I found Fritzh near the greenhouse, an elegant structure of glass and wrought iron attached to the east side of the manor like a giant crystal filled with life. Inside, the Lynch family's strictly structured world became slightly wild and organic. The scent of damp earth, green vegetation, and exotic flowers replaced the smell of polishing oil and household perfumes. It was a breathing space for this manor, and it seemed to be one for its butler as well.
He was bent over a patch of purple flowering plants, his hands—usually covered in pristine white gloves—now bare and stained with soil, gently examining the leaves. The sight was so incongruous with the image of Fritzh as a perfect service machine that it made me pause for a moment at the entrance. Here, among growing life, he seemed a little more human, a little less like an extension of the Lynch household. But only a little.
My feet, clad in fine leather boots, made a soft crunching sound on the greenhouse's stone floor. That sound, however slight, was enough. His tall and rather large frame—still imposing despite his advanced age—tensed for a moment, then relaxed. He didn't turn immediately; first, with careful movements, he placed a small gardening tool beside him, wiped his hands on a linen napkin he kept in his pocket, and only then, with practiced grace, did he turn to face me.
"Is there something you need, Young Master?" His aged face, carved by time and service, regarded me. The large build typical of a Feysacian, his neatly combed silver-white hair, and his charcoal-black eyes—eyes that had watched John grow from a fussy child into an often-indifferent young man—swept over me in a single glance. His expression strove for politeness, as usual, a mask of perfect servant's deference. Yet behind it, in the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the almost imperceptible way his eyebrows rose, lay genuine confusion. My presence here in the greenhouse, seeking him out directly in broad daylight, was clearly outside John's usual routine. John would typically send a message or wait until Fritzh found him in the library or his study. Seeking him out like this signified urgency, and the John Lynch he knew was seldom in a hurry for anything except acquiring the latest Roselle collectible.
"Fritzh, do you have any information about the event later?" I asked, trying to mimic John's usual slightly grumbling, bored tone when dealing with "family affairs." I raised one eyebrow slightly, a gesture I hoped conveyed lazy curiosity, not the gnawing anxiety I actually felt.
His sharp black eyes blinked once, as if processing my question. Then, a faint smile—more a softening of his tight-lipped line—appeared. "Yes, Young Master. I was just about to seek you out shortly to brief you on the event," he said, his voice as low and measured as ever, yet with an almost inaudible note of approval, as if he approved of my sudden initiative. "How fortuitous that you came to ask about this." The smile widened slightly, creating more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. It was the smile of a teacher seeing his student finally doing his homework without being told.
A shallow wave of relief washed through me. So, there had indeed been a plan to inform me. I hadn't made a mistake by asking. But that relief was immediately replaced by a pressing need. I couldn't just sit and wait for a briefing; I needed details, and I needed to sort through them now, to plan, to survive.
"Good, please give me the information," I urged promptly, my voice sounding slightly sharper than I intended. John might be lazy, but he wasn't impatient, especially about things he found boring. I had to be careful.
Fritzh nodded, either ignoring my urgent tone or perhaps attributing it to natural nervousness before an important event. He folded his now-clean hands in front of him, assuming his characteristic "reporting" stance.
"The event will be attended by many nobles and several major industrialists besides this family," he began with a broad statement.
In my head, a voice hissed with frustration. I didn't need that information! Everyone knew an event attended by the royal family would involve nobles or other major industrialists. This was empty formality, and I had no time for formalities. Every wasted second was a second I wasn't preparing to face the lions at court, or worse, to avoid accidentally stepping on one of their tails and altering the plot.
"I already know that, Fritzh," I immediately interjected, cutting off his smooth explanation. I saw his calm black eyes widen slightly, surprised by my interruption. John was usually more polite, or at least more passive, in such conversations. But the danger was too great to worry about courtesy. "However, I need specific information. Which important figures will be attending this event?" I said, looking directly at him, trying to infuse my gaze with an intensity I thought a serious heir—not the usually indifferent John, but a version suddenly aware of his burdens—would possess.
This was part of my strategy. If I had to interact, it had to be in the least attention-grabbing, most ordinary way possible, in line with John's memories of previous social events. When I finally had to interact with Prince Edessak or other important figures, it had to be a quick, bland, and immediately forgettable interaction. I couldn't be the center of attention. I couldn't say the wrong thing. But to avoid the quicksand, I had to know where it was, to avoid significant plot deviations.
I had already been thinking that it seemed I wouldn't be able to completely adhere to the rule of not altering the plot entirely in the future, so I had actually decided to be more lenient about this. The important thing was avoiding major interventions, but I might allow myself small changes to minor things—heh, heh, I speak as if I'm a fanfic writer! But even though I think small interventions might be permissible, they must be minimal. Besides, I don't know the butterfly effect, and the less the plot diverges, the better for me.
Fritzh was silent for a moment, studying me. The warm, humid air of the greenhouse suddenly felt stifling. Finally, he nodded again, slowly, as if accepting my change in attitude as part of a newfound "seriousness" for the event.
"Of course, Young Master. The important figures attending the party are Prince Edessak, Prime Minister Aguesid Negan, and several domestic ministers of Loen," he said, his voice soft and measured again, but now each word was laden with the weight of significance. "This event is intended for the various noble families and industrialists in Backlund who have assisted Loen up to now, so of course, almost all significant figures are coming," he added by way of explanation.
Prime Minister Aguesid Negan?
The name hit me like a blow to the gut. This wasn't just an award ceremony for warship contributions. This was a high-level gathering. This was Loen's inner circle of power. And the Lynch family was invited into it. Just how formidable was Charles... or how much real influence did we actually wield?
My mind spun. This was too big. And how could this family interact directly with the prime minister yet never interact with Klein throughout the story? But then, cold, paranoid logic—the logic of a reader who knew this world was larger than a single protagonist—took over. Hah... that's actually somewhat normal, I whispered to myself, trying to quell the panic. Because in the end, it's impossible for Klein to interact with everyone in the world. The world of LoTM is vast, with countless layers of power and conspiracy. It's entirely plausible for there to be a wealthy family, church donors, military contractors operating in a completely different orbit from a still low-level Sherlock Moriarty consultant or Klein as the terrifying, insane Gehrman Sparrow assassin. Klein had no reason to interact with a family like the Lynches, at least not yet. And obviously, most truly wealthy or noble people in the Kingdom of Loen are very private; it's rather impossible for Klein to suddenly meet them.
But then, another implication surfaced, more frightening than mere social hierarchy. With the information that ministers would be coming, Audrey's father would certainly attend this event. Earl Hall. A high-ranking noble, a party leader, a major bank shareholder, and most importantly, the father of Audrey Hall, a future member of the Tarot Club. A fresh tremor of fear crept down my spine. I wouldn't be near the protagonist, but I would be near the family of a main character. That was only one degree of separation.
But at least I know about this now, and I will be extremely careful at the event! I will be a shadow, an elegant statue, only nodding and smiling. Because Audrey's father will be there, there's a tiny chance—an extremely small, almost nonexistent one—that Audrey herself might suddenly appear. She's not an adult yet, not a Beyonder, still confined to a sheltered noble daughter's life. But in this world, anything can happen. And better safe than sorry, right? Better to consider every young blonde woman a potential threat who could see through me as a fraud with one glance.
As I sank into this paranoid analysis, something shifted before me. Suddenly, Fritzh's gentle, politely smiling expression vanished. The smile disappeared, replaced by a blankness, then a firmness. He narrowed his sharp black eyes, and his gaze, previously polite and servile, now pierced directly into my green eyes. The warm air in the greenhouse seemed to grow cold.
"Actually, Young Master," he said, and his voice lost its soft servant's tone. It was now flat, serious, and filled with an authority I rarely heard from him. "Your father asked me to convey this to you. Officially, as the heir of the Lynch family."
My heart, already pounding from the guest list, now felt like it would explode from my chest. What was this? What else could Charles have to convey through Fritzh that required such a drastic change in demeanor?
"Why?" I replied hastily, my voice sounding higher, more urgent than I intended. My confusion was now real, not feigned.
Fritzh didn't answer immediately. He looked at me, as if making sure he had my full attention. The soft hiss of the automated watering system and the buzz of small insects among the flowers suddenly sounded very loud.
"So... this world is not as simple as we imagine," he said to me, each word enunciated clearly and carefully, like someone laying bricks in a wall.
"This world harbors many mysterious and illogical things that do not align with all that we understand," he continued, his eyes locking onto mine, not allowing me to glance away.
"There are people with abilities that make them far stronger than normal humans and grant them supernatural powers, and most of them are assets of the state."
Wait?
My thoughts froze, then exploded into chaos. Did he mean Beyonders? How was this possible? How could Fritzh, the loyal butler of the Lynch family, suddenly be talking about Beyonders? To me? To John? How was I supposed to respond? My first instinct was to play John's role fully. Shouldn't this be shocking news to John, since he was supposedly only learning about it now? John Lynch, the antique collector and Roselle admirer, was supposed to know nothing about the dark world beneath the surface of Loen society. He should be shocked. He should be disbelieving.
But behind the mask, my own panic skyrocketed. Unconsciously, my heartbeat quickened. Not because I was surprised by the information—I already knew all of it—but because I was suddenly entangled with something I never expected from this family. This was a completely new rabbit hole, and I was falling into it without warning.
Is this family a Beyonder family? The thought whirled, wild and frightening. Hah, this development is truly bizarre, because all my memories of this family are completely normal, protests the absorbed memories of John. No hints, no clues. Charles is an industrialist. Eleanor is a devout mother. Viola... clever, but human. And it seemed almost impossible for any member to be a Beyonder. But why is Fritzh talking about this now? What is his purpose?
I had to respond. I had to be John. Now.
"What do you mean, Fritzh?" I said, forcing an exaggerated tone of confusion into my voice. I furrowed my brow, drew my eyebrows together, and let my mouth hang open slightly, wearing a perfect expression of shock. "Are you drunk?" I added, trying to inject a bit of suspicion and disdain into the tone, as John might towards a servant spouting nonsense.
Fritzh was unmoved. His serious gaze did not waver. "No, Young Master, this is reality," he stated, his voice low but undeniable. Those tunnel-like black eyes stared at me, showing a depth of seriousness that made me want to retreat. "Those who possess abilities beyond normal humans and supernatural powers are called 'Beyonders,' and as the heir of the Lynch family, your father asked me to inform you of this because this family is a significant donor to the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery and to this nation, so it is not impossible that you will interact with them."
His words pulsed in the air like a heartbeat. Significant donor. Not impossible to interact. That wasn't an admission that we were part of them, but a warning that we existed on the periphery of their world. Like someone telling their child not to play near the railroad tracks, not because they were engineers, but because they lived near the station.
My hands felt clammy inside my trouser pockets, my palms sweating coldly. But I had to keep up the act. This was a test, not just of information, but of my reaction. Did Charles suspect something? Or was this truly just a rite of passage for the heir of a wealthy family? I had to probe, but carefully.
"This is nonsense, Fritzh," I uttered, shaking my head slowly, playing the part of someone struggling to accept an unpleasant reality. My feigned shocked expression remained plastered on my face.
But I needed more. I needed to know how deep this rabbit hole went. In a hesitant tone, as if shaken by this information and trying to find a handhold, I asked, "If this is true... is our family among those 'Beyonders'?" My voice trembled slightly—not too much, just enough to display uncertainty.
Fritzh observed me for a long, long time. Then, he let out a small sigh, almost like relief. "No, the Lynch family are not 'Beyonders,'" he stated, and his neutral tone returned, as if he were delivering an unpleasant but common fact. "But the family has been involved with 'Beyonders' several times, so you need to know this to protect your safety."
To protect your safety.
The words echoed. That wasn't an admission, but a warning. An acknowledgment that the Lynch world, with all its wealth and influence, was vulnerable to something darker, more dangerous. And now, I, the impostor at its heart, had to be wary of it too.
I sighed, a long exhale full of forced relief and pretended acceptance. "Alright..." I mumbled, averting my gaze from him, as if processing this shocking information. I continued pretending to know nothing, wearing the mask of slightly shaken confusion and disbelief.
But inside, my mind was screaming. The Lynch family had been "involved" with Beyonders. Did that mean contracts with the Steam Church? Or something darker? Did Charles know more than he let on? Was this what he meant by "assets of the state"? Did all our wealth and influence have a price paid with knowledge of the world beneath the surface?
And most importantly: If the original John Lynch was supposed to learn this now, as the heir... what else did he not know? What else would be "informed" to me? And how could I maintain this pretense when the ground beneath my feet turned out to have layers of secrets I never even suspected?
Fritzh was still looking at me, waiting for further reaction. I had to say something. I had to be the shocked, skeptical, but ultimately obedient-to-paternal-authority John.
"Tell father... I understand," I finally said, my voice sounding flat, stunned. "I'll be careful."
That was something John might say. Sufficiently obedient, sufficiently skeptical.
Fritzh nodded, satisfied. His serious expression melted, returning to the usual polite creases. "Very good, Young Master. I will convey it. Now, regarding the protocol for tonight's event..."
He continued talking, explaining the order of arrival, how to greet, suitable and unsuitable topics. I listened, nodding at the appropriate times, but my mind was far away, sinking into a dark sea of new questions.
The Lynch family turned out to be not only wealthy and socially dangerous. It also bordered on the Beyonder world. And I, with my half-knowledge and false identity, now had to navigate both simultaneously.
It hadn't even been one full day yet. So many things had already happened; truly, this might be one of the most exhausting days of my life across both worlds. Yet I hoped that after this event, everything would become more peaceful and stable.