Chapter 5
Baron Rabici’s Estate
Only when morning came did the news arrive that Octavia had returned. At that, her cousin Camilla—the Baron of Rabici’s second daughter—slammed down the spoon she had been holding.
‘I thought she couldn’t endure it and had gone back home.’
In truth, while they could not outright throw her out, Octavia was far from well treated in her uncle’s household.
Though the baron outwardly acted as if he followed his elder brother and head of the family, Richard Ludovisi, inwardly he coveted his position. That was precisely why he had married a noblewoman and been granted the title of baron.
Naturally, he had no reason to look kindly upon Octavia, who resided here.
Not only did he refuse to dine with her, he did not assign her attendants and instead gave her a cramped attic room used by servants.
Stubborn and proud, Octavia never reported her treatment to her father. Aware of her own precarious position, she had lived quietly.
But at some point, she began to change.
“I like Camilla’s room. I’ll be using it from now on, okay?”
“What are you talking about? Why would you use my room?”
“Then shall we share? I don’t mind. Just try not to snore.”
She had suddenly begun acting shamelessly bold, smiling as she spoke with an easy, almost teasing confidence.
Naturally, seeing their master’s attitude, the servants also began to disregard her.
“With the family out, there is currently no one available to prepare meals. You will have to manage on your own.”
“This must be the height of your authority. Are you sure you won’t regret it?”
The servant had mocked her, thinking it nothing more than empty threats. But after being falsely accused of stealing ingredients, they realized they had provoked the wrong person.
Octavia neither slapped insolent servants nor raised her voice. She did not throw things or order them out on the spot.
And yet, those who offended her began to quit or disappear for unknown reasons.
Before long, everyone began to fear her.
They had come to understand—she was not someone to be trifled with.
Camilla felt it too. At some point, she had begun to sense an insurmountable wall between them.
‘That lunatic… why does she stay here despite being treated like that? Even when everyone hates her?’
Unaware that this very situation was the reason Octavia remained, Camilla had not only lost her room but, just yesterday, had even had her prized limited-edition chocolates taken.
‘I can’t live like this! Just go back already!’
In truth, it was they who had been suffering.
Whatever they did, for Octavia it all simply amounted to: ‘Perfect, I needed more dislike anyway.’
“Were you having breakfast? I’ll have mine as well.”
Camilla, who had been lost in bitter recollection at the table, flinched at Octavia’s gentle voice.
The Baron had left early in the morning for work, leaving only three at the table: Camilla, her much younger brother Noel, and Noel’s tutor, Daisy.
Seeing Octavia boldly take a seat, Camilla snapped,
“Why do you keep joining meals when you’re just a guest?”
“Explain logically why I shouldn’t, and convince me. If it’s merely because you’re uncomfortable, then you can dine separately.”
The insult—‘You are an impure and wicked being’—had long since been used.
After Octavia’s birth, her mother had died of a curse-like illness called Shadow Erosion Syndrome.
“Bringing in someone impure will ruin the family? Then ours should have collapsed long ago. I didn’t realize you believed so blindly in superstitions that lack scientific proof.”
Having repeatedly lost arguments like this, Camilla could only glare viciously without replying.
In truth, Octavia’s threat—to ruin her standing in high society—had also played a part.
“Miss, it is proper etiquette to dine together at the appointed time. As you are late, your meal will be prepared separately.”
Daisy, Noel’s tutor, spoke up, invoking dining etiquette while tending to the boy. Since the baroness’s death, she had subtly taken on the role of mistress of the house.
Octavia’s violet eyes turned to Noel, who was standing on his chair, scanning the table.
‘What country’s etiquette is that supposed to be?’
Pointing out every absurdity would be exhausting, so Octavia simply sat down and smiled faintly at the maids.
“Shall I prepare it myself if it’s troublesome?”
“N-no, that won’t be necessary!”
Startled, one maid hurriedly brought her a main dish and plate. After all, she might end up being accused again—like the time she was blamed for embezzling a week’s worth of ingredients.
As Octavia tasted the food, she fell into thought.
‘If I want to encounter the admiral often, I’ll need free access to the royal palace and the temple.’
Admiral Kelsedni, having completed a long term of service, would be staying at the palace for the time being.
Of course, gaining free access was simple enough—make a large donation to the Holy Order and curry favor with the royal family.
In short, she needed money. A lot of it.
‘In the end, I’ll have to rely on the Ludovisi main family.’
Not only for funds, but also to decode Dominic’s ciphered letter—she would need the help of her father, the greatest magitech engineer.
The problem was that she had been thrown out by her furious father, banned from entering, and even cut off from all financial support just three days ago.
While she had caused many incidents, the biggest blow had been when a priest she insulted filed for a religious trial, forcing her to donate a prime piece of land to the Holy Order as settlement.
In short, thanks to her predecessor’s mess, she had become a penniless villainess from a wealthy family.
And being without money was inconvenient in every way.
‘For reference… even villainy requires money.’
Though she was excluded from the family business, she could, like many transmigrators, make a fortune using modern knowledge…
—but only if she could restore her image and earn recognition.
That was precisely what she couldn’t do.
‘Father has even frozen all my proxy accounts.’
With her credibility in the negative, he likely feared she would end up imprisoned for illegal ventures. Whatever she tried, he would block it with money and influence.
And with a reputation like hers, no business would succeed anyway.
‘Even the decoding device capable of deciphering Dominic’s letter is in Father’s lab…’
In the end, reconciliation with her family was unavoidable.
‘First, I need to summon my personal secretary.’
“The Director has instructed that any personal orders from you will now require payment per task. If you have requests, please pay in advance. I do not work for free.”
As she pondered how to summon her highly capable yet staunchly capitalist secretary without payment, a sudden cry rang out.
“I’m not eating that!”
Eight-year-old Noel hurled a piece of broccoli, snapping Octavia out of her thoughts.
Shaking his reddish-brown hair wildly, he threw a tantrum at his tutor.
“I hate broccoli!”
For a child being taught at the table, his manners were abysmal.
“Oh dear, I didn’t realize how much you disliked broccoli. I’m sorry for forcing you.”
Daisy, employing a questionable method of “emotional understanding,” turned to the maids.
“Clear this away and bring new dishes without broccoli.”
They brought new food as instructed, but Noel continued to complain—there were beans, there was no sausage he liked, and so on.
“We’ve run out of lamb sausage ingredients. We’ll purchase more and prepare it for lunch.”
At the maid’s explanation, Noel began pounding the table and shrieking.
“Now! I want it now!”
“You heard him. Why are you deciding on your own to serve it at lunch? Go out and get it immediately!”
Rather than stopping the child, Daisy berated the maid.
“Just give him what he wants. The noise is unbearable.”
Camilla, clearly accustomed to such chaos, elegantly sliced her bread.
‘I’m never dining with them again.’
It felt like her ears might bleed.
With no interest in interfering in such absurd household education, Octavia quickly finished her meal and rose—
if only a cherry tomato hadn’t come flying at her.
“You there, commoner! Bring me what I asked for!”
Noel, panting angrily after throwing it, froze under Octavia’s cold gaze.
“Meal’s over. Get up.”
At her firm voice, his shoulders trembled slightly.
“W-who do you think you are—”
Ignoring his flailing fists, Octavia lifted him effortlessly and headed straight for his room.
“How dare you lay hands on him—what do you think you’re doing?!”
Daisy sprang to her feet but could not bring herself to stop her.
“Stop Miss Octavia! Why are you all just watching?!”
The servants hesitated, unable to act. To them, Octavia was already someone to fear.
Camilla, indifferent, sipped her tea.
“Let me go! Daisy!”
Noel kicked and struggled, calling for his tutor, but Octavia ignored him and entered the room.
Click.
At the sound of the door locking, Noel’s face went pale.
“M-my stomach hurts. I want to go out.”
As Octavia remained silent, his anxiety grew until he threw himself on the floor, crying.
“Waaah! Mom! Why don’t I have a mom?!”
The baroness had recently died of illness.
Being a pitiful child who had lost his mother had become a kind of authority—one that excused anything he did.
Rather than guiding him properly, the adults had simply indulged his every demand.
Watching him without agitation, Octavia finally spoke.
“I don’t have a mother either. Nor do your sister and brother.”
Startled by the unexpected reply, Noel stopped crying and looked up.
“A long time ago, I lived in a world filled with loss. Losing someone precious wasn’t even considered tragedy—it was an ordinary part of life.”
Speaking words beyond a child’s understanding, Octavia lowered herself slightly and asked,
“How many people do you think I met there who used their sorrow as a weapon, like you?”
It had been a highly advanced civilization—yet also a thoroughly ruined one.
Having experienced countless human tragedies in her past life, she understood people all too well.
“Don’t misunderstand. I like children.”
How much time had passed?
Daisy, who had been pacing anxiously outside Noel’s door, stopped at the sound of it opening.
Through the doorway, Octavia emerged, wearing her usual gentle smile.
“Please take care, Sister Octavia.”
Behind her, Noel bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
Daisy’s eyes widened in shock.
