DFN | Chapter 3.1

The empire’s long rainy season came every year, but this year was a little different. The embankments along the main roads leading to the capital collapsed one after another, as if by prior arrangement, stranding travelers who had been heading there.

Nobles who had come to the countryside to recuperate and were now trying to return were especially forced to take long detours. And the fact that Nightrow Barony sat in a rural area without so much as a decent inn was an unexpected piece of good news for nobles worn out from traveling muddy roads.

Bellian welcomed them warmly. The once-quiet barony grew lively with guests, and the residents of the domain were glad to lend a hand where the staff fell short. Most of the guests outranked the baron, but Bellian left a good impression with his characteristic wit and charm, and some even decided to stay until the rainy season ended. Of course, there were those who complained.

“How are we supposed to spend several days in a cramped place like this?”

A young man grumbled at the dining table. Beneath ice-blue hair, a slender face came into view. His rosy-white cheeks were cute, but his sharp blue eyes made it clear he was no ordinary sensitive type.

“Th, the roads are all flooded, so we had no choice but to come here, young master,” said the green-haired attendant standing beside him, speaking carefully.

Bellian noticed the canary-shaped emblem on their robes and approached with a gleam in his eyes.

“Might you be from the Featherwing Trading Company?”

When the young man stiffly raised his chin and looked at Bellian, the attendant beside him panicked and quickly whispered.

“Young master, this is Baron Nightrow!”

“Oh. Is that so?”

Only then did the young man stand and introduce himself with an air of haughtiness.

“I am Heath Featherwing. I was on my way to visit the Countess of Windsor when I was caught in a storm and must impose on you for a while. This is my manservant, Til.”

A clear, melodious voice rang through the hall.

“Your voice is as beautiful as a canary’s. May I call you Heath?”

Heath Featherwing. He was the son of a commoner who had struck it rich. And the rumor that the Featherwing Trading Company, which had amassed an enormous fortune, was arranging his marriage to the fifty-something widowed Countess of Windsor in order to enter political circles had spread across the entire empire.

“Call me whatever you like. I’ll soon be receiving the title of Lord Windsor, after all.”

“If you’re from Featherwing, you must have grown up wanting for nothing even as a commoner, so please do speak up right away if anything is inconvenient.”

“It’s a countryside place, that’s for sure. The furniture is terribly out of fashion, and the food isn’t particularly special either. The scent drifting through this entire manor is far too strong and gives me a headache. Well, I won’t be visiting again, so you needn’t bother changing anything on my account.”

Heath, who had subtly made it known that he would soon marry the Countess of Windsor and become a quasi-noble, seemed to have no interest in getting close to Bellian. Then again, since he was about to marry a countess, there was no particular reason to grovel before a baron.

Yet even in the face of Heath’s blunt attitude, Bellian did not lose his smile. Instead, his gaze was directed not at Heath but at the timid attendant beside him, Til.

“Y, young master… saying things like that in front of the baron…”

“Did I say anything wrong? Pour me some water. My glass is empty.”

Til flustered and grabbed the water pitcher, and ended up spilling the water. The loud noise drew everyone’s attention, and Heath grew even more irritably annoyed.

“People are looking at us. Are you going to embarrass the Featherwing name like this at the count’s household too?”

When Til apologized and tried to wipe the table, Bellian gestured to Mikhail, who was nearby. Mikhail immediately stepped forward with a straight posture and tidied the table.

“You are all guests, so I will handle this.”

Heath’s gaze shifted to Mikhail. A neat appearance, precise movements. Everything stood in contrast to Til.

“…What a waste, having someone like that in a place like this.”

“Do you like Sir Mikhail?”

“I wish Til were even half like him. If he acts like this at the count’s household, it’ll be an embarrassment to our company.”

“In that case, shall I take charge of Til’s education for just one day?”

At the voice that gave him goosebumps for some reason, Til startled and pressed close to Heath, but Heath instead gave a thin smile and asked in return.

“I doubt one day of education will make much of a difference.”

“Modest as I may look, I do have a certain expertise when it comes to education.”

Bellian smiled pleasantly and ran his hand along the shoulders of Til, who was hunched up tightly. He was a man who looked small because he was curled in on himself, but if he only straightened his posture, he seemed like he would have quite a large frame. The fact that he wore a sword at his side suggested he was a manservant loyal and bold enough to learn swordsmanship for his young master’s sake.

Perfect. There could be nothing more perfect for fashioning into a cage to hold an arrogant canary. Having spotted his prey, Bellian made a sweet proposal to Heath.

“In exchange, I will lend you Sir Mikhail as Heath’s attendant for the day. And if you are not satisfied with the results of the education, you are welcome to take this boy and trade him for Mikhail outright.”

“Young master, I don’t want that…! I’ll do better. I, I want to stay by your side!”

Til was the most startled of all, making a tearful face and pleading. But Heath, his interest piqued by the offer of Mikhail, glanced at the handsome, well-built knight and stroked his chin. Then he coolly asked the baron.

“One day will be enough?”

“It will be enough. Come along, Til.”

Bellian took hold of Til’s shoulder and pulled him along. Til timidly struggled to avoid following the baron, but when he saw Heath, who wasn’t sparing him a glance, asking Mikhail this and that, he seemed to resign himself and followed along listlessly.

𖧷 • 𖧷 • 𖧷

The following day, in the late afternoon. In the hall of the barony, where rain still fell in steady streams, Heath sat with his coat neatly pressed and crisply worn, his posture straight, holding his teacup with elegant composure.

He ate the cake topped with red flower petals that Mikhail had brought in advance, and lifted his tea in a state of complete satisfaction. It was thanks to the flawless service Mikhail had provided from yesterday afternoon until now.

He felt so pleasantly languid and content that he no longer minded the strangely sweet floral scent that had been grating on his nerves since yesterday.

“The baron is quite a cruel master. Lending out a talent like you so freely. How did you end up working under a man like that?”

“The baron saved my life. So if he tells me to serve you, I will naturally follow with all my heart.”

“Remarkable loyalty.”

“But if you’re from Featherwing, you must have no shortage of capable people. Why, young master, were you keeping a boy like that by your side?”

At Mikhail’s question, Heath narrowed his eyes as if recalling the past and spoke.

“Actually, Til used to be my friend. We drifted apart a little after my family’s business succeeded, but when Til’s family was dying from an epidemic, I paid for their medicine. After that he appointed himself my manservant, but he just can’t get the hang of it. He means well, so I keep him around, but he never looks the part, and that worries me.”

“The baron has given him his education, so today he will be completely different.”

“No. Unlike my family, he comes from a stupid and lazy household, so he can’t do anything properly. If it weren’t for me, his whole family would have died sick and starving. Ahaha.”

Heath gave a derisive snort. The truth was that the reason he kept Til close and made use of him was a secret only he himself knew: to feel superior, even though they were both of common birth.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the entrance of the hall. Heath’s expression stiffened when he saw the figures entering. It was Bellian and Til. And Til was completely transformed.

His previously hunched posture was now straight, making him look much taller, and his once-shaggy green hair was neatly groomed. His formerly downcast eyes were now clear and alert, and his white uniform fit him cleanly. He looked like an entirely different person.

“Isn’t that dimwit Til?”

“They said Baron Nightrow took him away, and now he’s a completely different person?!”

The other Featherwing servants in the hall recognized him first and began to murmur. When Bellian sat down in the seat beside Heath, Til gracefully pulled out the chair for him and poured his tea.

“Thank you, Til. Your posture has improved greatly.”

“Thank you. It is all thanks to my master’s education.”

Til answered respectfully, his eyes fixed solely on Bellian without sparing Heath a glance. Heath pressed his lips together and glared at Til, who wasn’t even acknowledging him. Master? To think that Til, of all people, was already calling the baron “master” and submitting to him as if he would follow him for the rest of his life.

Until yesterday, he had acted as though he couldn’t live without Heath. And he didn’t like Bellian either, smiling at him and asking questions. Bellian spoke.

“What do you think of the newly changed Til?”

“…No matter how fine the clothes you dress him in, you can’t change Til’s innate nature.”

At Heath’s sulky words, Bellian cut into the cake in front of him and spoke at his leisure.

“No, Heath. Dignity is not something you are born with, it is something you cultivate. So Heath can change too. If you wish, I can provide you with education on how to become a true noble.”

“Pardon? That’s a rather odd thing to say. I’ve already learned all the noble etiquette back home long ago. There’s nothing wrong with my conduct.”

“The spoon you’re stirring your tea with right now, you know it isn’t a teaspoon, don’t you?”

Startled by Bellian’s remark, Heath quickly pulled the spoon out of his teacup. But no matter how he looked at it, it was indeed a teaspoon. Heath narrowed his eyes into triangles, ready to protest, and Bellian smiled at him with easy composure.

“Was I being mischievous? I’m sorry, but this is the reality Heath will face going forward. Once you marry the countess, everyone will try to take a bite out of you. They’ll constantly try to test you, saying a mere upstart bought his status with money. And then you’ll flounder about like a startled rabbit, just as you did a moment ago, and earn their ridicule.”

Feeling as though he had been struck precisely in the center of his chest, Heath’s fingertips trembled faintly. Yet the thought that this man, who had transformed Til overnight, might be able to transform him into something resembling a true noble, sounded unbearably sweet.