No Heaven Where You Run (2)
Cleio's guardian, Dione, signed a certificate of identity and paid his bail.
After handing the stern knights an extravagant food basket and a bottle of champagne with a deeply apologetic smile, even their iron discipline melted like wax.
"When the mansion was turned upside down that day, a maid named Mira came to me with a thousand dinars and confessed—she said you'd left your cat with her, like someone going on a long journey. So I gave her two thousand as a reward. If not for her, there would've been rumors of a noble heir's abduction, and the whole country would've gone mad."
On the carriage ride back to the capital, Dione occasionally burst into laughter. After ten days of humiliation, she was positively euphoric at having turned the tables.
"Truly, young master, you really got me good! You managed to tarnish the credit of Dione Greyer herself. Thank the gods Baron Aser gave me discretion to restore my honor!"
"…What did Father say?"
"The same as always—nothing. Why, are you afraid now?"
"It's not that…"
"Well, we've found you now, so it doesn't matter. He said he wouldn't blame me, and I'm still getting paid even while you were gone! So tell me, young master—after making life difficult for so many people, was your little adventure worth it?"
"..."
"I must admit, you're far more clever than I gave you credit for. I never thought finding one boy would take this long. But really now—you'd never heard that Aser Company's Investigation Bureau outperforms Crown Prince Melchior's own Intelligence Division?"
It made sense now. The knight order wasn't an investigative body, so how had they tracked him down? Of course—the company had its own private bureau.
"What, does that man run some kind of shadow organization?"
"Hardly. With profits like his, why would he need to dabble in the occult? Information is money, after all—and they say nowhere on the Dernier Continent escapes Baron Aser's eyes."
'So basically, he would dabble if it made him money… great.'
Cleio was tired, furious, and absurdly exasperated. He dropped his head between his knees, looking ready to vanish from existence.
"So then, young master—why exactly did you run away from that beautiful mansion in the high district of west Lundane? Depending on your answer, I might soften the story I tell your father."
"…Because I didn't want to be conscripted."
He cut it short; he was too exhausted to elaborate.
He couldn't very well explain a Korean's resentment toward military service, nor the reluctance of a supporting-character-turned-victim to be dragged into the protagonist's fate, nor that he'd been testing the author.
"What?"
Dione's eyes widened—not pretending this time, but genuinely startled. Her lace fan snapped shut.
"I didn't want to do mandatory service, so I said I'd quit school. Father said if I did, he'd draft me straight into the army as a private."
Lowering her fan onto her lap, Dione pressed a hand to her brow, stared into the distance, then looked at him again—almost pityingly.
"Young master, I thought you were clever, but you really are clueless, aren't you? Look at me—Dione Greyer, Class of '972. Do I look like someone who's served in the army?"
Oh, right—she was an alumna. Five years his senior—so twenty-two. Old enough that she should have done service… but she'd said she worked at Aser Company instead.
"For magic students, anyone who graduates in the top three of their class is exempt from conscription. You can work as a researcher or in industry instead. I've spent the last two years carving mana stones for your father's company."
Cleio jerked his head up, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
"There are barely ten magic students per class anyway—did you think it'd be that hard to place in the top three?"
No one had ever told him that.
It hadn't even been in the manuscript.
All of Arthur's companions became knights, after all!
"Why do you think the Academy divides swordsmanship and magic into separate tracks? Both build ether the same way."
In her polite, tutor-like tone, Dione continued:
"Swordsmen channel ether into their bodies. Physical training is essential before that. They must strengthen the vessel."
Each time she spoke, Cleio felt like he was getting punched in the soul.
"Mages, however, are limited by innate aptitude. Even if they circulate ether diligently, not everyone can manifest a magic circle. That's why mages are so difficult to train—and why the state values them differently."
He hadn't escaped just because of the draft, but that had been the main reason. And now… it had all been for nothing.
Cleio slumped sideways onto the seat, his eyes prickling.
For the next three days, he mostly slept.
Once his hopeful outlook had been shattered, he felt only emptiness and fatigue. His head was foggy, his thoughts sluggish.
When he returned to the mansion, Behemoth greeted him with loud, indignant meows—"Why'd you come back alive instead of dying out there!"—yet wrapped its paws tightly around him, refusing to let go.
Madam Canton and the maids all thought their young master had simply gone on a childish runaway escapade.
Even after days passed, Cleio remained dispirited. Behemoth, noticing this, softened up and tried to cheer him.
"The wine shipment came in. All twenty-five cases checked out fine. Your father's supplier's an honest man—especially that champagne, exquisite stuff."
Somehow, squeezing the cat's plush belly as it kneaded against him did help lighten his mood.
'So the escape route's closed. I can't reject the story's main quest anymore. Then… how the hell am I supposed to live now?'
At least he still had money. His father's money, sure—but it spent the same.
He had a house. His father's, again—but still.
Even if he avoided the draft as Dione said, it didn't change the fact that his father had an entire thorn-strewn path planned for him afterward.
Even as he lay there, the Promise flickered twice, flashing its infuriating message:
[―User's Narrative Intervention Rate has increased.]
Every time he saw that line, his temper spiked. To him, it read like: "Your odds of death or injury just went up."
Whether he moved or didn't, the world was already turning to the next page without him.
"While you're already managing things just fine, what exactly are you asking from me? Fine, I get it—there's no such thing as an easy life for the idle."
Clack—
At that moment, Dione entered the room carrying a meal.
"Our sleepy young master, do you finally feel like getting up?"
"If Dione would stop using that ticklish tone, it might help me get up a little faster."
"Oh, then I suppose you'll just lie down forever."
Setting the tray down on Cleio's lap, Dione winked playfully.
"Even if you want to sleep all day, at least eat something. Madam Canton's been fretting because you're not eating."
"…I'll eat now."
He had slept so much that he didn't have much of an appetite, but he managed to swallow some fruit and bread pudding.
As Cleio ate, Dione brought up her real reason for coming.
"When are you going to reply to Lady Tanfête de Neige's invitation? You know, the one for the summer party at the Novantes Hotel."
"Should I even go…?"
Cleio shook his head. His mind was still too tangled to deal with the twins, let alone Celestes.
"At summer's Novantes, all the socialites and entrepreneurs gather. And you're thinking of throwing away an invitation to the de Neige Hotel's summer party that others would kill to get? Are you insane?"
"..."
"I even told you how to avoid conscription, didn't I? Time to dust yourself off and stand up again. Going to Novantes will do you good. The invitation allows one companion, so come with me."
"Will Father be there?"
"Excuse me? That's far too small a stage for Baron Asser. The place is all about hotels, dining, and real estate investments."
Cleio put down his fork. A spark of thought flickered through his once-sluggish mind.
'This… could be an opportunity. If I can dig into a field Father hasn't touched yet, it'll take longer for him to notice me.'
"Besides, there's the Trinity Auction House at Novantes. During summer, the vacationing tycoons take part in the bidding—there's always something interesting happening."
For the first time in three days, Cleio's eyes regained their usual sharpness.
"The Trinity Auction House is in Novantes?"
"My, my, how can our young master be so ignorant? I suppose I'll have to devote myself entirely to turning you into a proper man."
"I'll send a reply to the invitation. Yes, let's go."
"Oh my, I don't know what's brought this change, but I'm glad to see your energy back! I'll start packing right away so we can leave as soon as the reply arrives!"
"Weu-uung? (So you've finally decided to live like a human being again?)"
Dione hurried out of the room.
Cleio, rising for the first time in days, felt his heartbeat quicken. The room felt stifling, so he threw open the window.
It was summer outside. A vivid breeze carried the thick scent of grass—alive, as if to flaunt the reality of this world.
The world within the manuscript was, by nature, both crueler and more generous than the one Kim Jung-jin had known.
He was thrown into it—but not helpless.
He already knew what was going to happen here. The main storyline connected to the protagonist had shifted, but most of the finer settings remained unchanged.
Which meant, for everything unrelated to Arthur, Cleio himself was practically a prophet.
And what was the benefit of knowing the future?
In investments, it allowed him to secure an overwhelmingly advantageous position.
The "Memory" of the Promise—a power he hadn't used in a long while—began to turn over the sentences he had already read.
'I may not have known about the military service exemption system, but I do know what items will appear at the Trinity Auction House in the summer of 1890.'