Chapter 7
“Are you seriously still asleep?”
I had been dozing in front of my desk when an unwelcome intruder barged in, rousing me with sheer annoyance.
I sighed deeply and turned around to see a plump maid with broad shoulders standing there, clicking her tongue in exasperation. Her audacity was astounding, but after having used my powers yesterday and drained my energy, I had little will left to scold her.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I told you there’d be a dinner downstairs today. How could you still be asleep? Now I’m the only one getting scolded.”
Her sharp voice rang in my ears, headache-inducing.
“I don’t remember you saying that.”
As I rubbed my temples and rose, the maid grabbed me roughly.
“I definitely told you!”
Judging by her flushed, angry face, she was lying. Even the maids at the Rione estate had never treated me with such disrespect…
As I reflected on my precarious position in the Anguist household, the maid—without a shred of hesitation—stripped me of my clothes and dressed me in the gown for dinner.
In a yellow dress that suited me not at all, I was pushed out of my room.
“Why are you dawdling? Honestly, so slow,” she chided.
‘Should I really hit her?’
My blood boiled, but the plump maid was quick. She had already gestured from ahead, beckoning me to hurry.
Arriving at the dining hall, the maid vanished without another word. As the butler opened the doors, all eyes of the Anguist direct line settled on me, seated at the table.
In the past, I would have panicked, scrambling to find a seat. Now, I walked deliberately, bowing to my grandmother and matriarch, Talia.
“I’m late,” I said.
Failing to manage a maid properly would have been seen as a flaw in the Anguist household, so I chose apology over excuse.
“What on earth kept you…?”
Mother Monica raised her voice immediately, attempting to find fault, but Talia silenced her with a simple gesture.
“You must be tired. Sit.”
Before me lay cold food, yet no one rebuked the servants. With no appetite, I merely stirred the roasted vegetables before pushing the plate aside.
By the time the main course ended and dessert was served, Talia quietly set down her fork and knife, scanning the family.
“Today…”
She captured everyone’s attention before continuing.
“I’ve called this dinner for an important matter.”
An important matter… I tried to recall if anything came to mind.
“It concerns the selection of the next head of the Anguist family.”
All eyes shifted to Zenobio, the eldest of the siblings. It was no secret that Talia had bypassed her son Vincenzo and considered Zenobio the heir apparent.
Vincenzo, unable to hide his displeasure, gulped down his wine roughly, while Zenobio remained impassive.
“The candidates for the next head will include both Vincenzo and Amira.”
Silence fell over the table. Even Zenobio’s carefully maintained composure faltered—his eyebrows trembled.
“Mother!”
Monica was the first to protest vocally.
“Monica, the next head will be either your husband or one of your children. I thought you’d be least dissatisfied by this.”
Monica fell silent under Talia’s piercing gaze, though surely not in agreement. What Monica truly wanted was for Zenobio—not her husband—to inherit, so that her position would remain secure even if secrets surfaced.
“I intend to formally select the heir in the year Amira graduates. Until then, show results.”
With her announcement delivered, Talia left the dining hall, leaving Vincenzo to toss his napkin onto the table in frustration. Monica and her adored children followed.
‘This never happened before.’
In the past, Zenobio’s status as heir had never been challenged.
I recalled the sharp glance Talia had cast my way earlier, and the smile she had worn in her bedroom that very morning.
‘Could it be… she had me in mind?’
Past and present differed in only one way: I had not humiliatingly revealed Medusa’s powers.
“Haha,” I let out a hollow laugh.
“Could it really be…”
“But you’ve always avoided conflict. What’s different today?”
“I just thought it was time to show them. That they shouldn’t mess with me.”
Perhaps Talia liked that answer. Very likely. The Talia I knew cherished me but never intervened when it truly mattered. She believed I had to learn to rise on my own, watching silently from the cliff’s edge—even when Monica ostracized or abused me.
It was maddening. I had thought to bring down this household along with the world.
‘Perhaps becoming head of the family might actually help.’
Back in my bedroom, I sank onto the soft sofa, weary from the dinner, and summoned a maid.
If I intended to enter the succession battle seriously, I needed my allies. A maid incapable of performing even basic tasks was nothing but a burden. She had failed to inform me of the dinner in time, and gifts still piled neglected in the corner of my room.
“What is it?” the maid asked, arrogantly indifferent. Normally, one should wait for the master to speak first. Clearly, manners were lost on her.
My position in the Anguist household was exactly so. Neglected by the head and father, subtly shunned by Mother Monica and my siblings, I was a runt. Neither the head maid nor the other servants had reason to treat me with courtesy.
“What’s your name again?” I asked.
The maid’s brow furrowed, wounded in pride. I had no intention of provoking her, but after eight years as a ghost, trivial details often escaped me.
Before she could answer, I waved my hand.
“Never mind. No need to know. I won’t see you again anyway.”
More than her name, it was her sharp tongue that had left an impression.
“Just eat quickly. You might get hair in your food sometimes.”
“You parasite,” I muttered.
“Do you really need to heat water? It’s summer. And yet, your greatest achievement is being born into the direct line, and you’re so picky.”
Where had I gone wrong? I had only wanted to treat my own people well… In the past, I had foolishly believed kindness would earn love.
“Summon the head maid.”
I was no longer generous enough to give second chances.
“She’s busy,” the maid protested, implying refusal. I had no desire to waste words with someone so oblivious.
“Arjen,” I called, leaning back on the single-seater sofa. My beloved silver serpent slid down my lap and slithered toward the maid.
As befitted an Anguist servant, the maid remained unshaken… until Arjen coiled around her neck and opened his jaws.
“Ah! Get it off me!”
She struggled, but it was futile. Without my command, Arjen would not relent.
Arjen tightened his grip. The maid’s face turned ashen, and she dropped to her knees, unable to speak, hands clasped toward me in desperate entreaty. I finally rose and stood before her.
“Do you want to know why you must obey me?”
I crouched to meet her eyes, lifting her chin. Arjen relaxed and slid to the floor.
“Because my greatest achievement in life is being born an Anguist.”
Once, she had foolishly uttered this herself. Watching her pale in realization was strangely satisfying.
It meant the Anguist blood ran strongly in me as well. Revolting, yes.
“I know it’s unfair. You, too, should have been born into privilege and spared such humiliation.”
I held her chin tighter, gazing into her pale green eyes, where beneath the fog of fear lay deep inferiority and resentment.
“But the world has always been ugly, hasn’t it?”
It was hard to accept, even facing death. I never wanted to abuse the privilege I had, even if all humans were cruel. Yet, those wearing human masks quickly recognized weakness—and preyed upon it. The maid had been one of them, desiring to put me beneath her once she realized my weakness.
She believed she was more suited to the Anguist name than I was. That illusion grew until she even began to hate me.
I would no longer feed such people. In a rotten world, I would use my status to the fullest.
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to linger in this ugly world either.”
Then, I would destroy it as quickly as possible.
