Madame Toten, without finishing her sentence, began coughing—a hoarse, broken sound that seemed to tear itself from somewhere deep in her chest. For a moment, it appeared as if her strength was finally deserting her entirely. But in the next instant, she straightened as though nothing had happened, reclaiming that impeccably graceful posture everyone had grown accustomed to seeing.
"You nearly saved my son. And yet you ask only one thing—to stop being a laundress?"
"Y-yes..."
"Then I will appoint you as head maid."
"Me... the head maid...?"
The appointment was, to put it mildly, stunning. Madame Toten swiftly laid out rewards and punishments with crystalline clarity, then dispersed the servants who had crowded around as though this were a marketplace spectacle. Taking only Weather—who still couldn't quite believe what was happening—she headed toward a private room.
But the moment the door clicked shut behind us, Madame Toten literally collapsed to the floor, as if all the tension holding her upright had suddenly vanished. Before I could even take a step forward, Weather had already rushed to her side and caught her.
"Madam!"
"Weather..." Madame Toten's voice emerged thin, almost fragile. "You saw Ryder die and then come back to life. And still you ask nothing."
Melek, inhabiting Ryder's body, shrank behind me as though feeling guilty. _Melek, I made you do this—you have nothing to blame yourself for!_
"Weren't you disgusted that I ordered you to watch over a dead child?"
"Not at all." Weather's voice was steady, though soft. "Madam... in the village where I was born, there lived an old woman. She always carried a doll on her back. Her son had gone off to war decades ago, and there had been no word of him since. The woman's mind had grown clouded, but she remembered her son's name—so she raised the doll as though it were a child." She paused. "That woman was my grandmother. Even though the villagers called her a mad old crone, I could understand her. So to me, you're not strange at all."
"...Thank you."
Weather's quiet consolation had drawn forth her own past, and a mental sigh escaped me. _What kind of novel is this, where every character carries a legacy of darkness and hopelessness?_
Daisy's trusted principal had turned out to be a slave trader. Kanna had been kidnapped by a madman and nearly killed. Now here was Weather, with a story that could wring tears from even stone.
And it wasn't just the maids. Madame Toten, Gabriel—everyone without exception possessed difficult, shadowed histories steeped in loss and pain. Apparently, it couldn't have been any other way. The world of this novel itself seemed worn out, fractured—as though it had long been living on the edge of collapse.
Madame Toten, appearing as though she had finally lifted some of the burden from her shoulders, turned to me.
"Thank you, Lady Rohanson."
"I'm glad I could help."
Then she shifted her gaze to Melek.
"And... how should I address you? Melek?"
Melek, who had been hiding behind my back, cautiously peered out and opened his mouth.
"That's the name of my former body. The name Lady Rohanson gave me is Be—"
I immediately clamped my hand over his mouth, cutting him off. _Not that! Not "Meringue"!_ Giving a ghost such a cute dessert name would be far too strange. Completely unacceptable! Even the thought of explaining that names are sometimes inspired by childhood nicknames or random whims seemed doomed to failure.
Melek met my gaze, understood everything, and nodded obediently. I removed my hand.
"Please call me Melek."
"Very well. Melek, thank you for your help."
He lowered his eyes and spoke more quietly. "No... I should be the one asking forgiveness. I took your son's body..."
"It was my choice," Madame Toten replied calmly. "And I can see you've turned out to be a good person."
Her gaze was surprisingly warm. Perhaps because the body Melek now occupied had belonged to Ryder, she looked at him as though he truly were her son. There was no doubt or fear in that gaze—only quiet acceptance. Melek, noticing her reaction, visibly relaxed, as if finally allowing himself to exhale.
A strange sense of faint but genuine closeness arose between us. We had endured this ordeal together, and the realization was unexpectedly touching. I even felt the urge to surreptitiously wipe my eyes—but at that moment, Hena checked the time and called out to me.
"My lady, I believe it's time for us to leave."
_Already?_ I glanced at my own timepiece and inhaled sharply. Only an hour remained until departure. If we didn't leave immediately, we could easily be late.
But it was impossible to leave right away. I couldn't abandon Madame Toten in this state.
The decision came quickly. Hena and Weather, without needing to consult each other, agreed to help her prepare. Fortunately, Hena possessed considerable skill with makeup and skincare—so much so that even Misa always acknowledged her abilities.
"Then I beg your pardon," Madame Toten said quietly, allowing them to work.
Under Hena's deft hands, she gradually regained her familiar, flawless appearance. Her damp, shapeless hair was neatly swept back; her posture straightened once more; her features recovered that same restrained strength she always possessed.
"Is this to your liking?"
"Yes... Thank you."
When color appeared on her lips, her face finally lost its lifelessness. Madame Toten requested the same borrowed shoes, so we only needed to select a dress. The dark green she chose proved surprisingly suitable—today it emphasized her calm, slightly muted severity.
"Your maid has golden hands."
"Doesn't she?"
I couldn't help but straighten my shoulders at Hena's praise. She wasn't the only capable one—the girls in my household could accomplish many things, and it was gratifying when their work was noticed beyond our own circle. It even softened my smile.
"If you're ready, shall we depart?"
I was prepared to move forward, caught up in that familiar inner momentum: _Alright, let's go—we'll figure this out as we proceed!_ But my gaze lingered on Melek, still wearing Ryder's body.
"What will happen to Melek?"
"That's precisely my concern." Madame Toten's brow furrowed slightly. "We've isolated the butler and Diaz, so there probably won't be any serious problems... but taking him to the reception is out of the question."
After a brief pause, Weather spoke—carefully, but with confidence.
"Madam, I will stay beside the young master."
"You? Weather, you witnessed everything with your own eyes. You know this child... is no longer Ryder. Doesn't that trouble you?"
"No. I'm fine with it."
The answer came without hesitation.
"Why...?"
"If my father had returned the way young Master Ryder did, my grandmother would have been overjoyed. It would have been so much better than a doll."
"Thank you. Please look after him."
And so it was decided: while we attended the reception, Melek would remain at the marquisate under Weather's care. The tension that had lingered in Madame Toten finally eased, and she sighed with visible relief.
But my own question remained unanswered.
_If Melek stays here, who will be my coachman now?_
I had grown accustomed to his driving style. If I climbed into another carriage, I suspected I would immediately start feeling motion-sick. Was I truly going to endure the shaking, the aching discomfort, tossed about in that rolling, seasick-inducing box?
_No thank you. I absolutely don't want that._
And what should become of my own carriage? I needed to travel to the palace in Madame Toten's carriage—but how would I return home afterward?
These troubling thoughts accompanied me outside, where I suddenly spotted a familiar figure.
_Ah... the beastman coachman._ The same one who had shared memories with Jelly and Daisy.
"You can use him as you see fit."
Jelly, having retrieved Melek, had quietly vanished—then reappeared as if guided by pure instinct, bringing the coachman along. _What a clever boy!_ You're no less charming than Pudding today! But for heaven's sake, don't tell Pudding about this!
Melek, having lost his position, looked truly miserable. He might be Melek on the inside, but outwardly he was still Ryder—and when tears welled up in those young eyes, I wanted to comfort him the way one might comfort a child who had held on too long and finally cracked.
"After all, being a coachman is my job..."
"Yes. He'll simply take your place temporarily, until you return."
"Really?" Hope flickered in his expression. "Gamigin... my lady, please take care of Gamigin until I come back."
Melek bid farewell to his horse, and the parting was so full of melancholy—as though he were saying goodbye not to an animal, but to a piece of his own existence. He clearly understood that he must remain in Ryder's body until the marquisate stabilized. The uncertainty of when exactly he would be able to return made the moment especially bitter.
"When can I come back?"
"When the Marquise's position is strengthened. Stay until she can manage independently, even without Ryder's presence."
"Yes, I will do so..." He paused, then added almost as an afterthought: "Oh, yes, my lady. What about my diet?"
_Ah. Right._ There was also the food issue. But why did he think of the horse first and only then of sustenance? Usually it was the other way around, wasn't it?
_Perhaps ghosts really do have everything reversed._ I recalled the old folklore about spirits clapping their hands backwards and wrapping meat in leaves—as though they had mixed up the essential and the trivial. The meat part sounded tempting, of course, but Melek still wouldn't be able to eat it.
But hadn't Melek, while possessing the body of a beastman bull, required flowers? Did eating habits not change even when inhabiting another form? It seemed that while Melek remained at the marquisate, I would need to gather petals and send them to Madame Toten.
_Wonderful. More work to add to the list._
---
For the journey, it seemed we would discuss everything that had transpired, so Madame Toten decided to ride with me in my carriage. Jelly, however, declared himself exhausted and attempted to slip away.
Though, in fairness, I had only brought him along in case something went wrong at the marquisate. Now that the coachman had been found and the situation had stabilized, it was fair to say Jelly had fulfilled his role faithfully to the very end. He had earned his rest.
"Then I'll return home first."
With these words, Jelly vanished—using teleportation. _This is what I truly envy._ I would probably never be able to master magic. My affinity with spirits was zero, and as for magical power—there was no need to even mention it. I likely possessed no talent whatsoever.
Madame Toten froze in place, clearly shocked by Jelly's sudden disappearance. _Oh, right..._ I had completely forgotten. Perhaps I should have explained or concealed it somehow beforehand. But after Melek had possessed Ryder, Jelly's vanishing act no longer seemed like the strangest event of the day.
Pretending everything was perfectly normal, I calmly nodded to Madame Toten and suggested we proceed to the carriage.
---
## — Meanwhile, at the Rohanson Mansion —
Andras, yawning widely, returned to the Rohanson mansion. He begged Daisy for something sweet, sprawled out on Evangeline's bed, and—rolling from side to side—savored the moment. That lasted precisely until Pudding regarded him with obvious displeasure and slashed with his claws.
Andras yelped, jerking back and writhing in pain.
"Don't leave dog hair on Mistress Evangeline's bed."
"*Ouch!* Pudding, that's animal cruelty, you little brat! Down with discrimination! You're the one who sits on your mistress's lap and purrs like a house cat—and I'm not even allowed to *lie down* on the bed?"
Flauros ignored his complaints and simply settled into bed himself. Evangeline was not home, so for the first time in quite a while, he had assumed human form. The light emanating from him shone so brightly that Andras couldn't help but squint.
Collapsing to the floor, Andras—gritting his teeth—also reverted to human form. Since he couldn't shed fur, he might as well be human. Although, if one thought about it, a *man* lying on the bed looked far more dubious than a *dog* lying there. He tried to leap onto the mattress again, but Flauros stopped him with a gesture and pointed toward the sofa.
"Your place is there."
"You could have just said so." Andras sighed dramatically. "So you're not against lying down in general—you're just against *me* lying *here*."
He slouched onto the sofa—which had long since become almost a personal throne for him—and leaned back. _Fine. Magnanimous me will be patient._
As if sensing his mood, Daisy brought sorbet. When Andras spooned up the first serving, he felt as though all the accumulated stress in the world was dissolving into sweet, icy relief.
"And Mistress Evangeline?"
"Just left for the palace."
At that moment, Flauros began sharing vision through the eyes he had placed around Evangeline.
"Ugh." Jelly clicked his tongue. "My son has become a stalker."
"Speaking of stalkers... there were a suspiciously large number of people near the Toten Marquisate. Seemingly hiding. Waiting." He paused meaningfully. "And you know what? Almost all of them turned out to be priests."
"Priests?"
The landscapes flashing before Flauros's eyes only stopped when the carriage reached the imperial palace. He sensed something strange—a subtle wrongness, as though the air itself were slightly *off*. He couldn't pinpoint the exact nature of the disturbance, but the feeling of alienation was too pronounced to attribute to mere fatigue.
"Andras. Why does it smell *rotten*?"
"From me?" Andras raised his arm and sniffed, but detected only the characteristic scent of a well-groomed upper-class lapdog.
"From the palace, I mean." Flauros's golden eyes narrowed. "Something disturbing... It seems I need to go to Lady Evangeline myself."
He materialized clothing identical to that worn by palace servants, copying every detail down to the last button. The outfit looked entirely out of place with his blond curls and slender, callus-free white fingers—but he didn't seem to care.
"Your mistress prefers you as a cat." Andras smirked teasingly. "Or do you think she'll even recognize you?"
He received another blow for the comment—but managed to hold onto his sorbet. He felt a small surge of pride at that accomplishment.
---
## — The Journey to the Palace —
"Where shall I drive?"
"To the imperial palace."
I stated our destination and climbed into the carriage. Competent as the new coachman was, he was nowhere near Melek's standard. The carriage lurched into motion and soon began to shake noticeably. Overcome by nausea, I fixed my gaze out the window to steady myself.
While I watched the passing scenery, I noticed the rain had finally stopped. The clouds parted to reveal the moon—soft and muted in its light. Madame Toten stared at the sky as if unable to tear herself away.
"The rain has stopped."
The downpours that had been lashing the city for days had finally subsided. The moon hung indecently beautiful in the clearing sky, as though the world had decided to laugh and deliver a perfect night at the most inopportune moment.
"Madame Toten." My voice came out quieter than intended. "Do you know what date today is?"
"Yes, of course."
She looked at me as though I had suddenly spoken out of turn—and I knew she understood. I was hesitant to say it aloud, but I decided it would be worse to remain silent.
"Never forget this day. We stole death itself from Ryder. We deprived him of the right to be mourned—even eternal peace was taken from him. So at the very least, we owe it to ourselves to remember the day he died."
I pulled a gemstone flower from my pocket and pressed it into Madame Toten's hands. It was the crystal bloom I had received as a gift from Misa—she had called it a trial piece for my ruby flower. It hadn't matched my debutante gown, and I had been planning to give it to Gabriel or simply put it away.
I hadn't imagined it would find purpose like this. But now it had become my offering to Ryder.
Madame Toten took the crystal flower and clutched it so tightly—as though terrified she might drop it—before suddenly bursting into tears. She wept like a child, without any attempt at composure, without shame, stripped of the practiced grace that usually protected aristocrats from prying eyes.
Through her sobbing, she began to speak—pushing out everything that had been building inside, as though expelling pain that had lodged deep in her chest. That Ryder had been suffering and weakening for five days. That today he had finally departed. That those were his last words. That she, not knowing what else to grasp at, had come to me—clinging to chance like a rope stretched over an abyss.
"I'll never forget." Her voice emerged raw, cracked—but steady as an oath. "Especially since it's the Crown Prince's birthday. I won't be able to forget anyway."
She met my eyes with her reddened gaze and spoke as though swearing a vow.
By the time she finished, we had nearly reached the imperial palace.
"We're almost there."
Madame Toten, having released her burden, appeared much calmer than before.
---
The rain had stopped completely, so I opened the window. And then I noticed: the palace lay on the far side of the river. We crossed an enormous suspension bridge, and the main gate appeared ahead—so impossibly majestic that my jaw literally dropped.
_This... is a gate? Seriously?_
Guards stood before it, methodically checking carriages one by one.
"They verify the guest list to ensure visitors have the right to enter the palace," Madame Toten explained, her tone as calm as though we were merely passing through an ordinary town square rather than approaching the seat of imperial power.
Aside from her tear-stained eyes, she had once again become the perfect woman.
The security inspection proved far stricter than I had anticipated. Well, this *was* a palace—naturally they feared assassins and strangers who might attempt to infiltrate disguised as guests. One group followed another through the checkpoint, and finally it was our turn.
"Invitation, please!" A guard's voice rang out sharply. "This man's neck is twisted!"