Maid, needed by the hero

Time slipped by like a shuttle.

The night’s schemes faded into sleep, and when people woke the next day, they carried on as if nothing had happened—burying yesterday’s secrets where they belonged, and resuming their duties without pause.

Among them was Rosetta—the personal attendant to the heir of House Lentiya—who rose before her mistress to begin cleaning the room.

Trained since age five under her mother, the head maid of the Lentiya household, Rosetta had been taught one fundamental rule from the moment she could understand:

Don’t seek knowledge you shouldn’t have. If you gain it, pretend you never did.

No matter how close a personal servant was to their master, they remained a servant. At best, it was a private friendship layered over an employer-employee relationship—and nothing more.

A maid’s duty was to manage her master’s daily life, to remove trivial burdens so the master could focus on matters of importance.

And a servant must never involve themselves in their master’s decisions—unless explicitly invited. And even then, such invitations were often tests: Was the servant loyal? Or merely clever, daring to insert themselves where they didn’t belong?

So if there was something the master didn’t want known—once you knew it, you should act as if you hadn’t.

…… Syldra still slept peacefully, the fine sheets rising and falling gently with her breath.
Rosetta had already cleaned the room and returned with a wooden bucket of cold water.

“Mmmhmm~”

Seeing her mistress still asleep, she hummed softly as she fetched her own cup and began watering the abnormally tall plant in the corner.

…… She could guess that this once-withered weed now stood so high because her mistress had done something to it after leaving that morning.

But so what?

Since her mistress said nothing about it, she had no reason to investigate.

——Just as last night, when her mistress secretly met the representative of Camille.

If she hadn’t followed her gaze outside the banquet hall and seen the man’s silhouette, she wouldn’t have known where Syldra had gone.

Only out of concern—fearing harm might come from a young noblewoman being alone with a strange man for too long—did she follow the trail and find her mistress.

Thankfully, nothing untoward occurred.
She even reminded her to leave before someone saw them—preventing potential scandal.

Preventing trouble for the master—that was a servant’s duty.

…… Yet her mistress hadn’t mentioned the man again after returning.
And before leaving, she’d only said she wanted to “go up to the rooftop”—a lie so thin it wasn’t even worth calling deception.

Thus, Rosetta concluded: This is something my mistress does not wish me to know.

Don’t seek it. If you know, pretend you don’t.

So after exchanging a few meaningless pleasantries upon returning, deciding to wash up and rest, Rosetta let the matter go.

She acted as if nothing had happened—as she always did—cleaning, folding clothes, preparing the room just as she had every morning before.

After a while, the red-haired girl stirred, sitting up in bed with sleepy eyes.

“You’re awake, Miss!”

Her voice rang bright and cheerful.

She rushed over, helped Syldra down, and began combing her hair.

Under the soft morning light, her fingers glided through the silken crimson strands. With delicate strokes, she gathered the radiant tresses into a neat bundle.

The girl sat quietly, obedient to her touch.

Rosetta believed last night’s incident had passed.

“Rosetta,” Syldra suddenly spoke, “have you ever heard of the Duchy of Camille?”

“Or… do you know anything about it?”

——And just like that, the silence broke.

Rosetta paused mid-brush.

“No, Miss. I’ve never heard of Camille before,” she answered honestly. “Meeting Lord Samael during our visit to Wylding was the first time I’ve encountered anyone from the Duchy.”

“But Camille isn’t one of Aetelarma’s ducal houses. I don’t recall any duke under the empire bearing that name.”

She relayed everything she knew, precisely and truthfully.

…… Don’t seek it. If you know, pretend you don’t.

Yet masters were human. They couldn’t be flawless, couldn’t seal every gap.

They couldn’t guarantee that things meant to stay hidden would remain unseen.

When Rosetta became Syldra’s personal attendant at eight—appointed by the Duke of Lentiya and her mother, the head maid—she received one final lesson:

A personal servant may occasionally overhear important matters.
In extreme cases, if the master drank too much and drunkenly revealed state secrets within earshot of a nearby maid—such things were possible.

A competent servant would choose to forget it, as if it never happened.

A clever servant might remember it, storing it for future use.

But an excellent servant would know it—and act as if they didn’t.

…… In other words: silently memorize every word spoken by the master. Speak of it only when needed. Otherwise, remain silent.

Because a servant’s true duty was to reduce the master’s burdens.

Even forgetting could be a burden.

Sometimes the master didn’t need you to remember.
But when they forgot, only you could remind them.

Since they didn’t want others to know, when they “accidentally” forgot, only the one who “accidentally” remembered could bring it back.

A servant who only handled daily chores—ignoring everything beyond—was merely a perfectly adequate servant.

…… But one who could also handle critical matters—forgetting when necessary, remembering when required—and thus relieve the master of greater burdens—that was an excellent servant.

And Rosetta, trained since childhood and now serving as the personal attendant to the heir of Lentiya—the most prestigious vassal house in all of Aetelarma—was exactly that.

An excellent servant.

“Rosetta,” Syldra said, speaking with solemn clarity, “Lakazet of House Wylding plans to propose publicly to Samael, the representative of Camille, during the 80th Anniversary Banquet on October 10th—immediately after the Duke of Wylding makes the official announcement.”

She recounted to the young maid everything Lakazet had told her—word for word.

Then, she poured out everything else:
Samael’s version of events.
The strange dynamics at the banquet.
Her suspicions of Wylding’s conspiracy.
The entire truth of the night before.

She had thought until the late hours, weighing every possibility.
With no one else to turn to, she was isolated.
Without Rosetta’s help, she would fail.

This girl was her precious ally.

“Rosetta. I need your help.”