Hah. This was going to be a long day.
I stepped out of Hunter Guild Ulbert with quick but unhurried strides. There's a difference between the two. The first shows someone who knows what she's doing. The second shows someone who's panicking. And Serena Valenrose does not panic.
The sun had already climbed high. The capital's streets were coming alive with merchants setting up their stalls, horse-drawn carts rattling along the stone roads, and children darting between the legs of adults without a care in the world. The cool morning air was giving way to a pleasant warmth, the kind that made you want to sit on a terrace and drink tea while doing absolutely nothing.
But I didn't have that luxury today.
I followed the main road toward the southern district. Every few steps, someone recognized me. A cloth merchant who bowed and smiled. An old woman selling fruit who waved. Two young men whispering to each other while glancing my way, probably talking about the dress I was wearing, probably talking about Crescentia, probably both. I returned every one of them with a smile. Not a business smile. A real one. Because I genuinely enjoyed meeting people.
But behind that smile, my mind was working.
Recci and his school.
I was still thinking about this morning's conversation. Not the numbers. Numbers could be calculated, adjusted, negotiated. Numbers were my domain. What kept spinning in my head were his words.
"People who understand their rights are not a threat. People who do not understand their rights but feel oppressed -- those are the dangerous ones."
He'd said it in a flat tone. No emphasis. No drama. As if it were a fact as obvious as the sky being blue or water flowing downward. And maybe for Recci, that was exactly what it was. A truth too simple to need emphasis.
But for me, that sentence carried far more weight than he realized.
I'd worked with nobles for ten years. I'd sat at the same table as kings, powerful merchants, landowners, and every kind of person in power you could imagine. And at every single one of those tables, there was one thing that never changed. They all believed that commoners didn't need to know. Didn't need to understand the law. Didn't need to read contracts. Didn't need to understand why their taxes were so high, why their land could be taken, why their children couldn't enter certain places.
Not because they were evil. Some, yes. But most weren't. They were simply used to it. This world had been running like this for hundreds of years. Nobles on top, commoners below. Those on top made the rules, those below followed without question. And everyone considered it normal.
Even the commoners themselves considered it normal.
That was the most terrifying part.
They weren't angry because their rights were taken. They didn't protest because the contracts they'd signed were ruining them. They stayed silent. Not out of fear. Not out of resignation.
But because they didn't know they had the right to be angry.
I'd seen it firsthand. When Crescentia opened a branch in the western territory, an old farmer came to our office to apply for a loan. He brought a land lease contract he'd signed twenty years ago. I read that contract. It was insane. Rent that increased every year with no cap. A clause that allowed the landowner to evict him at any time without compensation. Penalties that could seize his entire harvest if he was one day late on payment.
I asked him, "Sir, did you know what was in this contract when you signed it?"
He looked at me with genuine confusion. Then answered, "I cannot read, Miss. But the landowner said it was fair."
Twenty years. He'd lived under a contract that was strangling him for twenty years, and he didn't even know.
I fixed that contract. Sent Crescentia's lawyers to renegotiate the terms. But one farmer in one village in one territory wasn't a solution. For every one person who walked into my office, there were thousands who didn't. Thousands still living under the same contracts. Thousands still signing papers they couldn't read.
And Recci knew that.
Somehow, from somewhere, he knew.
I turned at the main intersection. The south road stretched out before me, wider and quieter than the main street. Large trees shaded both sides, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. The houses here were bigger. Grander. The fences taller. A clear sign that I'd entered the noble district.
As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to Recci.
This school wasn't just about teaching children to read. I'd known that since the first time he mentioned the idea. But it was only this morning that I truly understood the depth of what he meant.
Reading and writing. Arithmetic. Basic law.
Three things that sounded simple. Three things that most nobles considered unnecessary for commoners to possess. But if you thought deeper, those three things were weapons.
Reading and writing meant they could read a contract before signing it. Arithmetic meant they could calculate whether the price being offered was fair. Basic law meant they knew they had the right to refuse.
Recci wasn't building a school. He was building a shield.
And he'd disguised it as a job training program.
I almost laughed remembering that part. Crescentia job training program. Legally airtight. Politically untouchable. And in substance, exactly the kind of school that would change everything.
Only Recci could think of something like that.
I often wondered about him. Not directly, of course. I'd never asked him where all his ideas came from. Not because I didn't want to know. But because I respected his boundaries. Recci was the kind of person who only shared what he wanted to share, and kept the rest behind a flat expression and a cup of coffee.
But I had my own theories.
There was one theory I considered most often. That Recci wasn't from this world. Not in the sense that he came from another kingdom or another continent. But truly not from this world. Maybe he was an ancient soul who'd watched civilizations rise and fall over thousands of years. Maybe he'd once lived in a place that had already solved every problem this world was still struggling with. Maybe that was why he knew about banking before banking existed. Why he knew about printing before anyone knew that letters could be stamped onto paper. Why he knew that chocolate, something whose very name didn't exist in any language, could become one of the most delicious foods ever created.
And why he knew that education was the key to changing everything.
I didn't need to know the exact answer. What I needed to know was that every time Recci opened his mouth and said something in that annoyingly flat tone of his, it was usually something worth listening to.
Usually.
Sometimes he also talked about coffee for twenty minutes straight without pause and I had to pretend I was interested.
My steps came to a halt in front of a tall iron gate. Beyond it stood a house that was quite large. Not as large as a palace, but clearly bigger than any merchant's home I'd ever visited. Its architecture was classical, with touches that spoke of old wealth, not new. Marble on the walls, carvings on the pillars, a front garden maintained with meticulous care.
The Thornwood family residence.
Of course I hadn't come without an invitation. I was a polite person. Showing up unannounced at a viscount's door wasn't just rude, it was also bad negotiation strategy. People who felt caught off guard tended to be defensive, and defensive people tended to reject whatever you offered.
That was why, before I'd even heard Recci's suggestion about the location this morning, I'd already known that the land near the guild was the most logical choice. I'd studied the map last night. I'd calculated the distance, access, and market price of land in every area. And I'd already known that the best plot was in the southern district. On Thornwood land.
So yesterday afternoon, before Recci had even finished staring at his map for three hours, I'd already sent a letter to the Thornwood residence. An official letter from Crescentia Group. Polite, brief, and intriguing enough to make a viscount curious. I'd requested a meeting to discuss "a possibility of mutually beneficial cooperation." A sentence that gave no details whatsoever but was too tempting to ignore.
And it just so happened that today was a day when Viscount Thornwood's schedule was open.
A coincidence I'd already confirmed through Crescentia's secretary, who knew Thornwood's personal assistant.
A guard at the gate glanced at me, then nodded when I gave my name. He opened the gate without much talk. I stepped into a courtyard filled with ornamental plants arranged with almost obsessive precision. Every hedge trimmed symmetrically. Every flower planted in perfect rows. This garden wasn't about beauty. It was about control.
The front door opened before I could knock. A maid stood in the doorway.
The first thing I noticed was her hair. Blue. A deep blue like the night sky in the moment just before true darkness. Long, tied low behind her head with a black ribbon. Her face was young, perhaps my age or slightly younger, with calm eyes and an impeccably straight posture. Her maid's uniform was simple but clean, and the way she stood spoke of someone who had been trained.
"Miss Valenrose." Her voice was soft and measured. "Sir Thornwood is expecting you. Please follow me."
I smiled. "Thank you."
She turned and walked into the house without waiting for a further response. Her steps were slow but sure. I followed behind her, my eyes sweeping the interior of the Thornwood residence.
The main corridor was decorated with family portraits and the family crest on a shield. The floor was marble, polished until it reflected the light from tall windows. The furniture in every corner looked expensive but understated. Wealth that didn't need to shout to be noticed. The kind of wealth that had existed for so long its owner no longer felt the need to flaunt it.
The blue-haired maid led me through two corridors and one short staircase before stopping in front of a double door made of dark wood. She knocked twice. Softly. Precisely.
"Sir, Miss Valenrose has arrived."
"Please, let her in."
The voice from inside sounded calm. Deep. The voice of someone accustomed to speaking and being listened to.
The maid opened the door and stepped back, making way for me. I nodded to her in thanks, then walked in.
The room was a study, though its size was closer to a small meeting room. Bookshelves covered two walls. A map of the kingdom hung on the third. And in the center of the room sat a large oak desk with two chairs in front of it. Only two. Not three, not four. This man wasn't used to receiving groups. He was used to receiving one guest at a time.
Behind that desk sat a man.
Edric Thornwood was older than I'd imagined. Perhaps early fifties, perhaps late forties that had already grown weary. His hair was dark brown with streaks of gray at the temples. His face was hard -- not the cruelty kind of hard, but the kind that was shaped by years of making unpleasant decisions. His eyes were dark brown, sharp, and currently studying me with a mix of curiosity and caution.
He stood as I entered. A polite gesture. A nobleman who still held to his manners even when his guest was a businesswoman, not a noble.
"Miss Valenrose. A pleasure to finally meet in person." He extended his hand.
I shook it. A strong grip, but not excessive. Measured. This man was used to judging people by their handshakes.
"Viscount Thornwood. Thank you for making the time." I smiled. My warmest professional smile. Not the cold business one. Not the overly familiar one either. The midpoint that made the other person feel valued without feeling manipulated. "I know your schedule must be very full."
"For Crescentia Group, there is always time." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Please."
I sat. He returned to his chair. The blue-haired maid appeared beside me from seemingly nowhere, placing a cup of tea on the desk without being asked. Tea with a pleasant aroma. This family knew how to welcome a guest.
Thornwood leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. The posture of someone ready to listen but not easily swayed.
"Your letter mentioned a possibility of cooperation," he said. "I am curious. Crescentia Group is the largest company on the continent. What could a viscount from the southern district possibly offer?"
A smart question. He wasn't asking what I wanted. He was asking what he could offer. Positioning himself as the one giving, not receiving. An old negotiation tactic, but effective.
I decided to be direct. People like Thornwood didn't appreciate small talk that dragged on too long. They valued clarity.
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