"You stupid brat!"
The madwoman leaped towards him through the bed, closing the distance between them in less than one moment. Instincts took over again, and he dodged to the side.
The maid plummeted right onto the hard ground, landing head first.
Thud
The sound of her hitting the tiled floor made Edward flinch.
He extended a hand towards to her, who was lying face first on the floor.
"A-are you alright?" He murmured, not really sure about what do to.
Are maids supposed to be this aggressive?
The lady laid on the ground for a while, unmoving.
He was almost about to scream in terror when she slowly pushed herself off the ground and shot him another look.
Edward took a step back, a nervous smile pulled on his lips as he got ready to dodge again.
But the woman didn't jump at him, instead, she got on her feet and dusted her clothes off.
Clearing her throat, she spoke.
"I'm sorry..."
Then she turned around and headed towards his closet.
"I'll prepare your clothes for the day."
Edward stared at the back of her walking away, his mouth slightly agape.
"What... even..."
He blinked a couple of times, not really sure about what had just transpired.
He just stood there awkwardly, until after a few minutes, she called him over to the closet room.
Calling it a room, or even a closet would be an understatement really. It was more like a warehouse of all kinds of clothing, accessories, and... makeup?
"Huh?"
makeup?
The maid stared at the gawking Edward for a moment.
"Is there a problem?"
Edward blinked at her a couple of times.
He pointed at the humongous collection of makeup items.
"Why do i have so much makeup items?"
"What do you mean?" She tilted her head.
"What?"
The maid gave him a puzzled look, then walked over and picked up a piece of fabric.
"Do you know what this is for?"
Edward shook his head, "No"
At this, the confusion in her eyes deepened even more, she picked something else, a box of sorts.
"What about this?"
Edward shook his head again.
"Young master, do you know who i am?"
Edward gave her a long look, then hesitantly blurted out.
"N-no"
***
Emilia almost collapsed on the spot.
She stared at the young child in-front of her, staring at her with deep confusion in his eyes.
"You really don't?"
The child shook his head again, clearly saying no.
Her grip on the box loosened, and slipped out of her, falling on the floor with a loud crack.
She took a couple of deep breaths.
"Young master"
The child stiffened.
"Yes?"
"Did you lose your memories?"
***
Edward inwardly let out a big sigh.
That was close.
"I don't really know..." He answered honestly to the maid's question.
At this the maids eye narrowed. Then she stormed towards him, and grabbing his hand, dragged him out of the closet, then the room itself.
"Where are we going?" He tried asking after a few turns, his voice shaking more than he would have liked it to.
The lady didn't reply, instead she tightened her grip on his hand even more, and dragged him down the hallways, footsteps thundering through the silent manor.
After what felt like an eternity, they stopped right before an ominous room.
She knocked on the door a few times.
The door before them was tall and heavy, carved with twisting ivy patterns that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. It looked old — older than the manor itself, maybe.
Edward shifted uneasily, still catching his breath from being dragged halfway across the mansion. "Uhm… whose room is this?"
The maid didn't answer. Her knuckles rapped against the door again, sharp and deliberate.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
For a moment, nothing stirred on the other side. Then, from within, came a low, smooth hum. A voice followed — calm, slow, and faintly amused.
"Come in."
Before Edward could say anything, the maid pushed the door open and all but shoved him through the threshold.
The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of parchment and tea leaves. Books lined every wall, towering in neat rows, and in the middle sat a man in a dark vest and silver-rimmed glasses. His long hair was tied loosely behind his neck, his expression unreadable.
He didn't look particularly old — perhaps in his thirties — but something about him felt ancient all the same.
"Ah," he said softly, setting his quill down. "So the young master finally visits me of his own accord. That's… unusual."
Edward blinked. "I didn't—she dragged me here."
The maid, Emilia, bowed deeply. "Sir Armand, I believe there's been… an incident."
The man's brows lifted slightly. "An incident?"
"The young master," she hesitated, then continued, "has seemingly lost his memories."
Armand's quill paused midair. He looked from her to Edward — studying, dissecting, seeing far too much.
"Lost them?" he repeated slowly, as though tasting the words. "How unfortunate."
Edward swallowed. "Uh, yeah. I—guess so."
The man rose from his chair. He was tall — taller than Edward expected — and the way he moved was unnerving, too smooth, too deliberate.
He circled once, studying him like a scholar examining a rare specimen.
"No injuries," he murmured. "No visible trauma. Yet your memory is… gone." He adjusted his glasses. "Tell me, young master, do you remember me?"
Edward hesitated. "…Should I?"
A flicker of a smile curved Armand's lips — polite, but not kind. "I am your family's steward," he said. "And your tutor, on occasion. Though I suppose I'll have to reintroduce myself if your condition is genuine."
"Condition?" Edward echoed weakly.
Armand's gaze sharpened. "Memory loss often comes with… instability. The mind begins rewriting itself to survive." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Tell me, then. What is the last thing you remember?"
Edward's pulse spiked. Crap.
"Uh… there were lights? And, um… a loud screeching? Then I woke up here."
The steward tilted his head. "Lights and screeching."
"Yeah." Edward tried to laugh it off. "Probably trauma, right? Hahaha…"
Armand didn't laugh. "Perhaps."
Then,
Ding!
[ Quest Update: Convince Armand your condition is natural ]
[ Failure will result in loss of household privileges ]
Edward blinked at the glowing text, dread sinking in.
What does that mean-
"Speak," Armand interrupted softly.
"Huh?"
The man leaned back slightly, studying him with renewed curiosity. "I said, speak. You went quiet for a moment. What is it you were about to say?"
Edward scrambled for composure. "Oh—uh, just… trauma! Head trauma. Must've hit my head, right? That explains everything!"
For a long moment, Armand simply stared. Then — surprisingly — he gave a small, approving nod.
"Head trauma," he repeated. "Yes… let us hope it's only that."
Edward managed a nervous smile.
But as he turned slightly toward Emilia, he caught something unsettling — a faint glimmer in Armand's eyes. Not suspicion. Not pity. Something colder. Calculating.