Chapter 36

Summoned by Enoch early in the morning, Lino descended to the first-floor dining room, only to find himself trapped in an agonizingly awkward atmosphere.

“……”

The cavernous dining room was stiflingly silent, punctuated only by the occasional clink of silver against porcelain. There was absolutely no conversation.

Grondil, seated opposite him, was evidently the type who preferred silence during meals. For Lino, sharing a table with the Duke for the very first time was so profoundly uncomfortable he honestly couldn’t tell if the food was going down his throat or up his nose.

I’m going to get indigestion.

The steak on his plate was exquisitely tender, yielding to the knife with a buttery slide, yet his mouth registered absolutely zero flavor. Even the sparkling water infused with lemon offered only the sharp bite of carbonation, devoid of any citrus tang.

For a terrifying second, he wondered if the aphrodisiac from the Baron Merchant Guild had permanently destroyed his sense of taste. However, he quickly recalled thoroughly enjoying the tender rabbit fricassee smothered in rich tomato sauce the previous night.

The conclusion was obvious: the sheer, crushing pressure of sharing breakfast with Grondil was literally overriding his sensory receptors.

“Is the food not to your liking?”

Grondil, who had been quietly emptying his plate, suddenly addressed him. It was a simple, polite inquiry about the meal, yet in that split second, Lino’s panicked brain catastrophically overanalyzed the question.

How dare you express dissatisfaction with the culinary mastery of the chef overseeing the Duke’s very own meals? With your lowly station, when else would you ever have the privilege of tasting food crafted by a first-rate culinary artist? Lino vividly imagined Grondil reprimanding him with the sort of haughty, authority-drenched words typical of an arrogant noble.

“…Excuse me? Ah, no! Not at all!” Lino panicked, his voice pitching higher in a sudden burst. “It is truly d-delicious! Haha. When else would a lowly commoner like myself ever have the chance to partake in such exquisite fare? And to dine alongside His Highness the Duke no less…”

His voice, which had erupted in a frantic shout, gradually lost its volume until the final words faded into complete silence.

“Sir Cliff, I hadn’t pegged you for the type… but it seems your class-based prejudices are quite deeply ingrained,” Grondil observed.

“…Pardon? My prejudices?”

Wasn’t class prejudice far more rampant among the nobility than commoners like himself? For instance, someone like the Marquis’s second son, Yuneria. Yes, Yuneria. Someone exactly like Yuneria.

Ah, shit.

Realizing he had mentally invoked Yuneria’s name three times in rapid succession, Lino abruptly realized his own blunder and flushed crimson.

Grondil had merely asked a perfectly reasonable question about his lack of appetite, yet Lino had defensively answered under the assumption that all nobles were inherently authoritarian, obsessed with status, and prone to looking down on the lower classes.

It was an incredibly disrespectful presumption to project onto a Duke.

“I apologize,” Lino murmured, bowing his bright red face. If he had paused to think for even a second, he would have known Grondil never intended the question maliciously. He mentally berated himself, blaming the suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere of the breakfast for entirely petrifying his brain.

“There is no need to apologize. Truthfully, the vast majority of commoners acquire such prejudices precisely because of how nobles behave.”

“No, I was… I was too short-sighted.”

“Given your specific circumstances, Sir Cliff, it would be stranger if you hadn’t developed such prejudices, wouldn’t it? What with Sir Disson’s behavior, and the events at that estate.”

Grondil deliberately used the vague phrase ‘that estate’ instead of explicitly naming Baron Haklan. He was mindful of the servants currently waiting on them in the dining room.

In truth, Grondil had absolutely no obligation to be so considerate of Lino’s circumstances. Even if he had loudly dropped Baron Haklan’s name regardless of who was listening, no one would have dared challenge him.

“…Thank you,” Lino whispered, bowing his head even lower in gratitude. The fact that he had reflexively treated Grondil like a stereotypical, arrogant noble when the man was actively protecting him—a fraud who had lied about his status and abilities—made him feel profoundly ashamed.

“No thanks are necessary. I simply prefer not to let my relationship with you, Sir Cliff, be soured by trivial misunderstandings.”

“Your relationship… with me?”

The Duke’s relationship with me? Does he mean our dynamic of mutual deception? Victim and con artist? No matter what label Lino tried to attach, none painted a flattering picture. Perhaps finding it amusing to watch Lino desperately churn his brain to decipher his intent, Grondil offered a small smirk and clarified the nature of their relationship with brutal precision.

“Punisher and the punished.”

“Ah…”

Lino felt as though his petrified brain had just physically cracked open. It was a terrifyingly succinct summary.

How could he have forgotten a relationship dynamic established mere days ago?

“The punishment…”

“Indeed,” Grondil drawled. “You are obligated to receive your punishment from me, are you not? Hmm… we haven’t engaged in it for a few days, so shall we resume today?”

“T-today?”

“Have you finished eating?”

“Eating?”

Only then did Lino process that Grondil’s plate was immaculately clean. In stark contrast, his own plate was a chaotic mess of haphazardly butchered, uneaten meat.

If I try to eat this now, I’ll definitely throw up. But if he didn’t eat, he felt Grondil might literally drag him out of the room to execute the ‘punishment’ immediately.

The hands gripping his knife and fork trembled violently. Should I force it down? I can’t even taste it. If I cram it down and get indigestion, and then throw up while we’re… doing that… wouldn’t that be an even bigger disaster? What if he uses that as an excuse to hand down an even worse punishment…?

As his catastrophic thoughts spiraled out of control, the color drained entirely from Lino’s face. What kind of punishment could possibly be worse than that?

“Since you appear to have no intention of eating further, let us rise,” Grondil stated, bringing an end to Lino’s internal panic.

“Y-yes? Right now?! But it’s morning!”

“What does the time matter? Go prepare yourself immediately.”

“Ah, um… y-yes…”

Standing up first, Grondil called for Enoch and exited the dining room. Left behind, Lino aimlessly stabbed at his butchered meat a few more times. Well, they say it’s better to get a beating over with early, he reasoned. If we get it out of the way this morning, surely he won’t bother me again until tomorrow.

Once again, his desperately optimistic survival mechanism kicked in. Yet, what slipped past his lips was a long, heavy sigh. Ah, life is so exhausting. Why is simply existing this incredibly difficult?

Since he had been ordered to prepare immediately, he needed to head upstairs. Prepare… I don’t exactly know what he means by ‘prepare’, but I should probably wash up first, right? Relying on the shallow, superficial knowledge he had gleaned from the internet, Lino pushed himself up from the table.

***