Didn't Plan to Become a Companion (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 2

  1. Home
  2. Didn't Plan to Become a Companion (Completed Main Story)
  3. Chapter 2
Prev
Next

“What are you all doing right now?”

Though I hadn’t raised my voice very loud, they could only stammer incoherently, unable to answer quickly.

“What do you mean, ‘what are we doing’?”

At that, Betty’s eyes widened as she abruptly stood up from her seat.

“Can’t you see? We’re lighting the fire!”

She was a maid with brown horsetail hair and a face densely freckled, her expression brimming with ill temper. Being a year older than the other maids, she usually acted as their leader, and she seemed quick to grasp the situation.

“Why light a fire after someone’s already dead? What a morbid hobby!”

The maids who had risen from the floor following Betty stared at me as if I were a ghost, baffled by my strange words.

“W-what do you mean by that?”

Just as I was about to reply, I felt a hunger so profound it resembled death itself. There was no need to recall what I’d eaten—I couldn’t remember having proper food in the last three days. My stomach was utterly empty, and I had succumbed to death despite this moderate cold. As soon as I realized this, anger began writhing inside me, asserting its presence.

The blazing fire in the fireplace firmly steeled my resolve.

“You—right now, you!”

Thunder rumbled and crashed, and a flash of lightning streaked through the pitch-black clouds, briefly illuminating my face before vanishing. Even Betty, who moments ago had been defiantly lifting her chin, now wore an expression of fear.

“Have you been abusing me?”

Boom! Another peal of thunder exploded as a thick bolt of lightning struck the earth simultaneously. Recalling it now, those past three days before my death had truly been terrifying enough to kill me—so unbearably cold and lonely.

“Have you been slowly killing me this whole time?”

At my repeated shouts, the youngest maid among them shrieked, “Eeeyaaah!” and fell flat on her backside onto the floor. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed forward and grabbed Betty’s horsetail hair.

“How dare you abuse the master’s daughter!”

Betty, her hair clutched tightly in my grasp, had her scalp stretched taut, her bloodshot eyes rolling white; the girl who’d collapsed on the floor couldn’t even get up, trembling uncontrollably.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“P-please, Miss! Forgive us!”

“Go bring me something to eat right now. I’ll think about forgiving you later.”

Now that the lamp had chased away the pitch darkness and the fireplace had subdued the deathly chill, it was time to ease my hunger. My hands trembled so violently I could barely stand.

After sending out Betty and the others whose hair I’d grabbed with my bony hand, I returned to my bed and sank down onto it. The fire in the fireplace, which had been fiercely flickering just moments ago, had now settled into a steady, calm glow.

While I pondered what questions to ask the maids first, they returned to the room, having faithfully carried out their assigned tasks.

“Miss Lienne, we’ve brought your food.”

Looking around, I saw only one small shelf by the window—likely used for placing flowerpots—and nowhere suitable to sit and eat.

“You, go fetch a chair.”

Thanks to one maid’s swift movement, soon a floral silk chair—one usually found in a drawing room—was brought into my room. It clashed so starkly with the room’s monochrome decor I nearly laughed.

In truth, I had already started eating hastily even before the chair arrived. Thankfully, my starved stomach didn’t reject the food.

“B-but, Miss…”

A trembling voice reached me, and I shot her a sharp glance.

“What?”

“Weren’t you… supposed to be unable to speak?”

This was precisely why the maids feared me despite nothing else having changed. Until now, I hadn’t uttered a single word—not because I couldn’t, but because fear had kept my mouth shut. Or perhaps, it truly had rendered me incapable?

If Ricardo had been the nameless child of the East Wing, I was the mute bastard of the West Wing.

They must have assumed I couldn’t report whatever they did to me.

“That’s not true.”

I had first come to this house around the age of five. For some unknown reason, Count Fennel suddenly appeared and took me in. My mother was dead. Naturally, I held no memories of warmth.

Memories of crouching in a corner of the room, of being shoved by someone’s rough hands, of hunger, and of immense… pain.

“So be more careful from now on.”

Except for the occasional visits from a tall man, no one ever entered this room. I wasn’t forbidden from going outside, yet I rarely left—it meant facing those who tormented me.

I had no sense of what was permissible or forbidden.

“If the Count learns you let me die, he won’t stay idle.”

Of course, even I wasn’t certain whether that statement was true, but it served well enough to intimidate the maids—their mouths snapped shut instantly.

“Where is the Count?”

“The Count went out three days ago to inspect the trade guild.”

A man with silver hair and blue eyes—the same color as mine. He barely spent any time at home.

“And the Countess?”

“She’s in her bedroom.”

Trending

His wife, my stepmother—her face was blurry in my memory. All I could clearly recall was her downturned mouth and melancholic eyes gazing down at me.

After some time passed, the room was modestly yet sufficiently furnished.

Though still clashing with the floral silk chair, a tall-legged desk had also been provided.

Sitting down, I felt an odd dissonance between my small frame and mature actions, and I rhythmically tapped my fingers—tap tap tap tap—against the desk.

If the Count and Justin had departed three days ago, they likely wouldn’t return to the mansion for a while. Though I didn’t know how long that might be, it was clear this was my opportunity.

I pressed my interlaced fingers to my lips and closed my eyes briefly.

‘Where and how should I begin?’

Truthfully, Ricardo and I had almost no connection. Until he left House Fennel, I’d seen him only a handful of times.

Our encounters had been limited to chance meetings on the hill in the garden, and even then, we’d never properly spoken.

‘I need to meet that child first.’

Just thinking of Ricardo, who had once stood as sharply pointed as a finely honed blade, brought an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

After all, I’d need to get somewhat close to him if I wanted to protect him from Justin or do anything else…

My anxiety and frustration wouldn’t easily subside, so I stretched my neck side to side and shook it lightly.

Right—what could possibly frighten me more than having experienced both starvation and death?

On the desk lay a small mirror cracked diagonally. Though too tiny to fit my whole face, I leaned in close, grabbed a thick lock of hair that had been covering my eyes, and without hesitation, snipped it off with scissors. The blue eyes—House Fennel’s signature trait—gleamed brightly.

The face staring back at me was utterly different from the child I remembered. What exactly had changed? Then, suddenly, it dawned on me.

Fear.

That very terror, which had gnawed at me until it finally killed me, had vanished completely.

With only that one thing altered, everything around me suddenly appeared vividly clear.

“Yes, don’t be afraid. I can do this.”

I spoke aloud though no one was listening, then gazed out the window. The rain still poured heavily, and outside, visibility remained near zero.

[This is the timeline separator]

Come to think of it, it wasn’t just the disappearance of fear that had changed.

“Hand it over!”

“…What?”

Seeing this girl shaking her dark brown hair and petulantly demanding the book in my hand struck me as rather laughable.

Is this just a natural consequence of dying and coming back to life?

“I mean that book. How do you even have it?”

“Well…”

The day after I awoke from death, the sky—once threatening to split open with rain—was now brilliantly clear. The moment I woke, I searched for the tall man who used to visit me occasionally. Only upon meeting him did I learn he was House Fennel’s retainer and the household’s head butler.

When I told him I wanted to see books, his eyes widened in shock. He seemed momentarily unsure how to handle me, but ultimately took me personally to the family’s library.

“I borrowed it myself. If you need it, go find and read it yourself.”

Only then did his vivid green eyes turn sharply toward me, finally realizing something was amiss.

“You… you can talk?”

“At least better than you can.”

“What? What did you say?”

Sabrina Loi Pernelle was my exact age. That was the problem. It wasn’t as if we were twins, yet we were the same age. Even Justin wasn’t the current Countess’s biological son. I vaguely recalled having a younger brother named Jonathan, but his face wasn’t clearly etched in my memory.

In this world, it wasn’t unusual for a man to bring home a child or two from outside. I’d even heard rumors of several other bastards besides myself.

The problem lay in the fact that Countess Fennel loved her husband. In this reality, a woman who loved her husband was inevitably destined for unhappiness.

The Countess could hate me—the living proof of her husband’s infidelity—but she couldn’t drive me out. Begging for her husband’s love brought no virtue in noble society. So, she destroyed herself instead.

A mother suffering from depression, a father perpetually absent.

For some reason, the child before me now seemed slightly pitiful.

“There’s no way someone like you could be better than me at anything!”

I looked at Sabrina, who was throwing a tantrum, with momentarily compassionate eyes.

“W-why are you looking at me like that?”

Sharp, aren’t you?

Most Commented This Week
Prev
Next

YOUR COMMENT

1. Please write comments in English.
2. Inline comments are now available. Tap the end of any line in a chapter to share your thoughts instantly.