ISGJV 06

Chapter 06

Nearly a month had already passed since I’d possessed this body.
In that time, the season had clearly shifted from late winter into spring.
A pleasant spring breeze drifted in through the open window, and the thin linen curtains fluttered, tickling my hair.

Time really does fly.

I was lost in that leisurely thought when an irritated voice came from straight ahead.

“Little madam? What exactly are you doing right now…?”

“Hm? Why? Moretti?”

I turned my head with a bright smile.
Standing in front of the blackboard with a book in hand was Moretti. It didn’t suit her at all, but in truth, that was the role most fitting to her position. After all, she was Edmund’s private tutor. Whether she was a good tutor—or even someone who truly deserved to be called a teacher—was another matter entirely.

Moretti asked in a voice twisted like a braided pretzel,

“Wasn’t it you who said you wanted to attend the lessons together with the young duke?”

Translated, that meant:

You were the one who insisted on sitting in on the lesson—so why are you fooling around instead of paying attention?

I smiled sweetly and shot back,

“That’s right. Which is why I personally went to the duke and got his permission.”

Yes. The duke told you to keep an eye on me, too.

—That part went unsaid.

Moretti’s face crumpled instantly.
Every time I was reminded of it, I thought the same thing: this woman really never got tired. And she seemed to have no learning ability either.

It had been two weeks since I started tagging along in Edmund’s lessons.
In that time, we’d had exchanges like this five or six times already.
Naturally, I’d won every single one.

And yet, she still didn’t give up and kept trying to pick at me. If nothing else, I supposed I had to acknowledge her tenacity.

As if she sensed my silent insults, Moretti asked in a sharp voice,

“You are paying proper attention in class, correct? Then tell me—what year was the Solaitia Treaty concluded?”

“Year 893. But Moretti, you haven’t even explained the Solaitia Treaty yet, and it’s not part of today’s lesson range either. That’s content that won’t come up until we advance the syllabus two or three more times, isn’t it?”

I didn’t just answer smoothly—I pointed out that she’d asked about material from a future lesson. Moretti flinched.

“Ahem. I must have been momentarily mistaken.”

“Oh dear. Are you all right, Moretti? You’re still young—wouldn’t do for you to start having memory problems already.”

I spoke gently, as if sincerely concerned, but the tutor’s face turned red and blue by turns. Still, she couldn’t say anything more. After all, she couldn’t exactly admit that she’d deliberately asked a question she thought I wouldn’t know.

“My memory is perfectly fine, so there’s no need to worry. It’s a relief to see that you are listening to the lesson properly.”

“Mm. I also do thorough preparation and review in the library.”

When I replied with a beaming smile, the corner of Moretti’s eye twitched.

The study where Moretti taught Edmund was a strange place—despite its name, it contained very few books. Empty bookshelves lined the walls. Moretti had moved every book that had once been there into the library and kept the key solely in her possession. The only books Edmund was allowed to see were a few volumes that Moretti had obtained the duke’s permission for and handed out during class.

That was why getting the key to the villa’s library from Moretti counted as one of my small victories over the past month.

She wouldn’t even allow Edmund, the young duke, access to the library.

Moretti was, quite literally, the tyrant of this villa—at least until I arrived.

When I mentioned the library, Edmund’s expression, sitting beside me, subtly changed.
He was probably thinking something like this:

Is that meant to mock me, who can’t even go to the library freely?

Judging by Edmund’s sullen face—his cheeks now a bit fuller than before—it seemed likely.

Ah, seriously. When will I finally be able to build up some proper favor points with Edmund?

At some point, I planned to create an opening so Edmund could come and go from the library without trouble. He’d definitely like that. I’d probably be able to rack up quite a bit of goodwill.

And that wasn’t all. Over the past few weeks, I’d been drawing up a much bigger picture and steadily putting my plans into motion.

Just wait a little longer, Edmund. Don’t go crying and thanking me later.

I quietly let out a soft, “Heh heh heh.”

Whatever meaning Edmund read into my innocent laughter, he turned his head away sharply, as if cutting me off.

Then he refocused on Moretti’s lecture. He was listening so intently that a crease formed between his smooth brows. The boy was utterly immersed in the lesson, like a beast parched for knowledge.

I knew exactly why.

Because originally, Moretti taught in the most careless, half-hearted way imaginable.

The duke had never wanted his true heir—his nephew—to receive a proper education. Naturally, he had given instructions to Moretti, the private tutor.

“There’s no need to educate him properly. No—quite the opposite.”

Moretti did her utmost to teach unnecessary and incorrect material, roughly and carelessly.

To the point where I could tell it was wrong just by reading an introductory textbook in the library.

That began to change, at least a little, after I started attending the lessons.

Originally, Moretti had devoted herself entirely to nitpicking at Edmund, eagerly resorting to ruler strikes and punishment stances. But because I was watching her, I began pointing out incorrect information whenever it came up—and that forced her to adjust.

“Hmm. Wasn’t that formula already proven incorrect and revised even in the Academy’s second-year textbook?”
“That interpretation seems wrong. I saw a grammar book that was newly reorganized in the library a year ago…”
“Aren’t you teaching this differently from the timeline?”

—And so on.

After my sharp criticisms were repeated several times, the quality of Moretti’s lessons improved drastically. As a result, Edmund could focus on class with a fairly satisfied expression.

That, too, was a small gain.

I smiled to myself.

Originally, Edmund would end up humiliated later and suffer because of those sloppy lessons—but not this time.

Though, to be honest, that wasn’t the most important thing.

As I grinned to myself, Moretti pouted her lips in displeasure.

Then came the break.

Moretti called me into the adjacent room and attempted to threaten me in a low voice. It was a complete departure from how she’d behaved—quiet as a mouse—around me for the past few weeks.

“You’re dumber than I thought. To do something so foolish.”

“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”

When I shrugged, Moretti leaned in and whispered with a confident smile,

“I’ve already reported to the duke. I told him you’re interfering with my ‘education.’”

“How am I interfering? I just pointed things out because you kept teaching incorrect information.”

“That’s exactly the mistake. You’re directly defying the duke’s will.”

“……”

She wasn’t wrong.
Calling out Moretti’s shoddy teaching might have given me some petty satisfaction, but it brought me no real benefit. If anything, if it reached the duke, the repercussions would be far worse.

“The one who ordered me not to properly educate Edmund was none other than the duke himself.”

“……”

“And without even knowing that, you’ve been too busy harassing me…”

Moretti smiled as she spoke, looking thoroughly spiteful—utterly convinced of her victory.

Hmm. Looks like she reported smoothly to the duke.

With that, Moretti strode back into the study and began pressing Edmund again.

“Break time ended ages ago! Hurry and return to your seat!”

Behind her back, I raised my middle finger.

You think of something I can’t?

Before returning to my seat, I glanced out the window.

At the very end of the only road leading to the villa, a small cloud of dust was rising—as if a carriage were racing toward us in great haste.

The next subject Moretti taught was introductory magic theory.

She couldn’t manipulate mana herself, so she wasn’t a mage, nor was she a scholar deeply versed in magical studies. But there was no one here who would challenge her qualifications.

“Now, copy this magic circle, then channel mana into it and rotate it in reverse. This is the foundation of mana amplification.”

Edmund looked puzzled for a moment at the textbook Moretti handed him, but soon he began following along diligently, groaning under his breath.

That was when it happened.

Cassandra—who had been sitting there blankly, pen still untouched—suddenly made an unexpected move.

Snap!

She deftly snatched the paper on which Edmund had just copied the magic circle.

Then she tore it to shreds.

Surprisingly, Edmund and Moretti found themselves in complete agreement over this action.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”
“What do you think you’re doing right now?!”

They shouted almost simultaneously, glanced awkwardly at each other, and then glared back at Cassandra.

“Is it really that unbearable for you to see me receive a proper education?!”

That accusation came from Edmund.

“No matter how much you dislike me, this is too much!”

That was Moretti’s indignant cry. Forced tears clung precariously to her eyelashes—but her true thoughts were the opposite.

This stupid girl is really going all out! No—actually, this is perfect.

Completely unaware that she was tightening her own noose.

At that moment, a commotion broke out inside the villa. With thunderous noise, a carriage came to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance.

It bore the crest of the House of Cohen.

Moretti silently cheered.

Finally!

Yes. The reason Moretti was acting so boldly today—after only taking hits from Cassandra all this time—was because she had something to rely on.

I’ve already reported every single instance of that girl siding with Edmund!

She had twisted every moment Cassandra checked or embarrassed her into “taking Edmund’s side.”

Moretti didn’t truly believe Cassandra was on Edmund’s side.
She simply needed to frame it that way to drive her out.

Who cares what the truth is!

Stepping down from the carriage emblazoned with the family crest was the duke’s chief steward—sent personally by the duke himself. Naturally, he was among the duke’s closest confidants.

With a triumphant smile, Moretti went to greet him.

“Welcome, Head Steward.”

She expected him to ask about Cassandra’s crimes.

But instead, something completely unexpected happened.

The steward ignored Moretti entirely, approached Cassandra, and bowed respectfully.

“I greet the little madam.”

“Welcome, Baron Lomond.”

Cassandra accepted Baron Lomond’s greeting as if it were only natural, her expression utterly calm—like someone who had anticipated this and prepared for it.

Could it be…?

An inexplicable sense of unease crept up Moretti’s spine.