“Sir.”

The emperor seemed to be in a good mood, though he rarely appeared otherwise these days. Having returned from a sweet vacation, Banther responded respectfully to the summons.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If someone falls from a high place and dies, it’s an accident. If someone dies of starvation, it’s famine. If someone drowns, it’s drowning. If someone dies from lack of air, it’s suffocation. So if someone dies laughing, what would that be called?”

Banther was a man who adapted quickly, and after his vacation, he had grown even more tolerant. He could now listen to the emperor’s absurdities with a smile. Who knew? The emperor might just suddenly grant him another vacation like last time.

“In my humble opinion, it might be called ‘laugh-death.'”

Banther’s reply, tinged with his hope for more vacation, was sincere.

“Laugh-death?”

“Yes, like dying from too much air in one’s lungs, so laugh-death.”

“That makes sense. Quite plausible.”

“I am honored.”

The conversation flowed seamlessly, and one of the attendants, standing by to assist as needed, quietly looked away, unable to bear the spectacle.

“By the way, Your Majesty, what are those?”

Banther’s gaze shifted to the objects under the emperor’s desk. The emperor, who had taken a brief outing before starting his morning work, had returned with something in each hand.

It was a basket and a mat, the kind used for sitting on the ground outdoors. The puzzling thing was that he had left empty-handed and returned with these. As Banther inquired, the emperor, dipping his pen in an inkwell, gave him an answer.

“Well, perhaps collateral? Or…”

“…?”

“Like Cinderella’s glass slipper, you might say.”

It was a hard-to-follow answer. Banther internally tilted his head at the emperor’s vague, childlike response.

Cinderella? Although he vaguely remembered the story from his childhood, those items certainly hadn’t been part of it. Could it be that in today’s version, Cinderella wore a basket instead of glass slippers and rode a mat instead of a pumpkin carriage?

As Banther pondered this frivolous thought, the emperor’s lips curved smoothly, as though recalling something.

He had made a one-sided appointment to meet Mail around six in the evening. Meeting at noon for lunch would have been ideal, but unfortunately, he had a meeting scheduled then and couldn’t make time. A shame, but the garden at sunset wouldn’t be too bad.

After all, did the time and place really matter that much? What truly mattered wasn’t the “when” or “where” but rather the “who.” With that thought, Rohayden pushed the completed documents aside and leaned back in his chair.

‘Come to think of it, I promised to tell her my name.’

Recently, he had been realizing something repeatedly: sometimes, a person doesn’t even know the reasons for their own actions. This was no exception, and it reminded him of something he’d said not too long ago.

“If you want to know something about the Emperor, I’ll tell you one thing. Anything.”

It was a promise he had made under the guise of offering a reward.

Why had he done that? The reason had been unclear back then, and it remained indistinct even now. Did he actually want her to take an interest in the “Emperor” that he was?

Thinking that way made even less sense. And then what? What if she genuinely showed interest in the emperor? It wasn’t as though he desired to be regarded with favor because of his title.

Yet, despite all this, he’d even offered to share his name with her recently.

Leaning back, Rohayden swallowed hard.

‘Remember this, Rohayden. It’s fun, but that’s all it is.’

Spending time in the garden with Mail was genuinely enjoyable. He truly didn’t want to bring it to an early end. But he repeated to himself a single fact, as though to ensure he wouldn’t forget it.

‘This is merely a game, nothing more. Moreover, it comes with a short expiration date.’

Rohayden thought about choosing a suitable name he could use as an alias.

—

Amy, who was born a commoner and became a maid for the count’s household, had never once in her life thought of bullying anyone. To her, others were people she should greet politely and get along with, not individuals she’d want to harm or tease on purpose. She disliked fighting. She also hated seeing others in distress.

But now, even though she disliked it, she had to do it. Amy adjusted her expression to hide her gloomy thoughts and approached the group.

“Excuse me…”

The maids, who had been chatting in small groups, paused their conversation and looked at Amy.

When all eyes turned to her, Amy took a small pouch from her pocket as if she had been waiting for this moment. She handed it over to them. *Jingle.* There was the sound of coins from inside the pouch.

“I just… wanted to ask for some advice.”

Amy began with difficulty. Inside the pouch were silver coins. It wasn’t a large amount, but it was reasonable compensation for a few words and a couple of small errands. After a brief hesitation, a blonde maid accepted the pouch and spoke to Amy.

“What kind of advice?”

“…I need to… inconvenience someone a little.”

Ormil had lashed out at Amy, demanding that she come up with a plan, but for Amy, who had never in her life tried to harm anyone, it was impossible to come up with such an idea on her own.

After agonizing all day, she had finally gathered all the coins she had and come outside. She approached the group she spotted while wandering down the hallway. If she couldn’t come up with a scheme on her own, seeking help from others was also an option.

A maid with light brown hair, standing next to the blonde, looked intrigued.

“So, you’re asking us to give you some fitting ideas?”

Amy nodded. Fortunately, she didn’t have to go as far as killing or seriously injuring her target.

Just enough to give them some trouble. Like when girls in a class team up to tease someone they don’t like.

“This sounds fun. Sure, we can teach you a few things for something like that.”

The maids, gathered in a group, each chuckled to themselves. They speculated. It wasn’t likely that two maids on foreign imperial grounds would start a fight, so they guessed that it might be some sort of rivalry between candidates in the selection contest.

If so, it would be to their benefit. If the candidates fought each other to ruin, that would automatically eliminate two competitors. These maids belonged to a certain candidate’s household, not the imperial palace.

“Are you just asking? We’ll help you actively.”

“Yes, especially for you.”

“It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

The group of maids in their matching uniforms laughed out loud together. Although Amy didn’t feel like laughing, she forced herself to smile alongside them. Her conscience pricked her, and she felt ashamed, but what she feared more was her master’s punishment.

She had no choice. Amy whispered this to herself.

—

Riela, debating over which of the four male leads in *The Princess and…*—the prince, knight, dark lord, and dragon—to choose, ultimately settled on the knight after half a day and two extra hours.

Leaving aside how long it took, she wondered why she’d even agonized between the dark lord and dragon if she was going to choose the knight anyway. Mail, meanwhile, had collapsed in an undignified manner across the bed, thoroughly drained.

At first, she’d been happy that it helped clear her thoughts, but as the hours dragged on, it felt like torture.

Mail eventually found herself blaming the author. “Why did they have to write four male leads instead of one? Are they trying to torture someone with decision paralysis? Is that it?”

Mail was exhausted, but Riela, on the other hand, was just as lively as ever. She seemed to feel a sense of accomplishment after making her choice, looking more energetic than usual. She looked at Mail, half-unconscious on the bed, with a look of incomprehension and then suddenly spoke.

“Mail.”

“…Yes?”

Her response came a beat late as she was too tired. Riela ignored this and continued speaking.

“Why don’t you ever dress up?”

“Sorry?”

What was she talking about? Mail turned her head, still lying down, and glanced over at her. When she looked, she saw Riela staring at her with an unexpectedly serious expression. Though the question seemed out of the blue, she genuinely looked curious.

Mail gave a casual answer.

“I don’t have to.”

“Why not? You’d look prettier. Why don’t you? Why don’t you dress up?”

Riela tilted her head, asking. If anyone heard her, they’d think Mail spent the entire year wandering around in pajamas with just a quick wash.

Mail, of course, had a servant do her grooming when necessary. She just hadn’t found the need since arriving at the empire.

Even when she did dress up, it wasn’t as sparkly and glamorous as Riela preferred. Mail, who found extravagance bothersome, usually stopped at basic grooming.

“I don’t need to look any prettier. Princess, you can take my share and be even more beautiful.”

“Hmm, that’s odd. Isn’t looking prettier always a good thing? That way, you’ll be loved even more.”

“It’s okay. The one I want love from can’t tell whether a person looks angelic or has a third eye on their forehead.”

That someone was a plant. At that, Riela suddenly declared

“I’ll dress you up.”

“Yes, please… Wait, what?”