What Happens When The Second Male Lead Powers Up [EN]: Chapter 190

#190 When the Clock Strikes Several Times (1)

However, Countess Elisabeth was a professional.

By the time Modeste Bacari, guided by Ganael, appeared before us, she wore the solemn face of a vice-captain of the Royal Guard.

Christelle suddenly pretended to be engrossed in an important conversation with Sir John.

“Indeed. Herrit likes me more than His Highness the Crown Prince, after all.”

“It seems so. But he sleeps with the gold coin pouch His Highness gave him as pocket money under his pillow.”

“Ah. He’s trying to win me over with money again.”

Christelle grumbled, sounding genuinely put out. Was it actually an important conversation?

“…Greetings to His Highness Crown Prince Cedric and Prince Yeser Venetian.”

The prophet, entering the detective agency, gave a stiff bow.

The gloomy expression from yesterday was gone, replaced by his usual sharp demeanor.

Beneath the large, round glasses, his blue-green eyes shone with intelligence.

As we exchanged greetings, my gaze fell on the teenager’s robe.

The high-quality fabric, from which I had scrubbed the blood with a damp cloth, was crumpled.

I naturally assumed he would have a spare. Does he only have one?

No, that’s not the point.

“So, you really came for the bread, Mr. Bacari. Do you like fougasse [a type of Provençal flatbread]? It’s fresh out of the oven.”

I said with a smile.

I had hoped he would come to us whenever he needed a place to confide, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon.

He frowned as if he had heard something strange.

“Wasn’t the bread some kind of code? I’m here to give you information about Victoire Andrézieux. I remember you said you were receiving related tips. I also heard that you are chasing the thief under imperial orders.”

Uh… I gaped.

I only added that because I couldn’t just tell him to come for bread, but I didn’t expect the prophet to take it so literally.

The Count, who had skillfully maintained his composure, eventually pursed his lips and looked out the window.

Crown Prince Cedric quietly savored his espresso.

It was our protagonist who spoke first.

“Of course, our bakery detective agency is always open to clients and informants. I’m looking forward to hearing what the gentleman has to say. There, take a seat.”

Christelle gestured briefly and took a pipe out of her pocket.

Soon, pink steam billowed from the strawberry-flavored candy.

Bacari obediently moved. The question was entirely mine.

If it’s a bakery, it’s a bakery, and if it’s an office, it’s an office, but what’s a bakery detective agency?

*

After that, I was a little busy.

The Lesser Panda Trio, who had dashed in through the open door, clung to me.

I was busy putting pomegranate seeds in Demi’s mouth, stopping Perry from overturning the table, and gently coaxing Leia, who wanted to take a nap, when Bacari gave me a strange look.

This is nothing. If Jung Dduk-sim and Jung Tte-tte were here, it would be three times more chaotic.

“Our agency has a well-established workplace childcare culture. Have you ever heard of cooperative childcare?”

Christelle said, taking Leia and holding her.

The Lesser Panda wriggled her short legs with half-closed eyes, then snuggled into her arms and fell asleep.

I handed Perry over to the Crown Prince’s lap and finally took a breath.

He raised an eyebrow but pretended not to notice the divine beast climbing his six-pack.

Bacari stared at us with a confused look, then,

“…I’ll get straight to the point. Victoire left the capital and headed south.”

He blurted out. I was startled and asked back.

“Left? How do you know that?”

“Last night, while riding in a carriage through Claire Square, I saw a figure standing next to the statue of Emperor Romero. Since the Prince himself chased after her, that must have been Victoire.”

“Yes, we think so too.”

I replied. Bacari’s tone became sharper.

“It was fleeting, but I saw her future. At dawn, wearing an old robe and covering her entire body, she boarded a cargo wagon and left the capital. I couldn’t see her face, but the revelation itself is clear.”

Christelle puffed on her pipe.

“If that’s true, it’s huge information.”

“Of course, it’s true. I am an 8th-grade mage and the leader of the Fleur-de-lis, answering His Majesty’s solemn questions.”

The teenager straightened his back after saying that.

His eyes sparkled with conviction in his prediction. It was an unexpected attitude.

He wasn’t receiving recognition or protection from his family despite his unprecedented level of precognition, and he was suffering from poor treatment from strangers… He seemed quite proud of his special ability.

I thought it was problematic for him to call himself a ‘magical tool,’ but I guess there could be cases like this.

“Any other information?”

The Prince asked in a low voice. His orange eyes took on their characteristic authoritative glint.

Bacari’s momentum faltered slightly.

“I apologize, Your Highness. That was all I saw before she disappeared. I couldn’t tell which cargo wagon she boarded or what her exact destination was.”

“No, that’s helpful enough. Thank you for the information, Bacari.”

I replied with a smile. He stared at me for a moment, then got up from his seat.

*

“Huh?”

“Wait, where are you going?”

Of course, Christelle and I were alarmed and made him sit down again!

There was a mountain of freshly baked bread, so we couldn’t let him leave on an empty stomach.

We made him eat thickly sliced pain complet [whole wheat bread] with plenty of honey and cheese, and drink warm café au lait [coffee with milk], and only then were we relieved.

The leader seemed to be in great confusion, but he emptied everything we gave him and left.

I was going to pack him a pissaladière [a type of pizza originating from Nice] to go, but the Prince blatantly showed his discomfort, so I didn’t.

He’s such a funny guy. He accepted all sorts of treats from me in his childlike form.

…Could it be that takeout isn’t allowed for outsiders?

“If she left the capital and headed south, could she have gone to Andrezi?”

Christelle stood in front of the fireplace and asked seriously.

To stay true to the detective agency concept, she had marked Victoire’s path on a large wooden board with red thread.

The words ‘Operation: Arrest the Phantom Lady Victoire’ were scrawled at the top.

The clown troupe’s route was drawn with blue thread.

Tete, who had finished swimming, returned and was rolling around the fireplace with the lesser pandas.

“For now, that seems like the most likely place. It’s highly likely that she holds a grudge against the Andrezi family. I spoke with my subordinates this morning, and most of the guys from the central region know about the Count’s illegitimate child story. They gave the same statement as the drunkard I met at the bar. However, it seemed to be just a rumor.”

Lady Elisabeth replied.

The Prince called David and ordered him to prepare a carriage to Andrezi.

“Then why did she suddenly change her route? She said she was going to steal the Prince.”

“Could it be that she’s diverting attention to the capital while she seeks ultimate revenge on her family? She might be aiming to kill the Count.”

Christelle and the Baroness continued their exciting reasoning show.

I stared intently at the tarot card interpretation books spread out on the table.

The ‘Sun’ card that Victoire had left behind was next to me. To be exact, it was the reversed Sun.

“The Sun implying Frederick His Majesty… No, that can’t be. It would be a bit out of the blue for her to target me and then talk about His Majesty, and he’s a Sword Master. Besides, targeting the monarch is treason.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince, who was sitting like a statue, replied. I then pointed to the commentary.

“But the reversed Sun card has too many meanings. ‘Inner child,’ ‘negative tendencies,’ ‘overly optimistic,’ ‘depression’…”

“The range of interpretation is excessively broad.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to get a sense of it. Besides, I’m worried about the blood on it.”

I pointed to the edge of the card.

There was a faint bloodstain on the yellowed paper.

“It’s very faint.”

Sir Johann, who had approached silently, picked up the card and smelled it.

“Yes. If she intended to convey something through the blood, she would have clearly sprinkled it in a more visible place, but it looks like it was accidentally smeared on it. I think it was a mistake.”

“Does the suspect have a history of murder or assault?”

The Prince asked sharply. I immediately shook my head.

“No. Most clowns are orphans without family names. You know that if they commit such a serious crime and get caught, they can receive a heavy sentence without trial.”

“Any history of illness?”

“I asked the witty Serge about that. And yet,”

Rummage, rummage. I found the paper I had taken notes on during the interrogation and put it on top.

The Prince’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the sentences.

“…Was it a dead old woman?”

“Yes, it was Granny Form who suffered from consumption [tuberculosis]. Not only Serge but also other clowns testified to this. The grandmother often coughed up blood, but she didn’t listen even when her fellow acrobats advised her to retire. She repeatedly expressed her desire to remain on stage until the very end. Eventually, she died in a carriage accident. There was testimony that her granddaughter, Henriette, usually slept a lot, sometimes sleeping for 18 hours a day. So, she mainly did alternate performances. Other than that, there were no particular abnormalities.”

“…”

Then the Prince became frighteningly silent.

I carefully examined his expression, but I couldn’t read anything.

He’s the type to clam up like a hermit crab if you press him at times like this, so I decided to do some reasoning of my own.

“Hmm.”

Personally, what bothered me the most was the Emperor’s attitude.

Why didn’t she provide us with all the information she knew?

To test us? Why bother?

Does she really think it’s a waste for us to spend our time idly in the Imperial Palace?

Or did it have to be us? Because I was the one who was almost kidnapped?

Even if I went to the Imperial Palace and asked her right now, she wouldn’t give me an answer.

It could just be a trivial whim of the monarch, but somehow it kept bothering me.

What on earth…

Suddenly, the magazine Ganael had left behind caught my eye.

December 1st issue.

It was a new issue that I hadn’t had a chance to read yet because I was out of it. I casually flipped through the pages.

The ‘crime notice commotion’ that occurred at the Harvest Festival parade on the last day was not included.

The Imperial Family might have put pressure on them, but it wouldn’t have been easy to add an article with only two days left until publication.

-Flap, flap…

“Oh, there’s also a story about the Prince’s territory here.”

Christel, who had approached in the meantime, pointed to one place.

We put our heads together and read the article about Lady Sarah Beliard.

「…The territory of Prince Yesser, Marquis of Serenite, greeted the writer with a completely different landscape than a year ago. Would you believe it if I said that everything on the land was reborn? There are colorful, large and small paintings everywhere, not only in conspicuous places but also in secluded spots. The residents of the territory decorate the fences with wildflowers with full faces, and the blacksmiths who hammer the farming tools during the harvest season seem as delighted as inspired sculptors. Even though the autumn leaves are saying goodbye, the procession of tourists’ carriages does not stop.

It doesn’t end here. Joan de As, whom the Prince personally pardoned and hired as a lifelong painter for the territory (better known to our readers as Hader O. Jansen), is about to unveil his new work ‘Portrait of the Moon’ in early December. This work by the genius artist, which will be hung at the entrance of the Marquisate Temple, is an oil painting on canvas…」

Throb! A certain possibility strongly flashed through my mind.

“Gasp.”

I suddenly raised my head. Christel’s blue-gray eyes were wide open.

“Your Highness, didn’t Mr. As say he would paint you?”

“That’s right. Ganael has the sketch. Along with the letter Chantal sent…”

Joan said he would paint my face and hang it in the small temple at the entrance of the territory.

‘I’m going to steal the moon of the Divine Kingdom.’

-Madam Victoire’

.

I took a breath. The Prince immediately stood up.

“It’s not Andrezie. Lady Elisabeth, please prepare an escort to the Marquisate of Serenite. Call Benjamin and David too!”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

She burst out of the office in an instant.

Just in time, Sir Johann handed me the tarot card.

He was subtly licking his lips, apparently having tasted the bloodstains in the meantime. Goodness.

“The blood isn’t old, Your Highness. It seems to have been on the card the day it was left behind.”

Then he curved his eyes kindly. I was dumbfounded and accepted the card.

Too-ksim, who belatedly walked in with a hop, sat on the tarot card commentary book.

The guy tilted his head and pecked at a word with his beak.

Four pairs of eyes naturally turned to it.

Another meaning of the reversed Sun.

‘Sorrow.’

The hint from the breathing mocha bread [a type of magical bread that provides clues] was powerful.

A noble family that abandons children, a deceased grandmother, a missing granddaughter, a portrait of the moon, bloodstains, sorrow.

The puzzle pieces quickly began to fit together in my head.