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Chapter 9
Fortunately, Lillian was a fast runner.
Only after sprinting for a good while did she finally stop to catch her breath.
“Huuh… hahh…”
Hiding behind the main mansion, she clutched her chest and gasped.
“That was… close.”
That reflex just now—too sharp for a mere maid. It had been almost like a trained reaction.
I don’t know exactly how skilled the original Lillian was…
But it was more than enough to draw suspicion from a knight.
I’d better stay far away from the east wing from now on.
With a small fist clenched in resolve, she made her decision.
Luckily, she had no reason to go to the east wing anyway. Applicants for service there were always overflowing.
Never thought I’d be so thankful not to see knights around.
Of course, she was giving up one of the Archduke’s frequent haunts. But what did he do there, really? Training, sparring… nothing worth her close surveillance.
So she took the long way, circling toward the west wing instead. She’d eaten dinner earlier than most and now used “digestion” as her excuse to walk alone.
But what do I even put in the report?
The deadline loomed closer each day, and she had nothing. Except maybe that the Archduke seemed like a serious homebody…
What if they come at night again?
She’d already sent in one meager report. Wouldn’t they give her more time? Or should she just outright beg for an extension?
Ugh, I’m going crazy!
She felt like an author with a looming deadline. Even juggling three part-time jobs in her previous life hadn’t been this mentally exhausting. This new “career” wasn’t proving much easier.
If only I had Lillian’s memories, things would be so much better!
Wait—memories…
Yes, she had recalled things before.
When she first found the secret letter—she’d been able to decode the cipher. When she’d stumbled across Lillian’s unfinished report—she could write in code and trade messages. And when she caught the shard of wooden sword flying toward the back of her head—there had been that uncanny sense of déjà vu.
All of it… was tied to being a spy!
Her spine tingled with sudden realization.
Could it be that the more I act like a spy, the more of Lillian’s memories return?
It was only a theory, but not impossible.
Worth a try, at least.
She swallowed hard, squared her stance, and drew in a long, deep breath.
“Fuuuh…”
This bizarre reality: reincarnated as a spy disguised as a maid.
Her dangerous “landlord”: Archduke Pelium, both master of the house and her surveillance target.
And his sly, unreadable aide.
Silence pressed in all around her. She focused only on herself.
Her eyes snapped open.
“Haaahp!”
Whoosh—!
Her right fist sliced the empty air.
“Hhup!”
Whoosh—!
Her left fist followed, equally awkward.
“Yap!”
Stumble—
Her clumsy kick almost knocked her off balance.
“Hahh… hahh…”
Several attempts later, she finally slumped in defeat.
So… this doesn’t work?
Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Honestly, she’d expected something—anything. A memory, an instinctive reaction like before.
Maybe it only happens when my life is on the line?
Whatever the mechanism, this clearly wasn’t it. But there might be other ways.
It’s fine. This was just a test run.
There would be more chances. Surely.
“Up we go.”
Straightening her back, she dusted herself off and quickly left the spot—
Unaware that eyes were watching her.
Meanwhile, in the Archduke’s office…
“She was throwing punches,” Dillon reported.
“…At whom?”
“At the air.”
Archduke Raymond Pelium’s expression twisted faintly. But Dillon continued, unfazed.
“Clumsy, yes. But there was determination in her stance. Perhaps she has someone she’d dearly like to hit.”
“Hm…”
“Oh, and she explained her recent change. Said it was because she’s shy around strangers. Needed time to adapt to the work and to people.”
“Shy?”
Raymond gave a sharp, derisive laugh. Dillon, however, nodded in all seriousness.
“I can sympathize. I was terribly shy myself.”
“Really? Fascinating. Information I neither wanted nor find credible.”
“You wound me, Your Grace.”
“Next.”
Dillon sighed. No point arguing. Instead, he tried another angle.
“I suspect the accident may have had an impact.”
Yes—the accident.
That day marked a turning point.
“Servants slip on stairs all the time, but losing consciousness for two days is rare.”
Raymond had been away then, so he only heard the doctor’s account: she’d struck her head badly.
Was that really all?
It was plausible. People did change after accidents. But Raymond’s instincts warned him otherwise.
“I grew on the battlefield myself,” Dillon added. “A single incident can change a person—sometimes for better, sometimes for worse—”
“Dillon.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Do shut up. Before I start changing for the worse.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Dillon finally clamped his mouth shut.
Raymond leaned back, expression relaxing as his thoughts churned.
Tick, tick, tick—
The clock’s hand swept on. Dillon studied his master quietly. Something was strange.
Why is His Grace paying so much attention to a mere maid?
Normally, the Archduke was the picture of logic and control—cold, detached, even frighteningly inhuman at times. Servants feared him for good reason.
But lately… when it came to that maid Lillian, he was far too attentive.
Dillon frowned. His Grace had “dealt with” an infiltrating spy not long ago without hesitation. Yet now, he seemed almost… indulgent.
“Shall we continue observing her?” Dillon asked cautiously.
But Raymond shook his head, lips curling into a sharp smile.
“No. I’ll find out myself.”
A smile that boded nothing good.
And Dillon’s stomach sank with foreboding.
