover in time.”

“It was a minor dose. I’ll overcome it somehow… My only concern is about possible after-effects.”

“Don’t worry about that. I asked Miss Trissiana separately, and she said there’s no need to be concerned. She’ll probably come by in the morning to explain in detail.”

With that, I nodded and rubbed the lingering headache out of my temples, my eyes wide open.

As my body and mind settled, I started to take in the full view of Belle’s personal room.

Put simply, it was not what I had imagined.

As the head maid of Ophelius Hall, bell occupied what anyone in her profession would consider a dream position. It was a job that bore authority and financial reward.

Her uniform was usually ornate and striking, and even though restraint is considered a virtue for maids, she stood out. But with good reason.

She effectively represented Sylvania Academy by assisting the various dignitaries who studied there, essentially acting as the face of the institution.

The academy, in turn, was expected to support and accommodate her position accordingly, given that her demeanor was a reflection of Sylvania itself.

But for such a role… the room was quite small. It comprised only about seven pyeong, with a modest-sized bed, a wooden table and chair suitable for work, a window with good natural light, and a simple but efficient wardrobe.

The walls were adorned with a few portraits of prominent figures, a framed landscape painting on a desk, and the figure of a lynx engraved on a dagger displayed as decor.

“The head maid’s private room is actually used as a storage space.”

Belle spoke first as if she had noticed my curiosity.

“I prefer a smaller space for sleeping and resting—it feels too spacious otherwise. I’ve been using the room I had when I was a senior maid.”

“Quite frugal.”

“It’s modest.”

Frugality is, to some extent, a relative concept.

Even if someone is frugal, from working in the luxurious hall of Ophelius for years, even rising to the position of head maid, it’s not easy to maintain such an attitude.

She could indulge in a little luxury without any issues, yet here was someone who truly deserved to be called a born maid.

“What did you do before becoming a maid?”

Feeling the energy return to my body, I flexed my arms back and forth.

Simultaneously, I gently brought up the question that had lain subtly in my heart.

Rumors might have circulated here and there within Ophelius Hall, but nothing concrete ever surfaced.

There was no real need to delve into Belle’s past, yet a mild curiosity seemed harmless enough to express.

“Hmm…”

However, after a brief contemplation, bell responded.

“It’s not a particularly interesting tale… so I don’t really talk about it.”

Please don’t ask.

That’s what her demeanor conveyed to anyone who would notice. With that implied meaning, I decided to smooth over the question.

“Well, my apologies if I was rude. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

It can be impolite to delve too deeply into someone’s personal affairs without reason. Resolving to leave it at that and offering a courtesy apology, bell suddenly shook her head vigorously, looking almost more flustered than I was.

“Oh… I apologize, Mr. Ed. It was not an impolite question at all.”

“What?”

“Exactly as I’ve said. It’s not particularly cheerful, and the story has a gloomy end, so I don’t carry around such a dark tale with me. But it’s not something that I need to hide either.”

Belle picked up the embroidery she had set down and resumed working the needle. It seemed the conversation might become lengthy after all.

Looking at the scarf being embroidered, it appeared to be intended for a student. She was adding some embroidery while doing repairs—a task that could easily have been delegated to a junior maid, but she was handling it herself.

This was indicative of Belle’s approach to her responsibilities; she preferred to complete most tasks that came her way personally.

“I was an illegitimate child of the Flanchel family. The surname Mayar was taken from my mother’s side.”

And just like that, bell delivered a striking bit of information.

That one line alone was enough to infer that Belle’s origins were extraordinary, and it was easy to realize that her life had not been smooth.

“Do you know Lord Flanchel?”

“I’ve heard the name, I think.”

It was an uncertain recollection.

But what was certain was that I hadn’t seen him at any of the social gatherings in the Rothtaylor estate. From the most notable to the mid-class nobility, even those who couldn’t attend would at least send gifts.

“In truth, it’s more natural for you not to remember. Flanchel’s domain primarily focused on long-distance diplomacy with the eastern continental states due to its location in the northeastern part of the empire. Given the rugged terrain, sea travel was preferred over land carriages.”

“For a noble family, it seems they held considerable influence.”

“Perhaps. But now, you can’t find them on the map anymore since they’ve been merged into Count Merlin’s domain. To you, from the esteemed Rothtaylor ducal family, it would seem like a trivial event.”

The transfer of a noble’s territory into the domain of a higher-ranking noble implies a number of potential outcomes, most of which are not favorable.

“They often engaged in diplomacy abroad, especially with distant nations of the eastern continent, trying to introduce new agricultural machinery or develop sericulture in their domain, even initiating large-scale civil engineering works to level the rough terrain.”

I have no recollection of Flanchel.

Yet Belle spoke of such minute details, occasionally making me feel strangely out of place.

For some, a bordering baron’s house is a passing thought, but for others, that same house served as the cradle of their formative years.

“They tried many things to make the domain prosperous, but most attempts didn’t end well.”

“And you were an illegitimate child of this Flanchel family.”

“Yes. The illegitimate child of the legitimate heir, Mr. Dalverne.”

“It doesn’t sound like an easy life.”

“It’s hard to say. In the cutthroat politics of major noble houses in the capital, my existence as an illegitimate child would have been a closely guarded secret, yet I was surprisingly well-received.”

Perhaps since they were border nobles who had fallen from political favor and focused solely on their territory’s citizens, they didn’t see the existence of an illegitimate child as a political vulnerability.

“Surprisingly, my early years in the family estate were filled with consideration. I hardly encountered any gossip.”

“My, my.”

“

So, there’s really nothing to call a wound when it comes down to talking about it. I’ve never been ashamed of my status. However, some are indeed surprised when they find out I am from a noble family.”

I feel the same way.

Isn’t it quite ironic that the head maid, who serves the nobility, is actually of noble descent?

“But if you think about it, it’s rather natural. Considering the position requires the treatment and management of nobles, isn’t it more fitting for someone well-versed in noble etiquette to be suitable?”

“When you put it that way, it makes sense. Still, it’s hard to find a noble who would willingly take on a maid’s duties.”

“That’s why I was such an excellent appointment. There were times when my status as a bastard was distressful, but these days I’m quite thankful for it as it has allowed me to secure my place.”

It seems that being diligent and good at work appealed to people more than the fact that she was of noble origin… But I decided not to delve into the details.

“Speaking of which, if you’re from the northeastern part of the continent, isn’t that the complete opposite direction of Acken Island, which is attached to the southwest? How did you leave your home to end up as a maid in this far-off land?”

“The previous head maid, Lady Ellis, was an acquaintance of my father. She was also from the eastern continent and had a habit of extending her hand to orphaned children with nowhere to go… And from the family’s standpoint, it would be awkward to keep a bastard child around, even if there was no desire for power. You have to let go a little to allow them to live their own lives.”

At that point, I realized something.

While Belle continued her story, she consciously glossed over the somber and gloomy parts.

It was just manageable. That’s how it was being a noble offshoot.

Even though she talks about it with a detached perspective, it’s hard to believe her life didn’t include any hardships.

She doesn’t want to darken the mood of her listener with her own sorrows. It’s clear she has that sort of consideration ingrained in her.

And from this, the life of a woman named Belle Mayar seems to flash before my eyes… making me feel an odd sense of rebellion.

“It must have been hard.”

“Not particularly hard.”

“It was hard, wasn’t it.”

“Well, there were times that were tough. But having the calling card of nobility has its perks. Though, I couldn’t dare compare myself to someone who grew up in the prestigiously powerful Rothtaylor Ducal Family.”

She skillfully deflects the topic with praise for the other’s authority, a sign of an adult well-versed in social dealings.

“… Right.”

All I could do was concede at that point.

Yet, bell Mayar seemed to notice that I had stepped back, and she paused her embroidery to give me a piercing look.

“The truth is, who has never experienced a tough period? In life, fortune and misfortune are always intertwined, and especially in a special environment like Ophelius Hall, such a sight is all too common.”

“That much I can’t deny. My family’s situation is quite unstable at the moment.”

“Yes, exactly. That is why I do not present my misfortune as a tragedy and seek sympathy or pity.”

Outside the window was a round moon.

The moonlight seeping in always shines on the world with impartiality.

Unlike the dazzling midday sun, the subtle glow has a way of peacefully permeating into one’s heart.

Brightness can be blinding. Sometimes, one needs the soft light shining from behind.

Belle Mayar, in fact, was a person like a lamplight. Present but not ostentatious, unmistakably playing her role.

“Nevertheless, dismissing the curiosity of Lord Ed by merely saying ‘don’t worry about it’ wouldn’t be polite.”

“No, it’s enough. Besides, my curiosity is petty. I’m too busy living my own life to concern myself with the past of others, and if you don’t want to speak, that’s fine too.”

“No. It’s not that I necessarily dislike talking about it; in fact, I honestly do want to speak.”

“…”

She said she wouldn’t boast about misfortune.

Faced with an incongruous attitude from what she had said just seconds before, my bemused expression prompted Belle Mayar to awkwardly add more.

“What I just said applies generally. But when the person concerned is Lord Ed, my feelings can’t help but change.”

“A change of heart? You mean you have something you want to tell me specifically?”

“Yes. Well… since it’s you, Lord Ed, there are things I’d like to share.”

It was disconcerting to see someone who’d always been purely professional suddenly become personal.

But she is not someone who would harbor personal feelings towards me. She knows this, and so do I.

Sometimes, a professional relationship is more comfortable precisely because of its nature, which is why I had thrown in the towel and stopped insisting on formal language with Belle.

“Do you know about the demise of the Flanchel family?”

Tragedy and comedy naturally intermingle in the stories of people’s lives. Reflecting upon one’s past, there are undoubtedly moments of sorrow and joy.

I can only guess at the extent of the tragedies lining Belle’s past, but my instincts scream that this occasion involves one of the darker chapters.

As usual, her voice, elegant and clear, does not waver.

“If you look at it from a broader historical perspective… Yes. Powerless border nobles typically meet similar ends.”

“Were you discarded like a pawn in the power struggle of the high nobility?”

“Something like that. Detailed explanations are redundant, but I remember that outcome vividly. It’s a story from when I was young. It was then that the former head maid, Lady Ellis, was visiting the Flanchel estate as a guest.”

Belle closes her eyes gently.

Only she knows what she looked like as a child.

Belle doesn’t share the full details. She skirts around the subject.

“The estate was no longer able to meet the tribute amounts demanded by Lord Merlin, the Border Count, with only the taxes from within the domain. Even after selling the baron’s valuables, laying off servants, and liquidating personal assets, the domain’s coffers continued to empty.”

I suspected the content of the conversation, but remained silently listening.

“The baron pleaded with Lord Merlin, the Border Count, but to no avail. When finally ordered to present a person as tribute, baron Flanchel realized that what Lord Merlin desired as tribute was the baron’s own bastard child—a child who, aside from her fairly attractive looks, was considered unremarkable.”

As if speaking about someone else’s story, yet that bastard child was most likely—

“Not even listed on the family tree, just a half-blood of the Flanchel family… It would be a simple thing to hand her over. Perhaps living as one of the Border Count’s possessions could have been a happier life for her. Sure, she might have suffered a little harassment.”

“…”

“But, for some reason, the baron could only look upon his bastard child that he had nourished and raised with a distant and affectionate gaze. Family love, at times, becomes a curse that impedes one’s future.”

The hand stitching the embroidery remains steady.

Belle Mayar has always been a maid dedicated to fulfilling her given duties.

“However, that baron came up with a radical solution. Without acceding to the Border Count’s demands and yet dealing him a blow, he could bring the matter into such strong public debate that it couldn’t be easily overlooked by the central nobility.”

“…”

“It was such an innovative plan, one that could alleviate all the pain he was burdened with.

No more would he have to witness the anguished faces of the people in his domain, no need to feel the guilt when turning away from them, no more heartache over the naïve bastard child, and a chance to liberate himself from the weight of all the responsibilities he shouldered.

“

“What was it?”

I asked, lightly.

The answer came back heavy.

“You only need a few items. A long rope and an old rickety wooden chair.”

“…”

“A rope tied into a noose and long enough to be hung from the ceiling, and a chair that’s light enough to be easily kicked over.”

Her words ended there.

Silence.

Was it 30 seconds? Or a minute?

Thus, without exchanging another word, I sat quietly with my gaze lowered in the quiet room.

“The story doesn’t end on a grim note, though. Perhaps it could be called poetic justice. Just like in the folktales, someone could find closure, as Lord Merlin, the Border Count, met a horrifying end.”

“I heard the stories. The older professors all know it.”

“I see. Certainly, Lord Merlin’s story is well-known. Two years later, he miserably fell from grace while clumsily trying to bribe the Prime Minister of the neighboring kingdom. Having accrued a history of misdeeds… it was an inevitable outcome. Yet… such thoughts occur to me.”

Belle continues, her eyes gently closed.

Though usually unspoken, she felt the need to convey this message to Lord Ed.

I’m finally beginning to understand her words.

“Taking one’s own life is not the best judgement.”

“…”

“No one knows what the future holds.”

If the baron at that time had just hardened his heart and handed over the bastard child to the Border Count, maybe two years later he would have laughed heartily at the count’s downfall.

Telling such a tale, Belle opens her eyes and thrusts her needle into the scarf.

The image of a naïve girl entering the baron’s room flits through my mind.

Only Belle of that time remembers what scenes were reflected in that young girl’s eyes.

“I apologize for such a somber story.”

“No need to apologize. And just so you know, I’m trying my best to live life to the fullest.”

“I am aware, Lord Ed. You’re living more diligently than anyone.”

Belle sets down her embroidery for a moment and looks out the window brightened by the moon.

“That’s fortunate.”

“When you visit the Cleric Monastery, please tell me. I’ll prepare some simple snacks for the journey, along with a few gifts.”

“The snacks are much appreciated, but what kind of gifts?”

“The abbot of the monastery is an acquaintance. I’ve received a lot of help and support; a kind person indeed. Since you’re visiting, I’d like to send some gifts with you, so the snacks are a sort of bribe for your trouble.”

“You needn’t bribe me for such a thing… though I’ll gladly take the snacks.”

Before long, bell picks up a candlestick from the corner of the room, perhaps intending to check on the night shift.

“It might be best to wait until sunrise to rise. Wandering the forest at night isn’t good for your health until you’re fully recovered.”

“Maybe… it does seem wise to collect myself a bit more before going out…”

“It’s not uncommon to be caught off guard by the unexpected, even after living such varied experiences. And in such moments, I consciously repeat a certain phrase to myself.”

Belle, lifting her dress hem slightly in a gesture to suggest a calm rest, bows courteously as she speaks.

“Even when things are startling, I tell myself, as if soothing my own soul, what I’ve always reinforced.”

Belle’s past remains largely a mystery. Even having glimpsed a fragment of her story, it isn’t right to rashly judge her life.

Certainly, it was a life filled with unforeseen trials.

Yet, despite it all, she has always repeated that mantra. Hypnotizing herself, as it were.

Making it seem as if she had anticipated everything from the beginning. There’s no need for alarm, maintaining her dignified poise as if it were second nature.

*

“… I knew this would happen.”

The next morning, when Patricia and Trissiana kicked in the door, the first thing they did was to bow their heads to the ground.

“We! Apologize!!! We have committed an unforgivable sin!!!!!”

As they opened the door, threw a pile of gifts onto the table, and slid to the floor with their heads down—all in one fluid motion—it was almost an artistic performance.

The sight of Patricia with her head pushed down and Trissiana beside her, also bowing deeply, was, if scored artistically, almost perfect out of ten.

“My sister!!! She doesn’t know, she’s simply too ignorant!!!!”

“… Ah, ouch…! Ah, it hurts…! Apologies…”

“We are truly, truly sorry!!!! We are!!!! Really sorry!!!!!!!!”

Sitting on the bed, I gazed down at the twin sisters with a dumbfounded expression.

No matter the circumstances, seeing a fourth-year senior bow her head in such a manner… well, it was just an awkward sight to behold.