“It’s useless to call for help. Don’t you know you’re just a woman treated like an abandoned child…”

BANG!

The door flew open with such force it seemed about to shatter, cutting off Gavin’s sharp mockery.

Gavin, who had grabbed my hair, twisted his head in shock as if confronted with something completely unexpected.

“Ugh…!”

Before he could fully turn his head, his face was slammed to the floor.

Joseph had rushed in, seized him by the back of the neck, and smashed him into the ground.

“Are you alright?”

Joseph asked me with a rigid expression.

I nodded reflexively as Medlin came running in frantically.

“My goodness… How dare they lay hands on Your Highness…!”

Medlin trembled violently after carefully checking my condition, unable to finish her sentence.

Staff members began gathering one by one in front of the office, perhaps having heard the commotion.

They all looked terrified.

The Caleb family were former street thugs, cousins of a loyal retainer who had served Count Azanie for many years.

The budget Lea sent from the Hedegen family was laundered before going to Count Azanie, while the Caleb family had been living in luxury by emptying the pockets of all residents.

They had threatened people who had completed rehabilitation before their arrival, forcing them to work hard for almost no wages, and had driven away all the poor commoners who couldn’t pay.

Everything had changed from the moment the Grand Duchess took charge of December.

However, people believed that reporting such matters to nobles would be futile, as they wouldn’t consider the position of commoners.

It seemed everyone feared retaliation and thought the Grand Duchess was responsible for these actions.

With the Grand Duke frequently away at war for long periods, they believed no one would understand their suffering.

“…What a mess.”

Gavin and Anton, who had surrendered their double ledgers under Joseph’s pressure, prostrated themselves even lower at my dejected words.

If he was willing to grab my hair just because he was angry, I could imagine the treatment I must have received before, even without experiencing it firsthand.

“It was all Count Azanie’s plan. He told us we could treat the Grand Duchess however we wanted, that we could even hit her, that she wouldn’t dare speak up anyway, so we should teach her a lesson…”

Gavin’s voice, which had been making excuses, suddenly cut off.

“You don’t need to hear any more.”

Frowning, Joseph gagged both Gavin and Anton.

I almost laughed but held it back.

Joseph’s irritation with them looked quite similar to Carlo’s.

“Did you learn that from your friend?”

He hesitated briefly at my words, then shrugged.

“He teaches me many things.”

“You’re not planning to just let them go, are you?”

“What would you suggest?”

“They should be locked up since they might contact Count Azanie.”

At my answer, Gavin and Anton’s eyes grew enormously wide with fear.

Joseph looked at me curiously, apparently surprised by my forthright response.

It seemed somewhat unexpected that I didn’t refer to Count Azanie as Father.

“That’s the best thing you’ve said today.”

However, instead of commenting further, he expressed agreement and instructed his subordinates to take the two men away.

I watched the father and son being dragged out, then rose from my chair.

The staff flinched and shrank their necks whenever I moved. Since all this was karma I had brought upon them, I forced a smile to soothe my bitter feelings.

“Please classify everyone—those who truly need rehabilitation and those who created forced qualifications.

Also, we need to check the actual diet, nutritional status, exercise, rehabilitation process, and everything else.”

“……”

“Now, shall we go see the real situation?”

Joseph exchanged glances with Medlin and made a troubled expression.

“It won’t be easy to verify right now. They received advance notice of Your Highness’s visit, so they’ve cleaned everything thoroughly and made the residents look presentable. They’ve probably also coached them on how to answer any potential questions.”

“Ah…”

Looking at the staff standing silently, I suddenly remembered someone.

“What about the man who collapsed in front of our carriage? He arrived recently, so we could meet him.”

Osborn, the dining hall manager who had worked at the center for a long time—forced to labor without wages while living there under the Caleb father and son’s threats—guided us.

“Have they ever hit you?”

“…It’s alright, Your Highness.”

His answer had already confirmed the truth.

I looked at Osborn’s back with a bitter feeling I couldn’t shake.

Medlin, walking beside me, gave me a sad smile as if to comfort me.

“I’m truly sorry to everyone. I’ll make amends. This is all because of me.”

When I apologized to Osborn and everyone else, the staff shook their heads in bewilderment.

I couldn’t even guess how many more sins I needed to acknowledge and make up for, but I didn’t want to be a bad person anymore to those I had hurt.

“He’s in here.”

Osborn stopped in front of a room and announced.

“Her Highness the Grand Duchess is here.”

When he opened the door, everyone inside looked up at me in surprise.

From what I had seen earlier, most of those who had paid large sums to enter were so-called troublemakers from wealthy families.

Their families had entrusted them here, considering them too troublesome to keep at home.

They were all staying in nice rooms, in stark contrast to the terrible room assigned to the man who had collapsed yesterday.

“……”

My notorious reputation must have already reached their ears, as everyone except one person trembled and lowered themselves.

The staff explained that the only reason such disadvantaged people could enter this place was because St. Berte’s administrators had sent them without knowing December’s true situation.

Since the city administrators’ referrals couldn’t be refused by the Caleb father and son, they had simply crammed these people into one room and exploited them.

“Ah… You’ve come.”

A man who had been staring blankly out the window belatedly turned to look at me, perhaps sensing our presence.

He painfully supported himself against the wall and tried to limp toward us.

I quickly waved my hand and walked to him instead.

“You don’t need to come to me. Didn’t they say you had fractures yesterday?”

“Yes, they did.”

Joseph nodded, and Osborn standing beside him spoke with difficulty.

“People here generally don’t get their turn for treatment. I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“Why should you apologize for that? It’s my fault for failing to manage properly.”

Even as I said it, I felt terrible about myself.

My head throbbed, but I focused on examining the man before me first.

The man’s eyes were full of wrinkles, and his beard covered half his face, making it difficult to see him clearly.

His eyes were sunken with gloom, making him appear to have lost all hope, but he didn’t seem inclined to speak easily.

I felt strangely affected.

Perhaps he reminded me of my father from my past life, who had sweated profusely trying to explain to the young me why my mother had run away.

As the staff standing in the foul-smelling room showed reluctance to remain there, I opened the window first.

“Please make arrangements for everyone in this room to bathe properly. And these people need to receive treatment first…”

“Yes, understood. But that man claims to have amnesia and doesn’t know who he is or where he came from. According to the changed rules, it’s the center’s policy not to accept people whose identity cannot be verified…”

The man, hearing our conversation, exclaimed in alarm:

“If I’m a burden, I’ll certainly leave. I was already grateful for being rescued. I’ll be fine.”

I looked at the man, then turned to Osborn.

“How was this rule established?”

“…Well.”

When Osborn hesitated without continuing, I felt I knew who might have created such a rule.

“Was it me?”

“…Yes. I apologize.”

“I’ll redefine the rules, so please accept those who need rehabilitation. Don’t these people need rehabilitation to return to society as functioning members?”

Osborn flinched, looked at me, then quickly nodded and approached to take the man out.

“Then… what should we call this person, Your Highness?”

Osborn asked cautiously. I suddenly remembered the English name my father from my past life used when extracting money from illegal operators to give to people in need.

Looking at the man with his shaggy beard, I smiled gently and answered.

“Brandon.”