Chapter 119: Waiting for the flowers to bloom.

Marlin left Violet’s room and headed toward the kitchen to relay her mistress’s request.

The kitchen staff in this mansion had long been divided into two groups: those who had served Violet since before her birth, and those who had come from the separate residence along with the master’s return to attend to his immediate family.

It wasn’t quite a faction—too crude and informal for that. Over time, each group had naturally come to specialize in the preferences they had known longest. Violet’s meals required delicate adjustments to taste and portion, while the other three were handled by the rest. The division was practical and straightforward.

The complexity of the Varhan household extended not only to its family dynamics but to the servants as well.

Led by the head chef Shisui and Marlin herself, there were those who felt no loyalty, gratitude, or even trust toward the master—only consideration for Violet.

There were those who had served the main family since the days of the separate residence and treated Violet as a trivial sacrifice.

There were those who had come from the separate residence yet harbored doubts about the shape this family had taken.

And there were those who simply treated it all as work, drawing a clear line.

The divisions weren’t as distinct as true factions, but each person understood the others’ positions well enough to avoid crossing inviolable boundaries.

The family members themselves probably noticed almost none of it.

Only Violet seemed aware that she had been quietly discarded as expendable.

“Shisui-san, Violet-sama has a dinner request.”

“Hm? She’s eating in her room today?”

“Yes. She seems…… slightly unwell.”

“Got it.”

Shisui, the head chef, had been working in this house since before Violet was born.

More precisely—he had been hired at the same time the former wife and the master were married.

He was usually rough and crude, yet when it came to cooking he was meticulous, precise, and carried unshakable confidence and pride.

He had been earnest about Violet’s food education—and had been among the first to realize it was having the opposite effect.

No matter how splendid the dish, if it caused pain to the person eating it, it was no different from a failure.

Among all the adults Marlin had encountered, he was one of the very few worthy of genuine respect.

He noticed lies yet never pressed.

He acted without the slightest hesitation.

Marlin could understand why Violet placed such trust in him.

Until Marlin’s arrival, he had likely been the only ally Violet had.

“She requested the salmon and potato gratin from before.”

“That one, huh…… then I’d better start now or there won’t be enough time to let it cool. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Thank you very much.”

As the undisputed ruler of the kitchen, Shisui oversaw both groups of staff.

No matter what he personally felt, the food in this house fell under his management.

He had to prepare meals not only for Violet but for the other three as well.

Time was never enough.

That was why Violet rarely voiced her preferences—and why Shisui always kept ingredients on hand for her favorites.

（I’ll collect the uniform first…… then prepare the bath. The bath salts and oils——）

“Mar.”

“Yes?”

“Eat this before you go. Once you start preparing for the young lady, you won’t have time.”

With a soft clunk, a plate was set on the counter: toast spread with potato salad and lightly grilled.

Probably a repurposed leftover from breakfast or lunch, but anything Shisui made was flawless.

The golden-brown potatoes and flecks of mixed vegetables gave off an appetizing aroma.

More than enough to awaken the hunger that had been dormant.

It sat quietly on pristine white porcelain.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Go ahead.”

Standing and eating like this might be considered poor manners, but Marlin—born of neither noble blood nor proper upbringing—prioritized efficiency over formality.

Rather than moving to a chair, it was faster and easier to eat standing here, then have the plate cleared immediately.

She took large bites, scooping it up by hand.

The straightforward flavor—mashed potato mixed with remnants of corn and green peas—bore no resemblance to junk food despite the way she ate it.

Even someone like Marlin, who had neither refined taste nor a pampered palate, could honestly declare it delicious.

Five big bites and the plate was empty; her stomach felt about sixty percent full.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Mm.”

“Then excuse me.”

With only a light raise of her hand in farewell, she turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

She peeked into Violet’s room—her mistress was asleep still in uniform—so Marlin prepared a change of clothes and a spare uniform, then moved on to other tasks.

The bathtub cleaning was handled by someone else; Marlin’s responsibilities included setting out towels and amenities, as well as preparing her own bath set in case assistance was needed.

After that came a check of small necessities, confirmation of tomorrow’s schedule, and—at dinnertime—she would need to stop by the dining room to inform them of Violet’s absence.

（They should be gathering soon.）

A glance at her watch showed it was nearly time for people to assemble in the dining room.

Usually Elepha and Mary June arrived first, with Old arriving last to begin the meal.

Violet always made a point of sitting down well ahead of time, though whether that counted as punctual depended entirely on the other three.

Honestly, she wanted to entrust the message to someone else—but she couldn’t trust anyone here not to twist her words.

And even if they didn’t, the master of this house had a habit of warping everything in his own mind.

She walked as quickly as decorum allowed—footsteps silent—and stopped before the ornately open doors.

The table was already surrounded by three figures as dishes were being brought in.

She swallowed the tongue-click that rose in her throat.

Her expression stripped of emotion showed no anger—nor any trace of politeness.

“Excuse me.”

She bowed slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly to leave no room for later claims of “I didn’t hear” or “I wasn’t told.”

“Violet-sama is feeling slightly unwell, so her dinner will be served in her room.”

“Eh…… is Big Sister all right?”

“Yes. If she rests properly, it should be fine.”

“I see…… um, may I visit her later to check on her?”

Like hell you can——

The words she nearly spat out were buried beneath the thick mask she had cultivated since coming to this house.

She forced a smile—careful not to offend the princess or the tyrant lurking behind her—and searched for the gentlest refusal possible.

“Stop that, Mary.”

Just as Marlin was scraping together the right vocabulary, an unwanted lifeline floated her way.

She had no desire to board that ship—laden as it was with displeasure and concern—piloted by a man who had somehow crammed both emotions into one vessel.

How versatile, she thought with dark amusement.

“What if you catch whatever ridiculous illness she has?”

The mere thought saddened him—his face twisted in tragic concern.

Yet strangely, the daughter who might be “infected” with that ridiculous illness seemed absent from his mind.

Mary June, receiving her father’s worry full-force, apologized for her thoughtlessness.

But she showed no sign of noticing where the real dissonance lay.

It felt like being forced to watch a dull play.

A self-intoxicated actor foisting melodramatic emotion on an abandoned audience.

The title, perhaps: Beautiful Familial Love.

（How absurd.）

She had lost count of how many times she had been made to witness this ritual—watching them affirm their bonds while trampling Violet’s importance.

Certainly more than the fingers on both hands and feet could count.

They had lived under the same roof for less than a year—yet how effortlessly they crushed what mattered to someone else.

“Excuse me.”

She knew no one was watching.

Still, for the sake of position and appearances, she bowed once more before leaving.

With attention concentrated in the dining room, the moment she stepped away the presence of others faded.

Shisui should still be in the kitchen, though most staff had likely been drafted to serve the beautiful family’s harmonious meal.

She would head to him now, collect Violet’s dinner, and return to the room.

Violet’s private quarters were separated from the others, so even after their meal there should be no risk of running into them.

But Mary June alone had a habit of lightly exceeding every expectation.

Recently, small signs of hope had finally begun to appear.

A tiny sprout that had taken over a decade to emerge.

She wanted it to bloom without interference.

But the soil it had sprouted in was the only remaining healthy patch in a salt-poisoned wasteland.

It would be stranger if it didn’t wither.

She would proceed carefully.

Surely.

So no one could interfere.

Her task was simple: keep the small sprout from dying.

Keep anyone from plucking it.

Until the day she could call the one who made it bloom her true master.