"Um... so, when it comes right down to it, it really ought to be me who makes the move, oughtn't it? Contractually speaking."
In her office before dawn, Rosalind murmured this to herself, then checked that no one was around and clamped her mouth shut with a start.
On the desk lay a single blank sheet of paper. The title had already been written.
Re: Future Relations with Grand Duke Vernant, Grand Duke Lucas
—The exact format I drew up hundreds of times in the accounting department of my past life. Only this time, the contents I'm about to write are my own heart.
Let us go back a little.
The fire in the hearth had long since died, and beyond the window lay a deep ultramarine. The snow-capped streets of the grand duchy sat hushed at the bottom of the faint light. The empty office felt a little larger than usual.
When she looked down at the desk, the crumbs of the baked sweet that had crumbled in her hand the previous evening were still faintly scattered across the white paper. A maid had tried to clear them away, but Rosalind had declined.
"I shall tidy it myself."
She had said that, and in the end, the crumbs had stayed exactly where they were until morning.
—Processing has stalled.
Rosalind let out a small breath and sat down.
A low voice still lingered in her head.
Ever since I was born, I've been searching for you alone.
No one else was looking at you. I couldn't believe it.
Ordinarily, she suppressed emotional fluctuations with baked sweets. If that wasn't enough, she wrote out numbers. And if even that wasn't enough—no such situation had ever arisen, in her past life or this one.
Rosalind placed a fresh blank sheet in the center of the desk. She took up her quill and dipped it in ink.
At the top of the page, in her own hand, she wrote:
Re: Future Relations with Grand Duke Vernant, Grand Duke Lucas
Once she had finished, she very nearly laughed. It was the exact same format she had used when drafting approval requests in the accounting department of her past life.
—It seems the habits of a past life don't go away, even after reincarnation.
She remarked as much to herself and straightened her collar.
First: findings of fact.
1. Six years ago, at a party hosted by the Crown Prince, Grand Duke Lucas spoke to a young lady standing by the wall. The young lady in question and the present writer are one and the same.
2. Grand Duke Lucas removes his mask only in my presence. In official settings he maintains an icy expression; when we are alone, the corners of his mouth and his shoulders loosen ever so slightly.
3. Grand Duke Lucas hired me without fearing my abilities, discreetly adjusts my workload, and keeps baked sweets on hand at all times. Furthermore, over the past three years, no instance of his gaze being directed toward another woman has been observed.
Her pen stopped.
The bare list of facts alone already yielded the answer. But Rosalind audited no one more strictly than herself.
Next section.
Regarding My Own Condition
1. Upon hearing Grand Duke Lucas's voice, my decision-making speed decreases slightly. During the third-quarter projections, the time required was approximately 1.4 times the norm.
2. While he was receiving envoys from other countries, my tea tasted more bitter than usual. The tea leaves were the same.
3. Yesterday evening, upon hearing those words, I unconsciously crushed the baked sweet in my hand. This constitutes a clear malfunction of my sweets-consumption behavior, which serves as my emotional processing mechanism.
And—at present, before this very sheet, the fingers holding my pen are trembling slightly.
Rosalind set down the pen. She stared at her right hand. It was indeed trembling, ever so slightly.
She let out a long breath.
—...And just how do you intend to classify this, Rosalind?
Inside her head, another version of herself muttered in exasperation.
Ritsuko Tanaka. Twenty-eight. A woman who collapsed one morning without anyone ever having found her.
She, too, had had paper and pen. She had meticulously noted her overtime hours and every change in her health in the corners of her planner. It was just that no one ever came along to find that one notebook, right up to the end.
—But I was found.
I've been found, so what am I doing not making a move myself? If I don't go now, I'll never be able to look Ritsuko in the face.
Rosalind took up her quill again and added a single line at the end of the section.
It is appropriate to classify the above conditions as "affection."
After writing it, she looked at that line for a while.
It was a strange feeling.
Ever since the day I welcomed my broken engagement with a fist pump, I had treated my own emotions as "matters to be processed." I converted anger and sorrow alike into sarcasm and moved them straight from the in-tray to the out-tray. I had truly believed that was my liberation from my past life.
And yet, when I finished writing that line, something in my chest warmed, just a little.
It seemed there were emotions in this world one was allowed to "retain" rather than "process."
Come to think of it, the usual baked sweets and tea had been set at the corner of the desk. She didn't need to ask who had prepared them.
Usually a small slip of paper came with them, reading "Don't overdo it." This morning was different.
It said, briefly:
You don't have to rush to a conclusion
Rosalind read that one line twice.
—Being told not to hurry only makes me want to hurry, Your Grace. It is simply my nature.
She replied only in her heart, not aloud. Even so, the corners of her mouth rose ever so slightly. Her face had softened enough that she was glad he wasn't there to see it.
The final section.
Rationality check.
1. Complementarity of skill sets: nearly one hundred percent. My areas of expertise mesh precisely with a grand duchy saddled with distortions in its finances and tax system.
2. Interference from my homeland, the Kingdom of Albert, and from the Church's forces can ultimately be cut off.
3. As a personal survival strategy: a place where I am valued, an environment where my name continues to be called, an equal partner, and someone who will notice before I collapse—all of these are already in place. Marriage is merely the procedure for codifying them in a contract.
4. It satisfies nearly every requirement that Ritsuko Tanaka, in my previous life, was unable to obtain.
Her pen stopped.
As she wrote that last item, a small murmur escaped Rosalind.
"Um... so, when it comes right down to it, it really ought to be me who makes the move, oughtn't it? Contractually speaking."
She cleared her throat once. Straightened her posture.
On the last line of the page, she wrote without hesitation:
Conclusion—A review of the contract terms is to be proposed by me.
Once she had finished, she looked at the page for a while.
Beyond the window, the ultramarine was fading, and the edge of the sky had begun to pale. In the empty office, only the sound of Rosalind's breathing echoed quietly.
—Ritsuko.
In her heart, she spoke briefly to her past self.
—Today, I'm going to go and write the contract for my own life. Myself.
—Keep me company for a little while, won't you?
Rosalind folded the paper carefully, then, without batting an eye, added a new item to the very bottom of today's agenda.
Item 13: Review of Employment Contract
Any secretary who saw it would almost certainly doubt their own eyes.