The main hall of the mansion froze the moment the guard's words spilled out.

Orion's hand — still clutching the parchment — trembled like a quill in the hands of a drunk scribe. His eyes widened, not because the paper suddenly grew fangs, but because of what the letter actually said.

The investigation at the envoy's mansion had finally wrapped up, and the culprits were… two of the Orion's staff and one of his very own ministers.

That last bit wasn't even the real problem. No, the real kicker was that moles inside House Orion made the whole faction look like a leaky bucket. And what happens when your bucket leaks? Someone gets the bright idea of trying to assassinate me. Fantastic.

But the best part? The verdict on how to deal with it wasn't even Orion's to make. Oh no. That honor belonged to my ever-terrifying father.

Everard's gaze was fixed on Orion, who looked like he might faint right there at the table.

"That's it?" my father asked, voice as calm as if he'd just been told the soup was a little cold.

"Yes, Lord Everard," Orion stammered. "That's… that's all the letter said."

Father hummed, the kind of hum that made the whole hall feel like it had suddenly lost air. "Hmm… then it seems we will have to go there ourselves if we want to find out more."

He flicked a glance toward Sebastian. The man gave a silent nod and disappeared from the hall like a shadow that had just remembered it was late for work.

The silence after was suffocating.

Finally, Father broke it with a sentence sharp enough to cut through bone. "Viscount Orion. Moles in your house… and one of them a minister. I no longer know what to think of your faction."

Orion's trembling worsened under the weight of those words, like a child caught lying about broken porcelain.

Beside me, Sylvia lowered her head, fingers tightening against her dress. The tension clung to her shoulders.

The faint breeze from the window toyed with my hair as if the universe wanted me to look majestic, which was pretty unnecessary given the circus unfolding before me.

I hadn't cut my hair in six months. Not once did I feel the need to, either.

The strands just… behaved. Smooth, clean, not a hint of clumpiness or dandruff. Honestly, the air here was working harder on my scalp than any overpriced shampoo back on Earth. For the first time, I actually felt like giving a standing ovation to those environmentalists I used to ignore — turns out, less pollution really does wonders.

Now, here's the thing — when Duke Everard asks you a question, you don't stay silent. You either answer like your life depends on it, or you risk him making sure it does. Orion, however, had apparently decided to roleplay as a mute zombie.

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"Now that we know the mole is someone from a minister's position," Father said, voice steady, calm, terrifying, "is it not safe to assume all the important information about what we plan to do here has already leaked out?"

Dead silence.

Orion just sat there, sweat dripping like he was auditioning for a sauna commercial. Courteous? No. Stupid? Absolutely. And discourteous stupidity in front of Everard Gyrfald was about as wise as juggling swords while blindfolded.

Father leaned forward. "The products we bought from Tenjiku. Falcon's associations. Leon's merchants…" His crimson gaze sharpened, and the weight in the room doubled. "Viscount Orion… you do understand all that money… it is not small."

Still nothing.

Orion's poker face had officially evolved into that of a cornered rat. Father's voice rose — not shouting, but enough to sting. "Respond, Viscount. What is the accountability for this mess from your faction's side?"

That was the kill shot. Orion collapsed forward, scrambling out of his seat before falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the floor. A full kowtow.

Awkward silence.

Sylvia's lips quivered, her composure cracking. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, staining her dress. She hiccupped softly. Clara reached out, her own eyes glistening as she placed a hand on Sylvia's shoulder.

I sighed inwardly. This went a bit too far, didn't it? Poor Orion looked like a broken puppet, Sylvia was crying, Clara was crying… and me? I was the only sane one left in the room.

"Come on," my master's voice, sipping tea like a bored spectator. "Leave the poor guy alone already." She subtly glanced at Sylvia, before she took another sip.

Everard's gaze slid toward Sylvia. His expression softened, if only slightly, before shifting back to the groveling mess on the floor. "Get up, Viscount. It is not your apology we need." His tone had gentled, but it still rang with command.

Orion slowly raised his head, looking like he'd aged twenty years in two minutes.

"What do you think to do now?" Father asked.

Finally finding his tongue, Orion croaked, "For now, we will strengthen ties with local associations and find a clear path to promote our merchandise when we bring them for sale in the future." He recited it like a desperate student spitting out memorized notes.

Father's eyes narrowed. "Merchandise? What merchandise?" His voice was harder now, sharp enough to cut through Orion's babbling. "As I said, we will not be proceeding with the leaked plan."

The poor guy had defaulted to yesterday's meeting notes like a broken recorder, completely forgetting the situation had shifted. Honestly, who can blame him? Working under Father's pressure was like juggling knives while someone set the floor on fire.

Orion didn't speak — because I did.

"Father, the salted pork idea… it was never discussed before the ministers. The only Leons who knew of it were Lord Orion and Lady Sylvia. Which means Lord Orion's faction couldn't possibly have leaked it."

I let the pause linger, then continued, "After we establish ourselves in the market with salted pork, we'll gradually move the rest of our products. We might take losses, but damage control is still far better than surrendering entirely."

Everard's crimson gaze settled on me, heavy as stone. "So you withheld the salted pork before Viscount Orion's ministers because you suspected them?"

I turned to Sylvia, who still kept her head low, the picture of poise and restraint. "Thanks to Lady Sylvia pointing out her suspicions about the ministers, we took precautions. Otherwise, salted pork would have already been on every competitor's table."

Everard's lips curved faintly, though his eyes did not soften. "Seems like the little lady grew up well, huh, Viscount Orion?"

Orion bowed, silent.

Then Everard shifted his attention back to me, voice like a blade drawn. "I'll be leaving with Sebastian to find out about their employer. Come up with a plan of action before I return."

I had barely opened my mouth to respond when a sharp voice cut across the hall.

"No way. He has training now. Push the deadline to evening," my master said, glaring at Everard.

"...Evening's fine." He strode out, his presence lingering like smoke long after he left.

And I couldn't help but think — she really is the only one in this hall who dares look him in the eye.

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