12 O’Clock Marionette

Chapter 3

"…That makes sense, but only if you’re actually useful."

Minuet swatted my hand away somewhat irritably.

However, her gaze softened slightly.

She handed me an envelope.

Without hesitation, I opened it to check the contents. Inside was—

"A puppet show ticket?"

"His Grace, with his refined taste, sent a message: if we accept the marriage proposal, we are to attend."

"I see."

"Make sure you convince him so this mess doesn’t come back to me."

She wanted me to confirm whether he would still agree if his betrothed were switched to an adoptee.

Fine, this was my chance.

Having passed the ticket to me, Minuet immediately turned around and walked away.

I watched her retreating figure for a moment before returning to my bedroom.

***

The theater was dark.

It was neither overly large nor too small, and about half of the seats were filled.

Among the audience, quite a few had their faces concealed by masks—likely nobles. I, too, was one of them.

Apparently, it was disgraceful for nobility to partake in commoner entertainment.

Sinking deeply into the backrest, I fell into thought.

The subject, of course, was the person I was meeting today.

The villain destined to destroy the world.

Because of the man behind that grandiose title, I had lived through three different bodies.

Ages 10 to 12—Amy.

Ages 15 to 17—Viga.

And now, 20-year-old Siora.

It was oddly consistent. A, B, and C as initials, even.

There was another commonality.

"All blonde."

I absentmindedly played with my hair.

At this point, I had to wonder about my god’s preferences.

Obsessed with patterns and particularly fond of blondes.

Anyway.

[The performance will begin shortly. Please take your seats.]

One thing I had learned from going through multiple lives was that children grow quickly.

When you spend time with them, their growth feels slow. But after dying and returning in another body, the gap in time made their changes appear startlingly steep.

The villain I met as Amy had been innocent.

The villain I met as Viga had become distorted.

Then, what about the one I was meeting as Siora?

I wasn’t particularly eager to find out, but I would judge once I met him.

…Still, why wasn’t he here yet?

"If you send an invitation, isn’t it normal to arrive early?"

"But I am here."

A voice suddenly spoke.

It didn’t come from the stage.

It came from the seat beside me, which had been empty just moments ago.

I turned my head to the side—and there he was.

"I was admiring how the Bonetti viscountess’s face has changed since I last saw her."

In the darkness, his figure was faintly outlined.

A tall man sat elegantly, one leg crossed over the other, hands loosely clasped atop his knee.

A silver mask covered half of his face, with only openings for the eyes.

Through the gaps, familiar eyes curved into an unmistakable shape.

"Hello, false viscountess. You’ve come to see me, haven’t you?"

His face remained concealed, and the surrounding space was steeped in darkness.

There was no reason I should be able to see anything.

Yet, layered over his current form, I saw multiple overlapping images.

A teenager, a younger boy, and a child.

A youth with ashen-blue hair, as if time itself was reversing.

"Who… are you?"

A child's voice echoed in my ears.

I exhaled the breath I had been holding, and the illusion dissipated.

What remained was a taller physique, deeper eyes, and a voice stripped of its past innocence.

I uttered his name, almost as a groan.

"…Cruello."

Cruello White Desert.

The villain I was meeting again after so many years.

"Calling my name so freely when we’re meeting for the first time—how bold."

"Ah. Well, sorry. I’ve just heard it so many times."

An excuse slipped from my lips without thinking. And in that moment, I hesitated.

The words I had prepared in my head were now a mess.

Where should I even begin?

Cruello tipped his chin toward the stage.

"Are you not enjoying the puppet show? You haven’t looked at it once."

Reflexively, I glanced at the stage.

Marionettes moved about, each limb attached to strings.

The curtain hung low enough to obscure the puppeteers from view.

They were singing something, but… the words didn’t reach me.

Because—

"Wow, your heartbeat is loud."

I was too shaken.

Why? I had come here knowing exactly who I would meet, yet my emotions were all over the place.

Was this what it felt like to reunite with someone last seen on a battlefield?

Cruello, on the other hand, simply stared at me.

"Nervous? Well, I understand. It’s quite the surprise, isn’t it? The person at the betrothal table has suddenly changed."

"Hmm, I can see why you’d be disappointed."

"Disappointed? Not at all. I rather like blondes."

That made me feel strangely self-conscious.

"If you don’t want to watch the play, we can talk instead. You have something to say, don’t you?"

"Here?"

"If you speak quietly, no one will hear."

Discussing whether to change the marriage partner inside a theater—how recklessly audacious.

But he was right. No one was looking in our direction.

I had spoken softly, yet given the nature of this venue, someone should have overheard.

What was going on?

Holding my breath, I sharpened my senses, then abruptly pulled open Cruello’s coat.

A brooch was fastened to the inside.

"A magic tool?"

"…Correct. It prevents sound from escaping this vicinity."

Of course.

A small victory, but it gave me a sense of relief.

I could finally refocus on what I had prepared to say.

Alright, let’s do this.

"Your Grace, what do you think family means?"

The title felt unnatural in my mouth.

Cruello had inherited his title while I hadn’t been watching—what an annoyance.

"I believe family is bound by the heart."

"Just get to the point."

"I want to be engaged to you in Minuet’s place."

Cruello narrowed his eyes at me.

Ah, right.

"My apologies for the late introduction. My name is—"

"Siora Velvet."

"My age is—"

"Twenty."

"My parents are—"

"The Count’s younger brother and his wife."

"Yes. My surname isn’t Bonetti, but if Your Grace consents—"

"They have agreed to adopt you."

"Wow, you really know everything!"

Of course, he had already done his background research. Fox-like as ever.

At least it saved me the trouble of adding unnecessary explanations.

I wrinkled my nose and smiled.

"It doesn’t necessarily have to be Minuet, does it?"

"Hmm. I’m not sure."

But I knew.

I remembered every single thing Minuet had done in Fate—and I could do twice as much.

Cruello smirked faintly, his eyes narrowing.

"What exactly is Bonetti offering you to marry me?"

"…What?"

"Money? Power? Oh, since it's the Bonetti family, maybe a spirit summoning circle?"

"They’re offering you."

It was my best attempt at flirting, but he didn’t even blink.

No—he didn’t even acknowledge it.

"Whatever it is, it must have been a decent deal for me to accept."

"Didn’t you hear what I just said?"

"It’s not that I dislike you, Lady. But I have conditions."

"What conditions?"

"I can’t tell you right now."

Was he teasing me?

"If you agree, I don’t care if the partner changes."

"You want me to accept without even knowing the conditions?"

"It’s just a verbal agreement. You can break it if you don’t like it."

He was telling me to take it or leave it.

And he wasn’t wrong. Right now, I was in no position to refuse.

I nodded without hesitation.

Cruello smiled.

"Good, darling."

"Cough!"

What was with that title? Had Cruello been replaced with an imposter?

"A shame, really. I had something I wanted to show the viscountess."

"What is it?"

"The performance."

Cruello gestured toward the stage again and leaned in closer.

Under sunlight, his eyes would gleam like gemstones. But here, they were dark, like blood pooling in shadow.

Had his eye color deepened as he aged?

"Darling, which puppet do you like best?"

I randomly pointed at one on stage—the prettiest doll, with long black hair.

Cruello didn’t even glance at it. What a jerk.

Instead, his elegant finger pointed elsewhere.

"I like that one."

At the tip of his finger was a puppet with brown hair.

It wore a mask and a long black coat.

One hand held a large bag, the other, a cane.

Most importantly, it wasn’t a puppet.

It was human.

A high-level flirtation tactic?

Was his condition actually that I should let him seduce other people?

I was confused, but Cruello whispered,

"He's one of the Count Bonetti’s men."

"What?"

"He’s here for an illicit trade. He’s brought in quite a fine product."

Phew. At least it wasn’t about romance.

As I sighed in relief, movement flickered at the tip of Cruello’s finger.

‘Bonetti’s man’ subtly shifted his hand.

Without breaking eye contact with the stage, he discreetly slid his bag to the person beside him.

The recipient, feigning drowsiness, smoothly accepted the package.

The movement was so seamless that no one around noticed.

"Beatum. A substance banned by both the Imperial Court and the Temple."

"…"

"It’s a more potent energy source than magic stones, highly attractive for illegal uses."

Cruello spoke slowly, his voice smooth as a serpent’s.

"A noble of the Count’s rank won’t be executed for this, but if caught, it’ll be a nightmare. So why take the risk?"

"What are you trying to say—?"

"And what should we do, darling?"

Cruello lazily toyed with the ends of my hair.

His voice dipped into a darkness like sinking night.

"Should we report your father’s crimes?"

If colors could be conveyed through a gaze, his would be the shade of amusement.

"Or would you rather turn a blind eye?"

I frowned and swatted his hand away.

"He’s not my father yet."

"I know. I just wanted to use my rehearsed lines."

"Were these meant for Minuet?"

"It would’ve been entertaining."

Was he planning to expose the Count’s corruption at his own betrothal meeting?

That had to be the worst taste in entertainment.

I narrowed my eyes at him, and he merely shrugged.

"Am I the only one having fun? Let’s skip the boring parts, then."

"What are you planning—?"

"Enjoy the show."

The moment he spoke, Cruello stood up.

And in one smooth motion, he tore off his mask.

In the darkness, the striking contours of his face emerged, and my mouth fell open.

His sudden movement drew the attention of several audience members.

Before I could stop him, Cruello loudly announced,

"Well, well, look who it is!"

Instantly, every eye in the theater turned toward us.

I panicked, but Cruello remained unfazed.

His gaze fixated sharply on ‘Bonetti’s man.’

"Isn’t that Viscount Genum?"

…Pebula, help me.