12 O’Clock Marionette

Chapter 5

The word education fills me with resistance.

It’s because every form of education I’ve received has been forced upon me.

Was the last time during Amy’s life? I felt a bit tense as I faced the tutors.

And then—

“Perfect score. You even know the most trivial details.”

“No need to continue with lessons.”

“Your literary knowledge is more than sufficient.”

“Your etiquette is flawless.”

I worried for nothing.

It was all information I already knew. How could I possibly forget something I’ve learned before?

My pride soared to the heavens.

I am a believer of Pebula!

“History, politics, literature, and social etiquette—all perfect scores.”

Minuet murmured, looking puzzled.

“But why is your dance score like this? The gap is too big.”

That wasn’t my fault.

Maybe because I hadn’t been in this body for long, or perhaps Siora’s physical coordination had always been lacking—either way, I couldn’t control my movements perfectly.

“Where did you learn all this?”

“I learned everything when I was young. I have an excellent memory.”

“Didn’t you say you had amnesia?”

“Exactly?”

Why do I remember this, then?

I quickly put on an expression of surprise.

Minuet eyed me suspiciously, but if I acted ignorant, that would solve everything.

She furrowed one eyebrow.

“Then we can skip all the basic education.”

“Yep!”

I answered enthusiastically.

“And while we’re on the subject, don’t mention your memory loss to anyone. Mental instability damages your reputation.”

“Hmm. Not even to the Count?”

“The negotiations we barely managed to arrange would turn into trash. My father isn’t someone who takes risks.”

“Be—”

“Betty has already been told to keep quiet. You’re the only one who needs to be careful.”

Now that I think about it, Cruello didn’t seem to know about my amnesia either.

Betty must be remarkably tight-lipped.

“There’s another problem.”

“What.”

“Minuet, you said you investigated me before, right? Did you use some internal Bonetti intelligence network?”

“That one reports directly to the head of the family, so I couldn’t touch it. I used the Information Guild instead. Why?”

Ah, right, the Information Guild!

I’ve always been interested in them.

But my first body was too young, and my second was a penniless maid—neither qualified as a client.

But now, things were different.

I tapped my head.

“I need to fill in the blanks.”

“I already told you, there was nothing worth digging up.”

“It might be different if I hear it myself. Something might trigger a memory.”

“So?”

I held out my hand eagerly.

“Give me money.”

***

A long, snow-white beard and flowing hair.

Like a sage gazing into the distance, the elderly man stared out the window.

His name was Heorim, the Grand Elder of White Desert.

“This is disgraceful.”

A few steps behind him, Cruello silently listened to the Grand Elder’s words.

The old man turned his head toward him.

“I fail to understand. The original match chosen by the Elder Council was Bonetti’s viscount, yet you wish to change it all of a sudden?”

“Does it matter? They’re both Bonetti.”

“Hah, both Bonetti, you say. Do you truly believe that the Count’s adopted niece, who shares no blood, is the same as the heir?”

The Grand Elder spoke with deliberate composure.

But the hand stroking his beard trembled ever so slightly—
A telltale sign of the searing rage bubbling beneath his skin.

They had worked painstakingly to craft the perfect bloodline, and yet, now, filth was being smeared all over it.

For what reason should the White Desert Duke be bound to some wretched, lowborn insect of unknown origin?

Even after their grand plan succeeded, this disgrace would forever be a source of ridicule.

The Grand Elder would not allow it.

Neither would He.

“So, what is it you wish for, Grand Elder?”

“Break the engagement. The smuggling scandal has caused an uproar—use that as an excuse.”

“You must not be aware. I wrote a letter suggesting a good relationship after I learned about the smuggling incident.”

“Then create a new misfortune.”

“Grand Elder.”

“Leave everything to this old man, young master. I will take care of it.”

“Young master… Am I really the head of the family?”

Cruello’s voice was icy.

He looked at the old man with twisted eyes.

“Nothing ever goes the way I want in this family. If that’s the case, why don’t you just—”

“Enough.”

The Grand Elder crushed the defiance with his weighty voice.

He tapped the floor with his cane.

A soft, bluish smoke curled from the cane’s head.

“Everything is for White Desert, young master.”

Cruello’s gaze turned vacant.

The young Duke of White Desert responded obediently.

“I will leave it in your hands, Grand Elder.”

So he had to resort to force after all.

The Grand Elder clicked his tongue audibly before leaving the Duke’s office.

The rhythmic tapping of his cane and his slow, deliberate footsteps gradually faded.

Cruello, left alone, hung his head with dazed eyes.

And then—

“Pfft—!”

A burst of suppressed laughter erupted from him.

A full-throated, unrestrained laugh filled the office.

He had barely managed to hold it in while pretending to be brainwashed, but how utterly ridiculous!

That feigned composure, that trembling beard—he had struggled so hard to maintain his dignity.

“Well, it makes sense for him to be furious.”

After carefully selecting what he believed to be the finest jewel, only to have it swapped for a mere counterfeit, of course that bloodline-obsessed maniac would be enraged.

Thanks to that, Cruello found himself genuinely interested in marrying Siora Velvet.

His gaze shifted to the desk.

There lay a document the Grand Elder had left behind.

?1) Siora Wendy Velvet. 20.

• Adopted by Wendy Velvet and Melos Velvet in the year 454 at age 10.
• Biological parents unknown.
• Parents died in an arson incident in August 464.
• Perpetrator: Hans, a servant of the Velvet household. Execution scheduled in six days.

Notable Points:

1. Subject only stays in her bedroom. Even when her parents were alive, the behavior was the same.
2. No personal relationships whatsoever.
3. Wendy and Melos Velvet completely neglected the subject.

Servants of the Velvet household testified as follows:

• She never shows emotion or speaks.
• She never leaves the mansion, yet rarely encounters anyone within it.
• Among the staff, she was referred to as a doll or a ghost.

2) The Velvet Mansion Arson Incident.

…….?

The document the Grand Elder brought was meant to ‘persuade’ me in a more moderate way.

Though he ultimately failed, he succeeded in planting doubt in my mind.

"I believe that family is connected by the heart."

"I want to be engaged to Your Highness instead of Minuet."

Cruello’s lips stretched into a subtle smile.

It was hard to tell whether it was amusement or irritation.

We hadn’t spoken much, but—

"You don’t seem like a doll or a ghost to me."

Which one was it?

Was the Grand Elder’s desire to persuade me so strong that he fabricated an entire novel?

Or had one of his subordinates been so desperate to keep their head attached to their body that they exaggerated the details?

Or perhaps—

"Has Siora Velvet changed?"

He had known two other people who, like ghosts, had once been devoid of life—only to suddenly transform.

Both of them had taken pieces of his heart.

He wasn’t sure if Siora was connected to them, but she had piqued his interest.

Still, things would be different this time.

He had no intention of giving away his soul again—only to have it carved away in return.

No matter how kind they were.

No matter how fatally alluring they might be.

This wasn’t an approach born out of affection, so keeping his distance would be easy.

"Another blonde."

The stack of documents crumpled in his grip.

"I’m sick to death of them."

***

Twelve years ago.

"Who… are you?"

Nine-year-old Cruello’s voice trembled as he asked the question.

In front of him sat a girl who was both familiar and unfamiliar.

She had round eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose, like powdered sugar.

Her name was Amy Royalsand, Cruello’s fiancée.

The engagement had been arranged without his consent, imposed on him without warning.

Yet, as a lonely child, he had looked forward to meeting Amy. But his hopes had curdled into disappointment.

Whenever they met, Amy barely spoke.

His excitement had been replaced with a gaping void of letdown.

Cruello had come to dislike her.

Still, as his betrothed, he was forced to see her.

For a time, he was relieved when he was told that she wouldn’t be visiting.

But that day had come once again.

Dragging his feet, Cruello reluctantly entered the parlor.

The mere thought of talking to a brick wall made his skin crawl.

But then—

"Wow… So you’re Cruello? What the heck? Why are you so cute?"

Amy Royalsand was acting strangely.

She treated him as if they were meeting for the first time. Her attitude was completely different from before.

"Why am I using casual speech? Oh… right, we used formal speech before."

"They say it’s better to use informal speech if you want to get closer. That’s how kids do it."

"The sky was so blue today. Yeah, I know, it’s always blue. But still."

"Have you ever had sorbet? It’s amazing. I never knew something could be so sweet and cold at the same time."

"But I feel like I’m the only one talking. Don’t you have anything to say?"

To put it kindly, she was chattering like a sparrow.

To put it bluntly, she was bombarding him with endless chatter.

Anyone else in the room would have thought something was off.

At the time, Cruello’s favorite book was the Monster Encyclopedia.

And that book had passages like these:

"A doppelgänger devours a person whole and assumes their form."

And another one:

"Ghostly undead, such as banshees, sometimes steal and possess human bodies."

Whatever the case, the solution was the same.

"Ask the suspicious individual about their identity. They will inevitably reveal a sign of deception."

So Cruello gathered his courage and asked—

"Who are you? You’re not Amy."

"Uh…?"

Amy looked unmistakably startled.

Cruello had never seen anyone’s eyes shake so violently before.

"W-what are you saying? Of course I’m Amy."

Her face went pale, her voice quivering like a staccato melody.

She had switched back to formal speech.

"Don’t lie. Amy never spoke more than three times in the parlor."

Amy—no, whatever was pretending to be Amy—went deathly pale and ran away.

Cruello was delighted.

The thrill of vanquishing a monster soared through him.

I have to tell Eden!

But the monster hadn’t been slain.

The next day, it returned, sitting in the same parlor of the White Desert Duke’s mansion.

The girl, her hair tied back in a ponytail, wasted no time.

As soon as Cruello entered, she declared—

"I am Amy."

Her expression was unnervingly twisted.

Cruello felt a creeping fear, but he refused to show it.

"Don’t lie."

"What do you even know about me? You’ve only seen me five times."

"Amy never spoke in the parlor!"

"Maybe she just didn’t want to talk."

"Then why did you talk so much yesterday?!"

"Because I wanted to be friends with you."

"…Huh?"

"And you hurt me."

Amy furrowed her brows in sadness.

Her round eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears.