Hour one: I realized the duchy's accounting system was designed by someone who hated both math and sanity.
Hour two: I started developing a color-coding system that would make my old project manager cry tears of joy.
Hour three: Tom arrived with food, took one look at my face, and said, "You look like you've seen the void and it looked back."
"The void has better organizational principles than Duke Valorian's bookkeepers," I muttered, not looking up from the ledger.
I'd spread papers across the entire massive desk, creating what I mentally called the "conspiracy web." Red ink for unusual expenditures. Blue for recurring payments. Green for cross-references. Black for notes.
It looked like a madman's fever dream.
It was beautiful.
"What are you even doing?" Tom set down a tray of food I didn't remember asking for.
"Following the money." I marked another entry. "In my... previous work, I learned that money tells stories. People lie. Numbers don't. Well, they do, but they lie in predictable ways."
"Your previous work as a...?"
I caught myself. Right. I was supposed to be a provincial nobody, not a software engineer who'd spent years analyzing financial data flows.
"I worked for a merchant house," I lied smoothly. "Keeping books. Before I came here."
Tom looked skeptical but didn't push. Instead, he peered at my color-coded chaos. "Find anything?"
"Nothing yet. But I'm only through two months of records." I rubbed my eyes. "The problem is that everything *looks* normal on the surface. Trade agreements are standard. Tax collection is consistent. Expenditures are reasonable. But..."
"But?"
"But normal is suspicious. Especially in a duchy this size, with this many political enemies." I tapped a specific entry. "See this? Payment to Baron Helmore's estate. Three thousand gold crowns for 'agricultural consultation.'"
"Is that weird?"
"Not on its own. But there are similar payments to four other estates. All around the same amount. All labeled as different consulting services." I flipped through pages. "And they all started six months ago. Right after Duke Cassian refused to support the king's new tax legislation."
Tom's eyes widened. "You think they're bribes?"
"I think they're payments for *something*. Could be bribes. Could be legitimate services. Could be—" I stopped.
"Could be what?"
I'd just noticed something. A pattern in the dates.
All the payments were made on the fifteenth of each month. Different estates, different amounts, different justifications. But always the fifteenth.
That wasn't how legitimate business worked. Real transactions happened when they needed to happen—end of harvest, completion of services, delivery of goods. They didn't align to arbitrary calendar dates unless someone was coordinating them.
"Tom, I need you to do something for me."
"Dangerous?"
"Potentially."
He grinned. "I'm in."
"I need you to talk to the other servants. Quietly. Carefully. Ask them if they've noticed any unusual visitors to the manor over the past six months. Anyone who came regularly, maybe around the middle of each month. Don't make it obvious you're asking."
"I can be subtle."
"You announced yourself as a professional gossip."
"That was strategic transparency." He grabbed a piece of bread from the tray. "I'll see what I can find. You keep doing your number magic."
After he left, I dove back into the ledgers with renewed focus. If the payments were coordinated, there had to be a pattern. A purpose. A plan.
I worked through the night. At some point, a different servant brought fresh candles. I didn't look up. The numbers were talking now, telling me stories about money flowing from the duchy's coffers into the hands of nobles who all had one thing in common:
They'd all publicly opposed the Duke at some point in the past year.
This wasn't just bribery. This was something more systematic. More insidious.
By dawn, my eyes felt like sandpaper and my hand was cramping, but I had a theory.
Someone was paying the Duke's enemies. Not enough to be obvious. Not enough to trigger investigations. Just enough to keep them antagonistic. To ensure that Duke Cassian remained isolated, paranoid, surrounded by hostile nobles.
To set up the exact conditions that led to his villain arc in the game.
"Interesting reading?"
I nearly fell out of my chair. Duke Cassian stood in the doorway of his study, perfectly composed despite the early hour. He was already dressed for the day, not a hair out of place.
How long had he been there?
"Your Grace." I scrambled to stand. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Clearly. You were muttering about 'systematic destabilization' and 'coordinated isolation tactics.'" He moved to the desk, examining my color-coded chaos. "I take it you've found something."
"I've found a pattern." I gestured to the marked ledgers. "These payments. They're all going to nobles who oppose you. And they're all coordinated—same date each month, different justifications, but the timing is too consistent to be coincidence."
Cassian studied the papers silently. His expression gave nothing away.
"How much?" he asked finally.
"Total? About forty thousand gold crowns over six months."
"That's..." He paused. "That's nearly a tenth of the duchy's discretionary funds."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And you're suggesting someone in my own administration has been embezzling funds to bribe my enemies."
"Not embezzling," I said carefully. "The payments are all documented. Technically legal. But the pattern suggests coordination. Someone has access to your finances and is using them to systematically turn the nobility against you."
"Who?"
That was the problem. The payments were approved, but the actual authorization signatures varied. Different clerks, different administrators, all following proper procedures.
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "Whoever's doing this is smart. They're not leaving obvious trails. They're distributing the approvals across multiple people so no single person looks suspicious."
"Then how do we find them?"
I'd been thinking about that for the past hour. In my old life, when we had a bug that was distributed across multiple systems, we didn't look at the code. We looked at the commits. We looked at who had access. We looked at patterns of behavior.
"We need to know who benefits," I said. "Not from the payments themselves, but from you being isolated. Who gains if the nobility turns against you? Who gains if you're paranoid and defensive?"
Cassian's expression darkened. "The Crown. If I'm isolated, I'm easier to control. Easier to remove if necessary."
"Or someone who wants to replace you," I suggested. "Someone who wants the northern territories and needs you to fail first."
"Rothford."
"Possibly. Or someone using Rothford as a distraction." I gestured to the handkerchief evidence from yesterday. "The poison, the planted evidence—it all points to creating chaos. Making you suspect everyone. Triggering exactly the kind of paranoid response that would justify removing you from power."
The Duke was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft and dangerous. "You're suggesting I'm being systematically destroyed by someone in my own organization."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And that the poisoning was just one part of a larger plan."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And you figured this out in one night by organizing my ledgers with colored ink."
I couldn't tell if he was impressed or about to have me arrested again.
"I'm good with patterns, Your Grace."
He laughed. Actually laughed—short and sharp, but genuine. "Good with patterns. You're either the most valuable servant I've ever hired or the most elaborate spy I've ever encountered."
"I promise you I'm not a spy."
"That's what a good spy would say." He moved to the window, looking out over the grounds. "The Royal Ball is in two days. If you're right, whoever's orchestrating this will be there. They'll want to see their plan come to fruition."
"Which means we need to figure out who it is before then."
"We?" He glanced back at me.
"You gave me three days to solve this, Your Grace. I'm solving it."
"You're a butler."
"I'm a butler who's very good at organizing things." I met his gaze. "And right now, someone is trying to destroy you using accounting. That's basically my specialty."
He studied me for a long moment. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what, Your Grace?"
"Helping me. You could have kept your head down. Done your job. Stayed safe. Instead, you're investigating conspiracies, breaking into rooms, accusing nobles of treason." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Because in the game, if I didn't help him, he'd spiral into paranoia, burn down the kingdom, and everyone would die. Because I'd already died once from overwork and I wasn't about to die again from inaction. Because someone had to fix the plot holes in this trash-tier otome game or the apocalypse was inevitable.
But I couldn't say any of that.
"Because it's the right thing to do," I said instead. "And because I really, really hate bad accounting."
He smiled at that—a real smile this time, not the dangerous one. "Fair enough. What do you need?"
"Access to personnel records. I need to know who hired the clerks who approved these payments. And I need Tom to report back on any unusual visitors."
"Done. What else?"
"Sleep would be nice, Your Grace."
"After the ball. If we survive." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Arjun?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Thank you. For not being useless."
After he left, I slumped back in my chair, exhausted and wired on adrenaline in equal measure.
Two days until the ball. Two days to find a conspiracy. Two days to prevent the first major doom flag.
A knock at the door. Tom burst in, breathless.
"Found something," he gasped. "Big something."
"What?"
"The visitors. There's been one person coming regularly for six months. Always on the fifteenth. Always meets with someone in the administration wing." He grinned. "And you'll never guess who it is."
"Who?"
"Lady Meridian. The king's own cousin."
My blood went cold.
The king's cousin. Here. Regularly. Meeting with someone who had access to the duchy's finances.
This wasn't just a conspiracy against Duke Cassian.
This was treason from the top down.
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