At least with Yulma here, I wouldn't have to witness other servants dropping to their knees, banging their foreheads against the floor, and begging forgiveness through tears after breaking a plate.
"You didn't like it?"
Yulma glanced sideways at the steak I'd thoroughly mutilated with my fork. _Oh no—I'm being picky right in front of the chef!_
"I don't care for meat that bleeds."
"I'm sorry...?"
"What? Did you think I'd enjoy that?"
_Is there some unwritten rule that villains must eat their meat practically raw, blood pooling on the plate?_
"No, my lady. I will certainly inform the chef of your preferences."
_Please do—and quickly._ For some inexplicable reason, all the meat in this house was invariably served nearly raw. Kanna or Jelly always ended up finishing it for me while I pretended everything was fine. Come to think of it, I should have demanded a different cooking method ages ago. But the stubborn habit of living "modestly" and silently eating whatever was placed before me had followed me into this world like an unwelcome shadow.
"Perhaps you might come down and dine here more often?"
Was he serious? He simply hadn't witnessed what the entire household became whenever Evangeline appeared in the dining room. If he'd seen people—even with glass shards still clutched in their trembling hands—fall to their knees and beg not to be killed, he would never have made such a suggestion.
The maid from that incident had been treated with holy water and transferred to another district, but the memory remained painfully vivid.
_And you're asking me to endure this spectacle every day?_
"It would be uncomfortable. For everyone."
"But they'll grow accustomed to it eventually. How can it be that the chef still doesn't know the mistress's preferences?"
"I'll consider it."
Yulma muttered something discontented under his breath, overflowing with professional zeal. However, I couldn't bring myself to be angry with the cook. Most likely, he remained ignorant of my tastes precisely because I had only recently arrived. The real Evangeline, being a proper villain, might well have preferred her meat rare and bloody. And since I ate with the household and my plates always returned empty, he probably assumed he'd guessed correctly.
I offered Yulma some words of encouragement, dismissed him, and only then did the Count—who had been watching me intently this entire time—finally part his thin lips.
"As Phlox mentioned, you've begun to look... decent."
_What a formulation._
"You've become more human."
_Ah. So that's what he meant._
He seemed to believe Evangeline had finally shed her bestial mask. I couldn't help wondering just how wild she had been before I took over. I was still behaving rather brazenly, yet the Count already thought I'd become *human*.
So catching a nearly toppled glass and exchanging a few civil words with the servants was enough to draw such conclusions? It was terrifying to imagine how utterly vile my predecessor's character must have been. No wonder my possession had been discovered so frequently in the early days.
"If you attend the reception tonight, please conduct yourself appropriately. It will suffice if you behave as you are now."
Finally, he arrived at his point. It turned out to be merely a warning about the Crown Prince's birthday reception that evening.
_Amazing._
After such a long separation from his daughter, the first thing he felt compelled to say was a demand for proper behavior.
"Since you're seeing your daughter for the first time in quite a while, shouldn't you first ask how she's faring?"
It was because of a father like this that Evangeline had taken a wrong turn, gradually transforming into the villain of the century. Even I—a far more reserved person—felt the urge to cause a scene at these words. The Count couldn't be saved, not even by a genre of family repentance. If such a redemptive story existed for this family, it would definitely unfold on the maternal side.
"Yes..." The Count's gaze drifted away, as though yielding half a step. "Indeed. How much time has passed?"
"This is probably our first meeting since my funeral."
_So, exactly two months? You abandoned your child for two months?_
Although, considering Evangeline's age, "child" wasn't quite accurate. I'll correct myself: *daughter*. You abandoned your daughter for two months? And after that, you still dare call yourself her father?
"Yes. It has been... a while."
The Count, apparently realizing I wouldn't relent easily, averted his eyes in a show of concession.
_Fundamentally, I don't like him._
"You invited me just for this? You even arranged dinner together, as though time were something to waste."
Kanna had nearly burst into tears when she learned I would have to dine with the Count. Misa had clutched her head and insisted that civilized people don't consume heavy meals before a ball—they observe at least a symbolic fast.
"No. There is something more important."
The Count paused, as if deliberately staging a dramatic moment. I just wanted him to get to the point and stop dragging his feet.
"Duke Hossaquin will be present at the reception."
_Duke Hossaquin._
Well, the relationship between father-in-law and son-in-law was apparently quite remarkable. Since the Count was the one who had caused the rift with his own daughter, expecting any warmth between them would be naive.
"Try to improve your relationship with him."
_What?_
You ruined everything yourself, and now you want me to clean up the mess? How convenient. Clean up after yourself!
And yet... was this a sudden venture into family remorse? Too late. Evangeline wasn't a child anymore.
"Now? For what purpose?"
Starting a story about fatherhood at this point was utterly pointless. The only way to do that would be to travel back in time.
"They say his health is failing. Rumor has it his end is near."
_Rumors._ If I believed every rumor, then I myself was an evil demon who sewed dresses from human skin. For some reason, I was quite certain the Duke wouldn't be a decrepit old man at all, but a vigorous and very much alive gentleman.
"As people age, they become sentimental. Sometimes to the point of pining for their deceased loved ones." The Count's voice carried a calculating edge. "And you are the spitting image of Amaranta. He'll likely be moved when he sees you."
_Amaranta?_
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't immediately place it.
"Amaranta was Evangeline's mother. That is to say—your mother."
The Count, apparently remembering my amnesia, added this clarification. Now it made sense. Yes, the name had surfaced somewhere before. Recalling the portraits I'd seen, the resemblance was obvious. Though Evangeline's mother had appeared much softer—radiating a warm, gentle aura reminiscent of a heroine like Kanna.
"You may not possess a title, but you still retain inheritance rights."
_Finally_, he revealed his true purpose.
In other words, the division of property would soon commence, and he wanted me to approach the dying Duke, touch the old man's sentimental heart, and extract whatever benefit I could from the situation.
_Amazing. The villain's real father, indeed._
I mentally booed him, but then a thought struck me. What if this was part of the story too? Evangeline had probably received this exact same order in the original narrative.
So—she approaches the Duke. He, fully aware of her dark past, refuses to accept her as his granddaughter and instead adopts another heir. And that heir turns out to be... *Kanna*.
Perhaps not in appearance, but in atmosphere, Kanna was far closer to Amaranta's gentle spirit.
Our Kanna was perfectly wonderful, but for a romance novel heroine, her background was rather modest. The Duke, by adopting her, would correct that beautifully! And simultaneously exact proper revenge on the villain!
_Wasn't that the perfect moment of satisfaction?_
I felt a flicker of genuine curiosity. While I was lost in thought, the Count added weight to the scale.
"If my offer doesn't interest you, consider it a transaction. Is there something you want in exchange?"
"A deal..."
I paused to consider. What could I possibly ask for? Materially, I needed almost nothing. I already possessed the money Evangeline's mother had left. Frankly, what I wanted most was a peaceful future without execution, but I doubted the Count could guarantee that. More likely, on the day of the villain's execution, he would attempt to flee alone—only to be captured and convicted anyway.
I needed nothing, yet I couldn't approach the Duke empty-handed. Naturally, I had no intention of accepting the inheritance, much less handing it over to the Count.
"I hope it will be within my capabilities."
The Count immediately added this condition, clearly expecting me to demand something outrageous. Apparently, he doubted my judgment. However, I understood the source of this mistrust. Evangeline had evidently caused problems with him before.
_What should I ask for... What exactly..._
And then, studying the Count's wary expression, I remembered something that had been nagging at me for quite some time.
_The diary!_
Every time I sent letters containing torn-out pages where Evangeline's mother had spoken harshly of the Count, I noticed how visibly he flinched—how much thinner and more haggard he appeared afterward. If she had kept one diary, she likely hadn't limited herself to just one volume. However, despite extensive searching, nothing else had been found in the mansion.
Perhaps the remaining entries were kept at the family estate.
Moreover, another diary might contain some other magical scheme—something similar to a spirit summoning circle.
Gabriel's words returned to me: that the lady's presence had distorted the painting's influence, making it unstable. Even though I possessed an officially recognized *zero* ability to commune with spirits, that didn't mean elemental summoning circles were the only kind that existed. Other patterns might work differently.
"I would like to visit the family estate."
"The estate?"
The Count's brow furrowed slightly. He immediately inquired about timing. After tonight's ball, I had a series of social obligations ahead—it probably wouldn't be possible for at least a month or two.
"In a month should work. If preparation is required, two months would be acceptable."
"Very well. I will give the appropriate orders."
The Count nodded, then became lost in thought and muttered something under his breath.
"Is there even a room for Evangeline at the estate?"
_What?_
Why wouldn't there be a room for Evangeline? Did she harbor some secret about her birth? Though judging by her resemblance to her mother, that seemed unlikely. Perhaps she had been mistreated there?
"Why wouldn't I have a room?"
If they had truly treated me poorly there, I wouldn't be gentle with the Count about it.
"You probably don't remember, but Amaranta disliked visiting the estate. She always remained in the capital with Evangeline. I was the only one who traveled there."
The Count, once again accounting for my amnesia, provided an explanation.
_Ah. She simply didn't care for country life. It happens._
"I'll have a room prepared. A month or two should be sufficient time."
_If it comes down to preferences, I would appreciate a cozy interior with warm wooden tones..._ But making such demands would create problems not for the Count, but for the servants. Better to remain silent.
"And that's all you want from me?"
"Of course not." I set down my teacup with deliberate calm. "If I require anything else, I'll write."
Let him believe my ambitions had subsided. Nothing could be further from the truth. They hadn't gone anywhere. I was simply waiting patiently for the right moment.
"As you wish." The Count's jaw tightened. "Just refrain from sending those... *disturbing* letters."
_Hmph! Absolutely not!_ It was my legal right!
"Why should I stop? They're touching declarations of love that Mother left behind. I only send the passages where she addresses you directly." I took a measured sip of tea. "Since she can't deliver them in person, I must serve as her messenger. Unless... you'd prefer she visit you herself?"
The Count shuddered as though an icy draft had passed through him.
_Afraid a ghost might appear? Well. He deserves it._
"How remarkably thoughtful," he said dryly, "for someone who didn't even know Amaranta's name."
"It's quite natural." I smiled pleasantly over the rim of my cup. "I have amnesia, after all."