Translator: Nox

Chapter 4

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“Doesn’t my exhaustion give it away? Donovan handed this task right to me.”

Connie answered offhandedly, her mouth forming a subtle frown.

“I get that Donovan assigned it, yet your focus stays on eastern areas, doesn’t it?”

Those papers she passed over detailed dealings in western lands.

Precise logs of key supply exchanges across borders.

“Didn’t you witness that moment? My workload overflowed already when he piled this on. Now I’m nearer collapse than ever…”

She clenched her jaw, irritation flashing.

Brushing past her vivid complaints, I probed further. “What made you single these out?”

Such border supply logs counted as extra duties.

Andrew, overseeing the west, could have managed them far smoother.

Quiet hung between us momentarily.

Connie shattered it first.

“You’re right—it does strike odd now.”

Her fingers grazed her face as she pinned her foggy mind on lost rest.

“I assumed Donovan favored that ‘young lord’ once more.”

She drummed on the stack cluttering her workspace, voice laced with annoyance.

“Andrew drones endlessly about his baronet relative dumping kin duties, leaving no room for tough jobs.”

Paid positions shouldn’t tolerate such dodges, yet Donovan’s rigid hierarchy blinded him to them.

She sensed his eagerness to curry favor with Andrew’s noble kin.

Consequently, Andrew’s dodged chores landed on staff Donovan viewed as disposable.

That baronet held esteemed status, forcing reluctant acceptance despite resentment.

Donovan relished picking on his dislikes too.

She viewed the grime and bias of stratified society as inevitable.

Everyday folly, barring minor variances.

“Wouldn’t handing it to another western overseer save time?”

Connie managed eastern duties, demanding fresh insight into western structures.

The realm arose from allied realms, each clinging to unique traits.

Disparities spanned ledger styles to levy yields.

East and west, once rival realms, diverged sharply.

Assigning this to her felt off.

She resisted linking Donovan’s earlier outburst at Connie to the documents’ odd chill.

She prayed against dire outcomes.

A quick head shake chased shadows away. She quipped, “Perhaps you seemed the simplest mark?”

Meant to ease rising tension, it rang too true.

Donovan bypassed logic, offloading onto vulnerable sorts.

Connie shuddered visibly, whispering how topping Donovan Shroez’s hit list felt brutally harsh.

She faked sobs without true drops.

Uncertain how to respond, she watched Connie escalate her play, embodying a doomed heroine.

“Exactly—orphaned and penniless!”

Left unchecked, her show might endless drag.

“Whoa, I never claimed all that!”

To halt chaos and aid her friend, she snatched extra files from the desk.

Eyeing the hefty load she claimed, Connie quit feigning woe and grinned wide.

“You must be my good luck token!”

She launched into an odd jig, teasing how sharing academy quarters with her ranked life’s peak joy.

The abrupt cheer jarred after her mock gloom.

“I planned to pitch in regardless.”

She gave a mild eye-roll and settled back down.

Pen in hand, she dove into tasks anew.

Western iron deposits abounded, weaving complex webs.

Duke of Camelot commanded the west’s riches and might, holding prime veins.

His retainers’ exchanges knotted fiercely.

Outwardly, famine loans repaid via goods, not coin.

Papers shuffled, merged, splintered into nightmares.

Andrew wisely fled this snarl.

Extra burden loomed larger than foreseen, yet plunging ahead beat lamenting.

She willed weary gaze alert, scanning sheets steadily.

Connie labored mute, desperate for swift end and scant slumber.

Dawn crept as they toiled in the chamber.

She merely endured and pressed on.

Thus, they wrapped before Donovan returned from his feigned brief respite.

She passed the finalized summary to Connie.

Clutching it, Connie twirled anew, belting an improvised tune: “What Fortune Shares a Room with CarolRina Diaz.”

“Head off for his sign-off now.”

“Will do. Truly grateful, Rina.”

Donovan signed the tidied files; Connie groaned of imminent demise and departed.

He dubbed her complaints frailty’s mark, irrelevant amid the Imperial Palace’s three-day staff respite.

His rebuke bounced off—decree from above.

Few appeared; urgent bits done, they vanished quick.

She lingered briefly, then ghosted away cautious.

Fearing interception, she moved soundless from the palace, traversed another street, hailed a public coach.

Jolts rocked her toward doze en route home.

Final strength summoned a rinse before bed plunge.

Mattress met her like a neck blow; blackout swallowed recall.

Sleep or stupor blurred.

“Refreshing rest indeed.”

Dawn glowed soft; clock read six morning.

“Early riser status?”

Holiday’s dawn lost, yet fine—two days remained.

She yearned for army parade and sky bursts.

Disappointment stayed mild.

Lately frantic pace made routine reclaim feel welcome.

“Feed the cats treats, market run, tidy up perhaps.”

She prepped swift for streets, snagged jerky strips.

At Grizel Park, feline domain, she cooed softly.

“Do Re Mi Fa Sol—come out.”

Scanning for watchers, repeated calls drew them gradually from shadows.

Sol, clingiest, nuzzled her leg warmly.

“Missed you all.”

Sol’s trill pierced high, a sweet “Nyaa.”

Jerky portions distributed.

Each seized bites, retreated spaced to savor.

Sated, they circled back; she doled till stock emptied.

Bellies content, they claimed sun patches or preened, rumbles rising.

She admired their bliss proudly, then waved goodbye.

Market doors neared opening.

Bypassing builds via front gate, a figure approached reverse.

Hooded giant loomed tall.

Exit trail squeezed tight.

His bulk plus hers promised squeeze.

She yielded space.

Glancing to yield path, hood framed a known jaw.

Twice encountered, etched deep.

Surprise flickered hers.

Everett Rojas angled away gaze.

“After you, please.”

Awkward offer to proceed.

He paused assessing, dipped head, brushed by.

Distance grew; she glanced rearward.

Such encounter stunned.

Coincidences piled beyond belief.