Chapter 6

“What?”

“I’m asking why you needed a child. If you kidnapped one out of love, then you’re a fool. If you did it for your own gain, then you’re a vicious woman.”

“For my own gain? Why would I need something like that? We were in love! I have never, not even once, been in a one-sided relationship!”

“Did you marry the marquis by using the child as leverage because you loved him?”

“No! I said no!”

They say that vehement denials are often the strongest affirmations. Having completely lost her reason, the noblewoman was practically proclaiming the truth with her own mouth.

“So the marquis never wanted the marriage in the first place. You must have brought the child to him and claimed it was his. Of course, the marquis bears some responsibility for his own promiscuity, but the greatest blame for the breakdown of the marriage lies with you.”

“No, that’s not it! I only intended to ask him to marry me!”

Wasn’t asking someone to marry you the very definition of a marriage proposal? Or was I the one who didn’t understand the etiquette of this world?

My face twisted into an unmistakable frown, unable to conceal my displeasure. The noblewoman stumbled backward, frantically pointing her finger at me as though I were some terrifying monster.

Hmm. Looks like I’m not the one lacking common sense after all.

“You were probably trying everything you could to marry the marquis when you began wondering whether there might be a child affected by some kind of magic. That would explain why you went searching through hospitals frequented by the poor. It would also explain how a high-ranking noblewoman like you knew the name of a hospital in the slums.”

I had no idea what kind of magic she was referring to, but since the nurse had mentioned it after examining the child, there had to be some reason behind it.

I continued explaining as I took another step toward the woman. With her back pressed against the wall, the noblewoman’s pointing finger grew more and more hesitant.

Grab.

“…!!”

She seemed awfully eager to show me her hands, so I decided to take a closer look by grabbing one.

“Your hands are remarkably clean. I assume that’s because you’ve never had to do any real work. You were either born into nobility or raised in such luxury that you’ve never had to lift a finger. Either way, you’re someone the poor cannot afford to ignore, someone with the power to oppress them.”

Perhaps it was the same everywhere, but the people who treated the poor and destitute generally fell into two categories.

Those who were exceptionally kind and righteous, and those who lacked the ability to do their jobs but were constantly scheming to climb the social ladder.

“The hospital staff told Lady Rena that her baby had died with shameless ease, barely an hour after they took the child inside. They were more afraid of incurring your wrath, a marquess’s wife, than they were concerned about the grief of a poor woman who had lost her child. Isn’t that right?”

“How… How did you…?”

“Now it’s time for you to take responsibility for what you’ve done. And that begins with divorcing the marquis.”

“Ah! No!”

The woman collapsed to the floor, clutching the child to her chest as she began to wail. She held the baby so tightly, as though it were the only lifeline she had left.

“Please! Detective, please help me! I’m begging you!”

People like her always seemed to remember their manners the moment things stopped going their way. As if speaking politely to someone were some extraordinary act of generosity.

“A detective, you say… As you’ve pointed out, I am a detective, not a lawyer. That means my work here is finished.”

“Aaah! Please! No! No, you can’t!”

Even now, after everything had fallen apart, she still refused to let go of the child. She must have wanted that marriage more than I’d imagined.

Which was the real enemy here? People, or love?

“I hope that, in the future, you’ll learn to consider the consequences before carrying out such schemes.”

I sat lost in thought for quite some time.

‘I died, only to wake up in a world with marquises and detectives.’

Hmm. A pretty standard opening for a romance fantasy novel.

Perhaps because I’d witnessed something so bizarre just before dying, this wasn’t particularly shocking. If anything, I was only a little curious about one thing…

Had they at least recovered my body properly?

Everyone had seemed completely unaware that I was being attacked. Surely they hadn’t just left me lying there?

‘Sigh…’

I’d spent the entire day thinking so much that my head was practically throbbing.

Had I read too many novels?

I’d gone through so many that I couldn’t even begin to guess which story I might have ended up in, assuming I really had transmigrated into a novel.

Had I ever even read a detective novel? I mostly remembered reading childcare stories on the web. At least, that was what I usually gravitated toward.

My hobby had always been healing my soul by looking at cute things. And now, out of nowhere, I’d found myself in a mystery story.

I pressed a hand to my forehead and tapped my fingertips against the desk.

Tap. Tap.

But what if this wasn’t a novel at all?

I had no proof that this world was part of a story.

…Wait. Wouldn’t that make things even worse?

It would mean I had absolutely no information to work with.

Click. Creak…

The office door opened with an unfamiliar noise, announcing someone’s arrival. Whoever it was opened it so timidly that the hinges squeaked—a sound I hadn’t even noticed earlier, despite the constant stream of people coming and going throughout the day.

I sat with my legs crossed and turned my head toward the door to see who had entered.

A white-haired old man appeared. The moment he saw me, he jumped in surprise, then began shuffling awkwardly while glancing around as though trying to gauge my mood.

What? A client?

No, that couldn’t be right. If he were a client, the man from earlier would have brought him in.

Which meant the only possibility left was…

“Heh-heh. I only meant to step out for a moment, but I ended up taking rather longer than expected. Have those clients left?”

The old man scratched the back of his head and approached me with an awkward, uncertain expression.

“Ha-ha! You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”

He didn’t look the least bit pleased about the prospect. Waving his hand around, he placed a small box on the desk.

“I bought you a cake to celebrate our new detective, little Ariel, on her very first day at work!”

I glanced down at it.

He’d bought exactly one slice of cake.

So the agency really was on the verge of bankruptcy. It seemed they were genuinely short on money.

After setting the cake down, the old man kept glancing at me, his behavior so unnatural that it was almost painful to watch.

‘What’s with this painfully awkward atmosphere?’

If I was a newly hired detective and today was my first day, then the incompetent detective who had given those women their previous verdict must have been this old man.

Which meant this was his office, and the name on the desk plaque—Novae Arietta—belonged to him.

Ah. So the person in charge had dumped a massive pile of trouble on his new employee and then run off to enjoy himself?

Snicker.

When I finally pieced things together, a laugh escaped me. The old detective flinched and immediately tried to distract me.

“Oh dear, where did I put the forks? Ha-ha. You need a fork to eat cake, don’t you? Ha-ha-ha! Goodness, what a terrible memory I have.”

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”

He froze in place, as though struck by lightning, just as he was about to make his escape.

“I believe you and I have a few things to discuss.”

“Ahahaha…”

I motioned toward the guest table. Still laughing out loud, the old man practically slid into the seat of honor.

“Isn’t that my seat?”

“I’ll move over.”

And so began the negotiations between employer and employee—or, more accurately, the establishment of a clear hierarchy.

Let me review what I knew about my current identity.

My name was Ariel, and my occupation was detective. Today had been my first day on the job, and I’d already spent it cleaning up a mess caused by the agency’s owner.

So what was my top priority now?

Continue working here while figuring out how I’d ended up in this world.

And once the work was done?

Go home!

…But where exactly was home?

The sudden question made me turn toward the old man. He visibly flinched beneath my gaze.

I haven’t even done anything yet.

“Where do I live?”

“Hm? Oh, there’s another guest room upstairs. You can stay there.”

There was an upstairs, too?

Well, at least the housing problem was solved.

“What about my family?”

“Your family… Ah, well, you see… They’re a little far away, aren’t they? Ha-ha. Once things are going well, perhaps we can move closer to your parents’ graves.”

So they were all dead.

He’d tried to soften the blow by stumbling over his words, but the truth couldn’t have been any clearer.

I turned my attention back to the nameplate on the desk.

“Novae Arietta. And I’m Ariel… What exactly is going on here?”

“Oh, well, your surname… If you ever need one while working as a detective, you can use mine. Your father was a barbarian, so he couldn’t pass his surname down to you, right? No, wait, was that what you told me? Or wasn’t it? Ha-ha.”

What was this ominous feeling?

I’d only meant to play along and make things a little awkward for him, but somehow, everything was falling into place a little too neatly.

This man was the head detective?

How on earth had this agency managed to stay in business for so long? At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if the doors were locked for good by tomorrow.

Still, perhaps it was a good thing that today was my first day.

Since I knew nothing about this world, no one could really blame me for being suspicious of anything…

Or so I hoped.

“Please forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Henry, and I am responsible for handling all the administrative work at the Novae Detective Agency. It is an honor to serve you, Detective.”

Responsible for handling… everything?

Henry bowed, his eyes gleaming with an almost unnerving intensity as he delivered his meaningful introduction.

He was the very same man who had thrown me into yesterday’s chaotic mess.

At first glance, his black hair and dark eyes gave him the appearance of a typical background character. Yet his handsome features and sharp, graceful bearing brought a fox to mind.

In fiction, exceptionally attractive characters were usually exceptionally competent, too.

I studied his lithe figure before extending my hand. He accepted the handshake with an almost exaggerated degree of reverence.

Judging by how much his attitude had changed after our visit to the Schwartze Marquessate, my deductions must have been fairly accurate, hadn’t they?