Chapter 5
“I’m not misunderstanding anything.”
‘I’ve read plenty of descriptions of your personalities in the novel. Do you think I’m insane enough to act out of line?’
Not a chance.
Penelope wanted to live a long life — a very long one. She’d already experienced an early death once, and that was enough for several lifetimes.
“So, don’t worry.”
‘I won’t do anything stupid.’
Whether they watched her, fed her scraps of suspicion, or even tortured her — well, maybe not torture, but still — she didn’t care.
Life, in her opinion, was about three sacred things: eating, sleeping, and staying alive.
“I’m good at keeping myself out of trouble.”
She glanced at the passing scenery through the carriage window and smiled faintly. They were almost at the Valentine mansion.
Technically, she was now a member of the duchy, but in reality, she was no better than a fragile sunfish that could die at any moment.
A few days ago, she’d come here as a guest.
Now, she was returning as… something else.
She felt bitter just thinking about it and turned to look at Clarice — only to see him looking oddly pale, as if someone had smacked him across the face.
Even his hand, which had been gripping his knee tightly, slowly relaxed.
‘What the—?’
“…Your Grace?”
‘What’s wrong with him?’
* * *
“Welcome, my lady.”
It wasn’t Penelope’s first time visiting the Valentine mansion.
The difference was that this time, she wasn’t arriving in a golden carriage — and there were spectators. That alone was enough to cause a stir.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Penelope—”
“Rem Valentine.”
Clarice cut in smoothly as he approached from behind.
“Treat her with sincerity. She’s my daughter.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Clarice lightly patted her head as if she were a pet dog, then walked past her without a glance.
‘Ugh, what a jerk.’
Penelope fixed her tousled hair and glared daggers at his retreating back.
‘Does he think he’s some kind of divine free spirit?’
“My lady.”
“Y-yes?”
Just as she turned, planning to mentally curse Clarice’s pretty face into dust, the butler Zebino cleared his throat softly — a polite little ahem that sounded like ‘please behave.’
She quickly straightened up.
After all, she’d just been shooting death glares at her new “father.” If anyone else noticed, she’d probably get scolded for disrespecting the Duke.
“…Allow me to show you to your room. The maids assigned to serve you are already prepared.”
“Th-thank you.”
Fortunately, Zebino didn’t comment on her earlier behavior. He simply turned and began leading her down the hall, face as calm and disciplined as ever.
He showed no annoyance, no distaste — nothing but quiet professionalism.
Penelope wisely decided to shut her mouth and follow.
‘I’m definitely not going to live long at this rate…’
As she climbed the mansion’s wide staircase, she clenched her dress hem tightly, as if it were a lifeline.
If she had to describe the mansion in one word, it would be a dungeon.
Not the metaphorical kind, either — an actual dungeon straight out of a fantasy novel.
‘This place looks like a horror movie set.’
The exterior was made of dark marble that absorbed all light. Inside, it felt cold and desolate — like a frozen desert.
There were very few decorations or furnishings. The atmosphere was heavy, empty, and lifeless.
She remembered how, the first time she came here, her maid Lily had whispered nervously, “This place feels scary…”
‘She’s probably in prison by now.’
“This will be your room, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. And as I’ve mentioned before, please don’t use formal speech with me. From now on, you are part of the Valentine family.”
“…All right.”
His tone was so firm that she didn’t even dare joke about being a doomed sunfish anymore.
Zebino seemed pleased with her answer and gave a deep bow.
He treated her like a real noble daughter of the house — polite, respectful, even warm.
Penelope hesitated, confused.
‘Why?’
‘Why is he… treating me like this?’
It unsettled her.
“Zebino.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Don’t I make you uncomfortable?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Could he really see her — the daughter of Leranswell — as his new master?
“What do you mean?”
He pretended not to notice her use of formal tone, waiting patiently.
Penelope couldn’t hide her growing confusion.
“You know who I am.”
It made sense for the Duke and High Priest to hate her. Her father had done unforgivable things to them. No one — not even a saint — could easily embrace the daughter of their enemy.
She was Leranswell’s last surviving heir.
When her father was executed, there would be no one left to protect her.
She’d be an easy target for revenge killings. Her family’s crimes were far too deep.
She wasn’t strong, skilled, or useful in any way.
“Leranswell. The Bloody Leranswell.”
She whispered the title like a curse.
In this world, she had no magic, no swordsmanship, no power. Just memory.
If she hadn’t read the novel before ending up here, she would’ve been dead long ago.
As much as she hated to admit it, that was the truth.
“At least someone around you must have suffered because of the Leranswells.”
“……”
If the Valentines hadn’t adopted her, she would have been quietly erased from existence.
“Lady Penelope.”
Zebino’s voice was low and rough, like it scraped against the air.
He said her name — her actual name — for the first time.
His face looked strangely emotional.
“You did not commit those sins.”
“!”
Her crimson eyes widened.
Her lips twisted in disbelief.
Zebino’s chest ached slightly at the sight of her expression.
She looked calm, but the question she had asked earlier — ‘Why don’t you hate me?’ — had been painfully sincere.
She spoke of guilt that wasn’t hers as if it were something natural.
Zebino, usually composed, found himself at a loss for words.
Yes, his family had also suffered under House Leranswell.
But looking at this small, trembling child, he couldn’t direct his hatred toward her.
“My family also suffered terribly because of the Leranswells,” he admitted quietly.
Penelope froze.
“But I am not foolish enough to aim my bitterness at an innocent child. If your heart ever feels burdened because of your family’s sins, you may tell me.”
He turned slightly, placing a hand on the doorknob. Her red eyes followed the motion, focusing on the tall wooden door.
“It was not you who did wrong, my lady. It was we, the adults, who made you feel that way.”
* * *
That evening, after escorting Penelope to her room, Zebino went to report to the dukes.
There weren’t many servants in the mansion, but as the chief steward, it was his duty to deliver a daily report.
As usual, he knocked at the same hour. The familiar permission — “Come in” — came from inside.
He entered and bowed respectfully to the two people everyone revered: Duke Castro and High Priest Clarice.
Clarice was folding a newspaper rather violently, the sound crisp and sharp. Then he tossed it onto the table.
“That kid?”
Immediately, Zebino pictured the golden-haired child.
“She’s talking with the maids, Your Grace.”
“Hmm. Really?”
Clarice’s tone was intrigued.
“Anything unusual?”
Castro loosened his tie, having just returned from the imperial palace on the Emperor’s orders.
“None, sir. And…”
Zebino hesitated, then added, “She seems… very sharp. Sensible, even.”
“Sensible, huh? You might be right.”
The dukes exchanged a look. Coming from the strict, perfectionist Zebino, such praise was rare.
Clarice propped his chin on his hand, recalling Penelope’s earlier behavior.
“She’s sharp. Quick to read a room. Smarter than her father ever was. The Duke of Leranswell was an idiot — at least she didn’t inherit that.”
‘Still,’ he thought, ‘a Leranswell is a Leranswell.’
“Keep an eye on her. Better yet, assign someone to stick close to her. The clever ones are always the ones who stab you in the back. Look at me — I’ve stabbed practically everyone I know.”
“That’s not something to brag about,” Castro muttered.
“Also, what about that other guy? Generalis will be offended if you keep ignoring him.”
“Ugh, whatever— ow!”
Castro flicked Clarice’s shoulder. It wasn’t even that hard, but Clarice clutched it dramatically as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Then he grinned.
“Well, people like me are rare. Honestly, when two of my kind meet, it’s chaos. That’s what they call self-loathing, right?”
‘You’re the exception,’ Castro thought dryly.
“I just don’t like that girl. She knows too much about our secret. It’s uncomfortable.”
“……”
“Not killing her is already an act of mercy. Even I’m not cruel enough to make a daughter pay for her father’s crimes.”
“Clarice.”
“What? Wouldn’t it hurt your pride too?”
‘If I wanted revenge, I’d kill that bastard Duke and everyone involved, not a child.’
“I told you before — if she ever shows even the slightest sign of being a spy, I’ll kill her myself. Don’t worry. Until then, I won’t.”
“…I know you won’t. But at least change that tone when you’re around her.”
‘With how blunt you are, if she starts crying or faints, it’ll be your fault.’
Castro’s words were calm but cutting.
Clarice snorted.
“Look who’s talking. Maybe you should tone down your murderous aura first. If she wets herself, you’re cleaning it up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Clarice.”
Zebino had long grown used to their strange back-and-forth.
He nodded silently as he listened.
They didn’t say it out loud, but both knew what to do.
Castro was cold but rational.
Clarice was reckless but not thoughtless.
For now, Penelope’s life wasn’t in danger.
“Oh, by the way,” Clarice added casually, “Generalis changed jobs recently.”
“To what?”
“An assassin. Sent someone to meet the Lord last week.”
‘…Of course he did.’
