Author: Sasaki Ichiro	Original Source: Syosetu
Translator: Mab	English Source: Re:Library
Editor(s): Silva

Project GB is an official initiative by Re:Library.

That said, the reality here was a far cry from the villainous picture that I had imagined based on that title. We’d pictured a tasteless room dripping in nouveau riche excess, a life of depravity: drinking from noon, gnawing on meat bones, puffing cigars, surrounded by half-dressed women in a dimly lit den of indulgence. A textbook villain.

Instead, what we encountered was a refined room more befitting a nobleman’s office, tasteful furnishings, and disciplined staff—everything about this place was completely at odds with our expectations, leaving us thoroughly perplexed.

The man appeared before us, accompanied by a female secretary in her late thirties who looked like she could handle absolutely anything. Dressed in a sharp black suit, she gave off an aura of crisp competence.

He paused briefly upon seeing us.

Suddenly, I felt his gaze settle on me. For just a moment, his expression shifted, as if something familiar had stirred within him. It was fleeting, a strange mix of nostalgia and sorrow that crumbled almost into a tearful smile… only to vanish a heartbeat later, his face returning to its composed state.

Then, with a slightly theatrical gesture, he spread his arms wide to welcome us.

“Welcome to the Gingerbread House. I was informed by the Boss and have been expecting you. I am the master of this establishment and a merchant, Daniel Oliver. I thank the gods for bringing us together.”

“Heya! Long time no see, nya!”

Among our group, which had been momentarily thrown off by his refined welcome, only Chaton had clearly anticipated this development. With the casual air of someone visiting a relative’s house, she strode right into the room.

“My, my… It’s been a while, Lady Chaton. Is the Boss in good health?”

“’Course he is, nya. Though he’s off visiting his hometown now, so he won’t be back for a while. But then, you never really know whether he’s around or not anyway, so nothin’s changed, nya.”

“As elusive as ever, I see.”

Daniel chuckled heartily, his shoulders shaking with laughter. After a moment, his gaze drifted past us—toward Lana, who was clutching my hand and hiding behind me.

“My, what an adorable child. This girl and her sister were the reason for your visit, yes? Considering it happened three years ago, it took us a little bit of digging, but I did find a relevant record. Seems like one of my grunts was involved in the ordeal.”

“ “ “————!!!” ” ”

The bluntness of his statement snapped us out of the mood we had started to fall into. We were reminded, all at once, that this place was a slave trader’s mansion, and the man before us was someone who handled young children as commodities. Our expressions stiffened once more.

“…Please, there’s no need to be so tense. In her case, it seems someone from a subsidiary branch conducted an unauthorized under-the-table deal out of greed for petty cash. I was not personally involved. That said… I do acknowledge that, as her suffering stems from the failure of our oversight, your anger is justified. Ordinarily, we are quite careful in choosing our trading partners.”

Daniel’s gaze shifted toward the large glass window, where the sounds of children laughing echoed in from outside.

“In truth, most of the children here were sold by their parents, abandoned in poverty, or fled after being abused. It may sound presumptuous, but if we had not taken them in, many would have died by the roadside, turned to crime, or met even worse fates. Of course, we’re not a charity—we are running a business—but we do take pride in contributing, in some measure, to these children’s futures. …If I may be frank, I believe what’s truly broken is this world itself.”

As he spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone, gently brushing the scar beneath his eye and shrugging, none of us could find the words to respond.

♢♦♢♦♢

—In Jill’s subjective present. Thirty years ago, in the slums of the Holy City Thera Maryth—

After handing the centaur gatekeeper a letter of introduction from the Guildmaster, we waited for over an hour.

If Coppelia, whose boiling point was lower than that of liquid nitrogen, had been here, she probably would have exploded with: “How dare they keep Lady Clara waiting! If they’re not ready in forty seconds, I’ll destroy this shack and drown the whole city in flames!”

…And she very well might have followed through.

(Good thing I didn’t bring her…)

Relieved that she and Cestlavie were reluctantly off investigating elsewhere this time, I was just about to succumb to boredom when a young man in his mid-twenties, dressed like a textbook thug, came walking up from the mansion.

At first glance, he looked pretty average, but the sharpness in his eyes and the build visible even beneath his clothes made it clear: this was a man who made his living through violence.

“How’d it go, Dan? What’s the boss say?”

One of the centaur guards standing in our way asked. The young man, called Dan, gave us—a group consisting of myself, Emil, the members of Twinfang of the Snowy Peaks, and the winged cat Sechs—a cursory glance. Then, scratching his cheek as if annoyed, he replied:

“All good. Said we can’t go disrespectin’ the Shrine Maiden. We’re to welcome her properly.”

At his words, both centaur guards visibly relaxed and lowered their weapons. The Twinfang of the Snowy Peaks also let out quiet sighs of relief and loosened their shoulders.

“Then, Your Holiness, please follow me. I’ll take you inside—”

He bowed with a passably polite manner, but as he raised his head, I noticed him glance at me as if he were about to say something.

“Is something the matter?”
“…No. It’s nothing.”
“?”

He turned away from me with a vague, tight-lipped expression, like he had something stuck between his back teeth.

“Well then, shall we go, Lady Clara?”
“Everyone, don’t let your guard down.”
“ “ “Yes, ma’am!” ” ”

Pushing aside the odd exchange, we all passed through the gates and made our way toward the mansion’s entrance.

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