Chapter 2-2

It was something she only learned later, but the drain cover on the side where Jane had nearly fallen that day hadn’t been properly closed. The boy—Ruelne—had discovered it while checking whether anything else had fallen.

In other words, if Jane had fallen that day, she might have slipped straight into that drain. Her life could have been in danger. Of course, it was only a matter of probability—but Jane chose to believe that the boy had saved her life.

On top of that, a simple inquiry revealed that Ruelne had started school later than most. He was older than his classmates—almost as if he’d been held back.

‘Then wouldn’t he need even more support?’

“CEO, seriously! Don’t make decisions like this on impulse. Are you going to take responsibility to the end? He’s a first-year. That’s six years until graduation—six years!”

“Yeah, I am. Why is that hard? It’s not like I’m short on money.”

“…….”

Bianca tried to stop her until the very end, insisting she shouldn’t act on a whim. But once she heard that Ruelne Scharnhost had saved Jane—and that he might even have saved her life—she couldn’t object any further.

More than anything, the words ‘It’s my money, and I’ll spend it how I like’ were unbeatable.

Frankly, even if Jane eventually lost interest, all she had to do was appoint someone to manage the sponsorship and set it up in advance. The boy would be able to graduate from that expensive school without worrying about living expenses or fees, focusing solely on his studies.

Her parents had spent their entire lives together after meeting by chance—and even faced death together.

What was so difficult about taking responsibility for six years of a meaningful connection?

She thought of it as fate.

Yes. Up until this point, Jane believed everything would go smoothly.

“……Pardon? What did you say?”

“Ah, you’re the representative from Shirley Trading, yes? Hoho, establishing a foundation to sponsor students—this unnamed heiress must truly be a kind and remarkable person.”

“She’s not an heiress. She’s our CEO.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

The man who introduced himself as the sponsorship officer of Cademel Boys’ School was rather overweight, constantly dabbing sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. His eyes swept over her body in a way that would normally have been offensive, but Jane was too stunned to react.

“What a pity… We’re truly grateful for such a meaningful offer of support, but I’m afraid the student himself has declined the sponsorship.”

Jane had only imagined things going well. To be honest, she had considered meeting the boy again—but even if she never saw him, that would have been fine. His brief kindness had meant something to her, and she simply wanted to return it.

“Hoho, our prestigious Cademel Boys’ School has many other excellent students. If you take a look at this list here…”

“No. The CEO isn’t interested in other students. May I ask why Ruelne Scharnhost declined the sponsorship?”

Her crisp response made the officer’s brows twitch, but only for a moment.

‘The Shirley family? This is a whale of a catch…!’

Up until now, they’d been an enigma—wealthy beyond measure, yet known for little beyond their growing prosperity. There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t heard rumors about the heiress. No matter which student it was, this was an opportunity Cademel couldn’t afford to miss. It could even elevate the school’s name among other prestigious institutions.

“Well, you see… ahem. Young Master Scharnhost says he dislikes sponsorships that come with strings attached….”

Perhaps embarrassed by the reason, the officer trailed off. Jane tilted her head, clearly not understanding.

Then it hit her. There had been a growing number of people—men and women alike—who offered sponsorships in exchange for someone’s body or something else. And the school, eager for money, turned a blind eye.

She had learned that during her investigation, but to be lumped in with them—

It felt like a crack splintering through her pride, her hard-earned confidence. She had built her business honestly. Earned her money cleanly.

‘Because of those filthy bastards, I get mistaken for the same kind of trash?’

Jane’s expression darkened. The officer, who had subtly looked down on her at first for being a young woman, straightened at once. What if she went back and told the heiress something unfavorable about Cademel?

‘No. We can’t lose this walking pile of money!’

He grew cautious.

“In Scharnhost’s case, well… he’s quite, ahem, striking. This isn’t the first such proposal he’s received.”

The officer alluded—carefully—to the countless perverse offers Ruelne Scharnhost had endured. Jane understood instantly. Apparently, they hadn’t even discriminated by gender.

Anger surged up her spine.

‘I came with pure intentions, and I’m treated the same as those degenerates?’

She had truly come without expecting anything in return. Far from giving up, her stubbornness flared. If she backed down now, wouldn’t that mean she was no different in the boy’s eyes—or the school’s?

“How regrettable.”

“Ahaha, isn’t it? Scharnhost can be rather… picky….”

“It’s appalling that there’s so much trash in the Empire. Someone ought to take out the garbage.”

“E-Excuse me?”

The officer blinked, dazed. But faced with her bright, elegant smile, he couldn’t even reconcile it with the venomous words he’d just heard. Had he imagined it?

“Well. It can’t be helped.”

“Yes, then perhaps the hei—no, the CEO would consider another student—”

“No. Please tell Scharnhost this: I will sponsor him. Without fail.”

“……What?”

Jane smiled sweetly. It was a graceful smile.

In truth, she had never once let a business she wanted slip through her fingers.

Not once.

“Tell him to name his price.”

---

“Scharnhost.”

Lately, there had been many things that put Ruelne in a foul mood.

An uncomfortable dormitory. Stinging gazes he could feel even without seeing them. Mocking voices. The constant anxiety of tomorrow’s finances.

There were many reasons—but if he had to choose just one, it would be the filthy hands that kept reaching for him.

They were hands extended under the name of sponsorship.

But they reeked.

“Just one thing, that’s all. Spend the night with me.”

“Oh, simply come visit my estate.”

It was enough to make curses spill from his mouth. If he weren’t a Cademel student under extralegal protection, those hands would have borne a far more coercive name than “sponsorship.” Well—even then, he had other options. He wasn’t particularly worried.

What was it with the wealthy and this disgusting trend of private sponsorship? His irritation, as an unwilling victim, only deepened.

At least sponsorships could be refused. He had never intended to accept dirty money.

And every single offer that came his way had worn a black mask. No wonder he believed there was no such thing as a pure sponsorship.

He wasn’t alone in that belief. Even within Cademel itself, such a thing was treated like a unicorn.

“See? She’s only ten years older. If you can get stuff like this, it’s a win.”

Among the fifth-years—eighteen, legally adults—it had become fashionable to openly boast about the gifts their sponsors gave them. Every time he overheard it, Ruelne felt like scrubbing his ears clean.

The children of noble houses, heirs to vast fortunes, mocked those who were sponsored. But not every noble was wealthy. A strange hierarchy was taking shape within the school.

In any case, no matter what others did, Ruelne had no intention of accepting anything until the day he graduated.

And yet—

“……You’re saying it’s come again?”

This time, a formidable opponent had appeared. The first sponsor who refused to give up.

Worse, they had thrown money down first. An astronomical donation, making it impossible for the school to refuse.

‘…What kind of filthy trick is this?’

His teeth ground together.

“Hoho, don’t be like that, Scharnhost. At least hear what the price is.”

The price? Wasn’t it obvious? His body—or his youth.

He had a year, maybe half a year, left before adulthood. They must be after his nights. The thought made bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t fathom how this was even possible. A sponsorship couldn’t be forced if he refused.

The sponsor was cunning.

First, his dorm room was changed. In an instant, he was moved from a fifth-tier room to a second-tier one—one of the best. The quality of his meals improved. Brand-new uniforms filled his wardrobe. That wasn’t all. New textbooks arrived. The fountain pen he’d used with worn-down nibs was replaced.

Even then, the sponsor never came to see him. Never sent a servant with veiled threats.

They only spent money.

Of course, the sponsorship officer kept pestering him to at least hear the price.

“Then at least read this letter! It’s from the sponsor. You’ll understand everything. Hmm? Hmm?”

“I refuse.”

The school claimed administrative procedures had already been completed. They wouldn’t allow him to return the uniforms or switch back rooms. Just what kind of person made this possible? He was told he couldn’t even learn the sponsor’s identity unless he heard the price.

By the time this so-called sponsorship came a third time—

Ruelne’s patience had completely worn through.

“So what is the price?”

Archie, the sponsorship officer, looked as though he’d just been granted life.

Thank God. I thought I’d be crushed in the middle of this.

Beaming at the blind boy, Archie said, “Oh, it’s very simple.”

Ruelne braced himself for an invitation to spend the night.

Instead—

“You just have to write letters.”

“……What?”

It was something he had never imagined.

When Ruelne returned to his room, three letters lay in his hands.

One for each sponsorship.

He was dumbfounded.

“It’s true. Truly. You just have to write letters.”

…That was it? That was the price?

From what he’d heard, the unnamed sponsor had donated an enormous sum to the school. Even the scale of the recently begun garden construction made that clear—another tidbit Archie had let slip.

And that wasn’t all. The cost of the items forced upon him, the dormitory fees—none of it was trivial.

Was this some lunatic spending their own money for sport?

Ruelne stared at the letters in his hand.

“Hmm… come to think of it, Scharnhost, you can’t read letters, can you? I hear there’s Braille, of course. If you need, I could read them aloud—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the world, there were surely kind-hearted patrons. True adults who sincerely wished only for the healthy growth of the children they supported.

But such a person could never exist for Ruelne. There were still those who watched him, who longed for his ruin—they would never allow it.

“……”

Ruelne lowered his gaze to the letter, then slowly tore open the envelope. His hand moved carelessly, as if whatever was written inside meant nothing to him.

‘A trap?’

He brought the letter closer.

Astonishingly, his unfocused eyes gradually sharpened, settling on the page.

Everyone believed Ruelne was completely blind. The truth was different.

He was not wholly sightless. He could make out the outline of a person, the faintest shapes—and though he could see, he had trained himself to pretend he could not.

If something came very, very close, he could even discern it faintly. His impairment had not been congenital to begin with. Nor had it been the result of an accident.

“Ahahaha, my dear, you’ll live as a cripple for the rest of your life. Who would believe the words of a blind man? You’ll never be able to speak—or prove—any truth!”

It had been poisoning—a toxin fed to him long ago by a relative. A condition like an illness, one that could not be cured simply because he did not know how to detoxify it—and had no money to try.

Fine. I’ll read it.

For all he knew, the relative still monitoring him had set this up as a test—a snare, to see whether he might harbor thoughts other than despair over his circumstances.

Just as he held the letter close—

A faint fragrance reached him. It wasn’t the sharp scent that made older—or sometimes younger—women wrinkle their noses whenever they approached him.

It smelled like wind. Like old paper.

…Like the wildflowers at the country villa where he had once lived with his mother and father.

He unfolded the letter.

Ruelne blinked in surprise. His vision was blurred, so reading required intense concentration, and he could not help but move slowly. The letter was short, yet it took him a long time—because he read it over and over.

‘This is less a letter and more…’

Wasn’t it closer to a report? It tried to be formal, yet felt stiff. The claim that it had been nine years since the writer last penned a letter seemed almost believable.

And what was with that form of address?

The eccentric sponsor wasn’t finished.

A tone so plain it bordered on detached.

From that final remark alone, he gleaned that this nameless sponsor valued efficiency. Perhaps they were a businesslike person—or someone accustomed to making decisions cleanly and without hesitation.

‘…And what would I even do with that judgment?’

Thoughtfully, the sponsor had enclosed an identical letter written in Braille. It felt like a waste of paper. He stared at it with an unreadable expression.

…That’s truly all they want? No sudden visit? No messenger sent in their stead?

Unbelievable.

After a long moment of glaring at it, he unfolded the next letter.

…Fair enough.

…Then why are you the one being so matter-of-fact about it?

Ruelne pressed his lips together.

This time, he showed no reaction as he unfolded the final letter.

…He had sensed it earlier, but despite the rounded, elegant handwriting, the contents were strangely pessimistic in places. In certain lines, he almost wondered whether this was truly meant for someone the writer claimed to care about.

‘And what is with this resigned tone?’

Ruelne read the final line with faint disbelief.

Ruelne found himself agreeing with the unnamed secretary. What sort of letter was this? Though now fallen through intrigue, he had been raised a young lord. By his standards, this barely qualified as proper correspondence—if not closer to a report… or a diary.

No. It might as well have been a note. A telegram.

Before he realized it, a dry laugh escaped him.

He had fully expected another bizarre pervert of a sponsor.

At the very least, judging by the fact that the three letters—and the person who had visited him thus far—were from the school’s sponsorship officer, this mysterious sponsor clearly did not desire his body or his youth.

‘Though who can say?’

Ruelne stared at the letters in silence.

Then, slowly, they crumpled in his hand.