Episode 12
[Things you must remember.
No. 1 is Brunel, No. 3 is Springwater, No. 6 is Hague, No. 8 is Notium.]
Pointing at the memo scribbled on the back of the blueprint, I asked Vanilla,
“Do you know what this is? This was written on the back of the estate plans. I know Brunel is a village name, and Nottingham is a street in the capital, but I have no idea what Springwater or Hague refer to.”
Vanilla frowned slightly and stared at the words in silence. Soon, she tilted her head.
“Well, it’s definitely not something I wrote. It does look like my father’s handwriting, though… If it’s written on the blueprint, wouldn’t it be related to the estate somehow? The house was an inheritance, so there’s no one left I can ask.”
At the word inheritance, I found myself vaguely guessing at her family circumstances.
The original owner of Happy House must have been Vanilla’s father, who had left behind only the estate when he passed away.
Still, one question remained unresolved.
“But if it’s related to estates, Notium doesn’t quite fit. That’s a street name in the capital.”
At my question, Vanilla’s eyes widened as if something had just clicked.
“Could it be places where Ruskin-owned estates are located? I actually own a house in Notium.”
“And what about Hague and Springwater?”
“Uh… I don’t know about those two.”
She tilted her head again.
Across from us, Eden—who had been quietly sipping his espresso—cut into the conversation.
“It’s probably referring to Hague Street. It’s near Westmore Station.”
Benton, Westmore, Honduff, Kintney.
Westmore was one of the stations you passed through on the train ride from the capital to Kintne.
At Eden’s words, Vanilla nodded vigorously.
“Oh! I remember now. Westmore—Hague Street, Number 10. That’s another inherited estate. But Springwater… I really can’t place it. I’ll let you know if I remember later.”
“Then what do you think the numbers written before the names mean?”
At that, both Eden and Vanilla shrugged helplessly.
“Who knows.”
Vanilla, seemingly having lost interest by now, sounded indifferent.
If the memo was nothing more than a list of Ruskin-owned estates, then there really wasn’t much reason for me to be curious any further.
“Alright. Thanks for answering.”
After saying that, I said goodbye to Vanilla. Once our business was concluded, she turned away without hesitation and left.
I folded the blueprint, slipped it back into the pocket of my dress, and finished the rest of my juice.
Eden, sitting across from me, was reading a newspaper.
When I stared at him, he lowered it.
“Have you seen this?”
He placed the newspaper on the table and pointed to an article.
Printed on the front page was my photograph.
[Sinclair Family Heir, Cherry Sinclair.
The Worst Cricket Player in History…!]
It was a familiar headline.
Below it was an image of me in a cricket uniform, holding a bat and smiling brightly—looking far younger than I did now.
Naturally so. It was an old newspaper.
When I was fifteen, I loved cricket.
But loving something and being good at it were entirely different matters.
My technique was decent, but I was far too frail at the time to compete as a player. My grip strength, in particular, was abysmal.
I’d tasted the bitterness of life early on, drowning in ridicule from both the media and cricket fans alike.
“Where did you even find something like this?”
“The police keep archives of old newspapers.”
“…And why were you looking that up?”
“I’m studying you, Miss Cherry.”
“What?”
I stared at him in disbelief.
Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, he lifted his espresso cup with effortless elegance. It looked like something straight out of a magazine spread.
“You’re impossible to read. I thought perhaps learning about your past might help me understand you.”
Is this some kind of self-introduction?
I was the one who wanted to ask him what his deal was.
I didn’t know why he was so fixated on me, but with the world ending soon anyway, he’d find out eventually why I was acting this way.
Ignoring him and focusing on my own business was the smarter choice.
“You only played as a cricket athlete once. Was there a reason?”
“If you read that article, isn’t it obvious?”
“Public opinion can be cruel. Still, for someone to compete at such a young age, you must’ve had some level of ability—”
“I was terrible. My parents secretly donated money to the club. That’s why I was allowed to play that season. I only found out later.”
I had never doubted that I’d earned my place through skill alone.
The shock of learning the truth was indescribable.
If only I’d had this monstrous strength back then.
Even so, being active as a female cricket player wouldn’t have been easy regardless.
As I smiled bitterly, Eden stared at me intently.
“There have been countless people who approached you simply because of the Sinclair name.”
Putting on a gloomy expression, I pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes—only pretending to cry, of course.
“People misunderstand me all the time. I love luxury, I act reckless, I’m always causing trouble. I look like someone who’d commit crimes without blinking, don’t I?”
I sniffed loudly.
“It’s fine. I’m used to those misunderstandings.”
Eden hadn’t even asked if I was alright, but I said it anyway as I stood up.
Whatever information he had on me didn’t matter.
The fact that he was only probing instead of arresting me meant he had no solid evidence.
Then I’ll endure.
As long as I avoided getting caught by Eden until the world ended, I’d be fine.
Enduring? I’m great at that!
Clenching my fist, I left the restaurant.
I could feel Eden’s gaze burning into my back, but I ignored it and headed home.
I still had Happy House to clean.
3. How to Build the Perfect Shelter
Spend enough money, and most problems solve themselves.
Time remaining until the apocalypse: 17 days.
Kintne Station, the neighboring town to Brunel.
Standing in front of it, I took in the building’s exterior. Plaster filled the gaps between its wooden framework, giving it the appearance of an elegant birdcage. Though small and worn, it had the unmistakable charm of Tudor-style architecture—like something I’d once seen in England’s Chester region.
Last time, every telephone line had been dead, leaving me no choice but to send letters.
This time, thankfully, the phones seemed to be working.
Please connect. Just this once.
With that quiet hope, I stepped into the station.
The interior was simple. Straight ahead was a door leading to the platform. To the right sat the ticket counter. Beside it were a small kiosk and a telephone, and across from it rows of wooden benches lined the wall.
I headed straight for the ticket booth and addressed the station clerk.
“I’d like to use the telephone.”
After paying the call fee, I stood in front of the phone and lifted the receiver.
I dialed the number carefully.
The operator answered and connected me directly to the Sinclair residence in the capital.
Bringing the receiver closer to my mouth, I listened as the line rang.
Rrrrr—.
The ringing cut off abruptly.
Click.
[Sinclair Residence.]
It was Susanna—my personal maid.
“Susan! It’s me, Cherry.”
[Oh my goodness, miss! I wanted to call you too, but I didn’t know how to reach you.]
“Did something happen? You were supposed to come today, weren’t you?”
[Well… the head maid has taken ill and is bedridden. I think I’ll have to stay one more day.]
One more day without Susanna.
The thought alone was horrifying.
Still, I kept my voice steady.
“It’s fine. There’s nothing to be done. But you must come tomorrow.”
There isn’t much time left until the world ends.
I swallowed the rest of the thought.
[Yes, yes. I’ve already booked the train ticket. I should arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon. Miss, are you doing well? Are you feeling alright? You’re not sick anywhere, are you? You’re eating properly, right?]
Her stream of worried questions made my eyes sting.
All the hardship I’d endured so far flashed before me like a panorama.
“I’m perfectly fine! How’s the capital?”
[It’s fine. Without you, the estate feels unbearably quiet.]
“No, that’s how it always was.”
Susanna hadn’t been employed by the Sinclair family for long, so she wouldn’t know—but our estate had always been quiet. My parents were constantly away for business, and I was just as often gone, indulging in leisure.
“What about Harrison?”
[Oh… he stepped out earlier.]
“Really? Did he say anything? I sent him a letter, but he never replied.”
[A letter? But… there wasn’t any letter addressed to you, miss.]
“What?”
[Ah—come to think of it, I heard that postal workers traveling between regions have been going missing lately.]
Wait.
What?
“Postal workers are disappearing? What are you talking about?”
