Bonus Short Story: The Butler Fidel’s Troubles

Fidel was at the peak of his confusion.

He had always held himself to a standard of calm and composure as the close aide to the noble Duke Wolfzaine, serving diligently in their master-servant relationship that began before elementary school—believing he had done so without shame and intending to continue thus.

His master, sharp-minded and unswayed by the arrogance of his high status, dedicated himself to self-improvement—a man worthy of Fidel’s service. Never unreasonable, despite inheriting the title at a young age after losing his parents early, the duke never flaunted it. His care for the household staff made him a source of pride for Fidel.

This bond, forged just before elementary school, had lasted nearly a decade and was meant to endure a lifetime.

“Are you serious, Julius?”

“Any issue?”

“An issue…”

There were plenty, though nothing concrete to point to—just his own unease.

In the private study, the duke faced his desk, flipping through territory reports and picking up a pen. Normally, he’d invite discussion while signing, but today his eyes stayed fixed on the papers.

Long acquainted, Fidel sensed a scheme. Irritated by the duke’s feigned nonchalance, he leaned forward, hands on the desk.

“Investigate the daughter of Baron Zickler, a family my predecessors barely associated with—and in secret? I deserve an explanation!”

“Because I’m curious—is that not reason enough?”

The duke, accustomed to Fidel’s informal tone, answered without looking up, pen still moving.

“It’s my duty to fulfill your wishes, Your Grace. But vague purposes risk inconsistent results.”

Deliberately formal, Fidel retorted, but the duke merely huffed.

“We met at the New Year’s celebration, exchanged greetings. Not strangers now, are we?”

“You… showing interest might spark rumors.”

Handsome and titled since graduating high school, the duke’s suitors had multiplied. Intent on remaining single until his sister married the prince, he dodged or gently declined proposals. But showing interest in one lady could ignite gossip.

Fidel wanted to support a love interest for his capable, dear friend and master—but only among highborn ladies from ducal, comital, or royal families. A minor baron’s daughter, with her small fief, was beneath consideration, even for rumors.

Yet if the duke truly favored her, Fidel’s loyalty would back him. Was he testing that trust, or hiding other motives? Either way, he wished for openness—secrets from his near-double irked him.

Or—could that baron’s daughter be pursuing the duke? Insolent! A rank mismatch. If she chased status or wealth, she’d be eliminated. The thought of her captivating his master infuriated him.

Unseen, Fidel pouted.

“That’s why I ordered you—discreetly.”

“But…”

“But what? Is the duke’s valet’s work so sloppy?”

“I’ve never delivered shoddy work.”

“Then you lack confidence in this task?”

Pausing, the duke looked up. Provoked, Fidel had no choice but to rise to the trust in those challenging eyes—resisting with a faint tongue-click.

“Seems the baron’s daughter attends Royal University.”

“University? Why would a baron’s daughter be there?”

“That’s your job to find out. Can you?”

“…Understood.”

Fidel grimaced bitterly.

The Royal School welcomed visitors, so as a graduate, Fidel entered effortlessly. Visiting his alma mater on a rare day off, nostalgia stirred.

He’d attended elementary and high school there. Last studying with Julius was three years ago. Now strict about their roles (though sometimes lax), he missed their carefree classmate days.

They’d competed openly, Julius excelling broadly while Fidel shone in physical subjects and history-geography. Outscored overall, Fidel once topped history—Julius’s rare frustration was memorable.

As he pondered these thoughts and entered the university grounds, heading for the President’s office, Fidel abruptly stopped. Something felt off about the campus. Its vibrancy was distinctly different from the scene he remembered from his own high school days. Puzzled, he observed his surroundings, and the reason quickly became clear.

“…More female students.”

Fewer than males, but a stark increase from his all-male high school days. Near-adult university women added elegance.

On the way to the president’s office, he passed a group of female students heading towards the courtyard. Some girls have shiny dark hair, while others have chestnut-colored hair. All female students have an intelligent and ambitious expression.

Was one Baron Zickler’s daughter? Turning, a sweet scent hit him.

—Focus. On duty.

Catching his daze, he punched his side. The sting cleared his mind, though their figures lingered.

Distracted, he tripped on an uneven stone, crashing forward.

Instinctively bracing, he couldn’t recover, shielding a gift for the President. His elbow and knee hit hard.

“Ow…”

Wincing on the tiles, the gift was safe, but his shirt tore, blood seeping.

—Trouble. I’ll dirty the President’s office.

Standing, favoring his knee—

“Are you alright?”

A voice behind. Turning, a girl with tight silver buns and glasses frowned. Not the earlier group.

Embarrassed at being seen, he hesitated. She looked him head to toe, stopping at his elbow, pulling out a white cloth.

“If you’re injured, use this. Burn it at home. I’ll cleanse the spot and if you are worried, we can disinfect it here, right?”

“Huh? What?”

Stunned, he gaped. Unfazed by blood, she fetched a small vial from her bag, sprinkling liquid on the stone.

“W-what are you doing…?”

“I’m disinfecting. It’s not that your blood necessarily carries anything bad, but you are an outsider, aren’t you? Just in case, I think it’s better to disinfect any areas that got blood on them. And please, show me your wound as well. Scrapes are easy to neglect, but if left alone, they can fester and cause a fever. While there’s no talk of an epidemic on campus, we wouldn’t want you catching something from the wound, so let’s thoroughly clean it. Here, roll up your shirt.”

She rolled up his sleeve. Shocked, he swatted her off, but she persisted.

“N-no! I’m fine!”

“But small cuts—”

“Enough!”

Shaking her off forcefully, she froze, eyes wide. Staring, her shoulders drooped.

“Sorry. At least use this cloth.”

Pressing it to his chest, she turned away.

Regretting it, he was too late to apologize as she hurried off. Nameless, he reached out, then stopped.

“…I messed up.”

Scaring a kind stranger—a grown man yelling at a student—shamed him.

Dazzled by girls, tripping, worrying her, then frightening her—pathetic. Julius’s fault. Resetting, he turned back when a large shadow caught his eye.

“Oh, Fidel from Wolfzaine’s house, isn’t it?”

A familiar, hearty voice. Looking up, an elderly man in a robed with the school’s crest—flowing white hair and beard—stood there. President Hermann, his target.

“What brings you suddenly? It’s been since graduation.”

“O-oh, long time, President. Just passing by, nostalgia drew me.”

“I see, I see. Glad to hear. Work at the duke’s going well? Oh—hurt…?”

“Ah—” Fidel pressed the cloth to his elbow. Blood before a noble President was taboo. Handing over the gift, he bowed.

“Apologies for the sight. I’ll return with proper greetings!”

Ready to flee after the handoff—

The President, ignoring the gift, stroked his beard, eyeing the damp stone, then the courtyard, nodding.

“President?”

“Tripped here, eh? Needs fixing soon. She cleansed it.”

“Uh, sorry. I fell, and a passing student helped…”

“Reliable, isn’t she?” the President chuckled, eyeing the silver-haired girl trudging off.

“She’s exceptional. Entered from university level, outpacing noble sons—maybe more. Serious about studies, well-educated at Baron house. Knows etiquette and basic prayers. Impressive.”

“Baron… house?”

Bad feeling rising, Fidel spoke. The President nodded.

“Know Baron Zickler? Northeast of the capital, small fief, not wealthy, but apparently he has given up on admission fees because his daughter really wants to study at university.”

As he listened to the president, Fidel followed the girl in the courtyard with his eyes. It’s already gone far, and it looks like a bean, almost entering the school building.

“Strong in literature and history, but suited for math and biology. Next year, she’ll join a lab. Rare for a noble lady, she aims for civil service. I’d prefer research or teaching, though.”

Wonder how it’ll go, he mused.

Unbelievable. His target revealed so easily—thanks to the President’s chatter, the report nearly wrote itself.

Her conduct, academics, and kindness to Fidel ruled out greed or status-chasing. Aiming for civil service negated parental matchmaking.

Could the duke truly fancy her?

Her face, voice? When, where did he notice her? A baron’s daughter—unfit even as a lover for a near-royal duke.

Yet the President, beaming like a proud father, praised her. Beside him, Fidel, with a blank report, wondered how to sway his master.