Betty watched Reinhard's retreating figure, then turned to Gojo. "One shines like the sun. The other schemes like a fox."
"Schemes?"
"No, no, no. I prefer to call it being shrewd."
Gojo reached over and pinched her small cheeks into a funny face, grinning the whole time.
"Underhanded tactics always come to light eventually."
"Doesn't matter. When that day comes, we let Felt handle it. The liege's opinion is what counts, after all."
His tone was pure nonchalance. "Given Reinhard's personality, he'd never push back against Felt on something that doesn't cross a moral line."
"Let's hope so. Otherwise I'll have a front-row seat to the noble knight purging the wicked advisor from his lady's court."
"Relax. We're in this together. When the time comes, I won't forget about you."
"That's the problem. When that time comes, please do forget about me."
After a full day of etiquette training, Felt looked visibly wilted. For someone who'd grown up in the Slums, accustomed to total freedom, the rigid drills were nothing short of inhuman.
"Thank god I didn't grow up in the royal palace. I'd have lost my mind."
"This isn't a life meant for people. You can't laugh when you want to, every step has to be measured, you have to mind your posture while talking, and there are even rules about the angle you hold your fork..."
That evening, she was sprawled in Gojo's room, pouring out every grievance she'd stored up. If not for the fortune waiting at the end of this, she wouldn't have lasted a single hour.
"Calm down. It's only a few more days. The suffering has an expiration date."
Gojo lay on his side across the bed while Betty sat beside him, wearing a look of thorough disgust as she fed him Carol's homemade biscuits one at a time.
"By the way, Reinhard should be coming to you in the next day or two about the assembly speech."
"Speech?" Felt sat up. "What speech? Nobody told me anything about a speech. I thought the assembly was just sitting there while officials droned on."
"According to Reinhard, you'll need to present your goals, your vision, that sort of thing."
"Goals?" Her face fell. "I can't exactly stand up there and say I'm in it for the money."
"Don't worry. From the look of things, Reinhard's got it handled. Once he finishes writing it, bring it to me and we'll tweak it together. Then you memorize it. Done."
Gojo said it with an inexplicable calm, utterly confident.
"You sure? This won't blow up in our faces?"
"Trust me. If we can't handle something this small, there's no point talking about what comes next."
"That's not what you were saying this morning."
Betty shoved another biscuit into his mouth, plugging the gap.
"That was before Reinhard volunteered to take on the hardest part." He shrugged.
"I hope you're right."
Since even Gojo seemed relaxed about it, Felt let the tension drain from her shoulders. Compared to the speech, what truly haunted her was the prospect of more etiquette drills.
Over the days that followed, she was thoroughly consumed by them.
Turning a girl raised in the Slums into someone who could pass among ministers and nobles without a single slip, all in the span of a few days, was impossible by any reasonable standard. The pressure weighed on Carol, too. But Felt threw herself into the training with everything she had, driven by the plan and the payoff it promised.
One willing to teach, one desperate to learn.
By the time those few days were up, Felt had transformed into something remarkably convincing. She couldn't hold the act forever, but for a short stretch, she could carry herself like a noblewoman's daughter without breaking character.
During that same period, Elsa's intel came through. She'd dug up what Gojo wanted and passed it along via Meili's Mabeasts.
The night before the assembly.
"Big brother, here's the message from Elsa."
In Gojo's room, Meili held out a folded slip of paper.
"Good work, Meili." He ruffled her hair. "You can have half my dessert tomorrow morning."
"Big brother, are we going to stay here forever? It's so boring."
She tilted her head up at him, pouting.
"Boring?" He unfolded the intelligence report, smiling as he read. "This is what normal life looks like. If you weren't living like this, you'd probably be dead by now."
Meili's shoulders hunched, and she went quiet.
Betty, seated beside him, craned her neck to read over his arm.
The report detailed the Astrea Family's internal affairs. Dense, thorough, pages of it.
The bulk focused on Reinhard's grandparents; anything further back lacked reliable sourcing.
According to the intelligence, Reinhard's grandmother, Theresia van Astrea, had been the previous Sword Saint. Like her grandson, she'd carried the Divine Protection of the Sword Saint.
Fourteen years ago, when Felt was stolen, Reinhard's grandfather Wilhelm, the Sword Demon, had been serving as Commander of the Royal Guard Knights. He'd left the Royal Capital to lead the investigation.
Shortly after his departure, the White Whale, one of the Three Great Mabeasts, appeared.
Reinhard's father, Heinkel, received orders to lead a force against it. But despite being the son of two legendary swordsmen, Heinkel had inherited little of their talent. He lacked the qualities of a Sword Saint entirely.
Faced with the impossible order, he made his choice: he sent his mother, Theresia van Astrea, to fight in his place.
And during that battle against the White Whale, five-year-old Reinhard suddenly inherited the Divine Protection of the Sword Saint. His grandmother, stripped of her power mid-combat, died.
That was why Reinhard's father and grandfather both resented him.
Three generations. None of them at peace with each other.
"This is what humans are," Betty murmured after reading the last line.
"Please don't lump me in with that statement."
Gojo flicked her forehead, mildly offended.
"But yeah. It's pretty awful."
Now he understood Reinhard's behavior, the careful restraint, the deference to a father who clearly despised him. With a relationship that fractured, normal father-son dynamics were out of the question.
"Come to think of it, for something this private to be obtainable at all, it can't be that well-kept a secret. A lot of people probably know."
He stared at the report. A five-year-old child, still young enough to need his parents' love, burdened with something that wasn't remotely his fault. Blamed anyway.
The thought left a bitter taste.
"Reinhard might've made a fine Jujutsu Sorcerer, honestly."
Growing up under that weight and still becoming a disciplined, respected knight instead of lashing out? Gojo had seen no shortage of Curse Users back in his old world, people who'd channeled their resentment and darkness into tormenting innocents. If any of them had possessed even a fraction of Reinhard's power, the damage would have been catastrophic.
"None of that is the point, though." Betty tapped Heinkel's name on the report.
"Their father-son relationship might actively work against Reinhard's support for Felt."
"Double-edged sword, sure. If we were genuinely trying to claim the throne, it'd be a real problem. But we don't actually want it, so does it matter?"
Gojo shrugged, unconcerned. The words had barely left his mouth when a knock sounded, and Felt burst through the door.
"Lady Felt, if Carol saw you right now, she'd be heartbroken. All that hard work, wasted."
"No time for that. Look at this and tell me if anything needs changing."
She crossed the room in three strides, slapped a sheet of paper down in front of him.
Gojo glanced down. Reinhard's speech draft.
It wasn't long. A concise introduction of political philosophy, broad strokes of a governing vision. The central theme matched what Gojo had suggested: reform that brings prosperity.
Reinhard had claimed writing wasn't his strength, but the draft read well. Polished, even. It could have come straight from a politician's speechwriter back in his old world.
Gojo knew he couldn't have written it from scratch. But working within a framework someone else had built, refining it, making it more compelling? That he could do.
"Minor tweaks. Won't take long."
He carried the draft to the desk, sat down, and picked up a pen.
"You're not going to add a ton, are you?" Felt hovered behind him, alarm rising. "If it's too long, don't expect me to memorize it."
"Relax. A few conditions they won't be able to refuse. That's all."
The corner of his mouth curved upward, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
---
"Morning. Looks like someone didn't sleep well."
The next day.
Gojo and the others were already eating breakfast in the dining hall when Felt made her entrance, escorted by Carol's two granddaughters.
A pale gold gown, elegant without crossing into gaudy. Tasteful accessories. Hair arranged with care, a touch of light makeup softening her features.
The girl from the Slums had vanished. Standing before them was a noblewoman's daughter, composed and refined.
Except for the exhaustion. Those wide eyes betrayed it, rimmed with faint dark circles that the makeup couldn't quite hide.
"Whose fault do you think that is?"
She glared at Gojo.
He'd sworn up and down that his edits would be minimal. Then the pen had started moving and never stopped. She'd spent half the night memorizing the revised draft after returning to her room. She'd barely closed her eyes before being hauled out of bed for hair and makeup in preparation for the assembly.
The others were nearly done eating by the time she arrived. Starving, she dropped into her seat and reached for the bread.
"Hold it, Reinhard."
Her hand froze midway. She turned on Reinhard with a look that could curdle milk.
"I am hungry. If you say one word about etiquette right now, I cannot be held responsible for what happens next."
Reinhard smiled warmly and said nothing. He didn't move to stop her.
Time was short. There was no luxury of a leisurely meal. Fortunately, years in the Slums had honed her eating speed to a fine art. Breakfast vanished in moments.
"Got the speech memorized?"
Gojo leaned over.
"Obviously." Felt grabbed her glass of milk, drained it in one long gulp, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and fixed him with a confident stare. "Every word."
"Then we're golden. Trust me, you're going to be the brightest one in that room today."
"Reinhard, would it be alright if I came along too?"
Subaru shuffled forward, sheepish and halting. He couldn't bring himself to ask on Emilia's side, so he was trying his luck here.
Poor guy, really. He seemed fundamentally allergic to talent of any kind. Magic, cursed techniques, and now, after days at the Astrea estate, swordsmanship too. According to him, he'd already had two years of basics under his belt. All that foundation, and still nothing to show for it. The man was gifted at being ungifted.
"You want to come?" Reinhard turned to Felt. "If Lady Felt has no objections, it's perfectly fine."
"Why don't you just go find your precious Emilia?"
Felt wrinkled her nose. It was painfully obvious that Subaru wanted to go for one reason only. Traitor.
"I don't want to cause trouble for her." His smile was strained. "And Lady Felt is so generous, I'm sure she wouldn't mind, right?"
"Hmph. As if you'd stay behind even if I said no." She waved him off. "Fine, you can come. But don't you dare cause a scene. I know you're no different from this one." She jerked a thumb at Gojo. "If you mess up our plan, you're dead. I'll go straight to Emilia and tell her you were getting close to her just to spy for me and steal the throne."
...
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