Chapter 5
"I picked up some cider earlier. It's practically non-alcoholic. What would you like to do?"
"...Then open that for me."
Josée and Serge watched closely as the golden liquid trickled into the glass, catching the soft light.
Just beyond their toast, a group of courtesans approached, dressed in plain, old-fashioned white gowns. The sight made Serge pause.
"Don’t tell me... those dresses are—"
"Yes. The same style once forced on female prisoners, long ago."
Their foreheads nearly touched as they whispered in hushed tones. Then, the sharp clatter of an approaching carriage broke the moment.
Serge straightened instinctively, a neutral expression slipping over his features like a mask.
The doors to the hall swung open—and in strode Frédéric himself.
A stocky man in his middle years, his beard was streaked with white, and his balding pate gleamed under the lights. But his sharp eyes held the cunning glint of a seasoned politician. Though he held no official post at the moment, Frédéric remained a key figure in the largest faction—the Liberal Party.
The instant he spotted Serge, he made a beeline for him.
"Well, if it isn’t Serge of the Radical Party."
The two of them, though both members of the House of Nobles, stood on opposing ends of a political battlefield. Serge smiled politely.
"Councilman Fédor... it’s been a while."
"We last met at a military conference, back when you were still in uniform. How’s that arm? The injury from the war?"
Serge flexed his arm slightly in demonstration.
"It moves well enough now."
"I owe a lot to your father. Let’s keep working together, shall we?"
Frédéric extended his hand. A thick gold ring gleamed on his left ring finger.
Serge offered his own left hand in return. Their handshake was firm—but beneath the surface, sparks of rivalry flared.
Just then, the courtesans drifted closer with perfect timing, swaying to draw Frédéric’s attention.
"Frédéric-samaaa, who will you take tonight?"
Frédéric answered without a hint of shame, puffing out his chest.
"Tonight? I’ll take all of you!"
The courtesans shrieked with laughter as he swept three of them into his arms and climbed the stairs, his booming laughter echoing behind him.
Serge stared after him in stunned silence while Josée chuckled softly beside him, amused by the contrast between the old and new generation of councilmen.
"Most of the staff have been taken upstairs today... The second floor’s reserved until six."
"So no other guests will come up here before then?"
"No, though the first floor’s still open."
Just as Josée finished off her cider—
"Madame Josée, I’m coming in!"
"My, Lord Mathieu. Already in high spirits, are we?"
"Second stop of the night... Hey, who’s that guy?"
"Serge-sama. A councilman with the Radical Party."
"Hah? Pretty damn young... Is he a noble?"
"Yes."
"Tch. The House of Nobles should’ve been scrapped ages ago. Someday, we’ll fill every seat with commoners!"
Serge blinked, caught off guard. Josée leaned in and murmured:
"That’s the head of Lacroix Trading. A rapidly growing jewelry company. They just landed an exclusive deal with a new department store. With the royal family cutting back on spending, they’re making a killing selling affordable accessories to the masses."
Serge nodded subtly, taking it in.
"...Never heard of the company."
"A new player. Nobles wouldn’t be caught dead wearing their mass-produced gems. But commoners—and especially courtesans—can’t get enough of them."
Mathieu, finding no courtesans available, settled in beside Josée. Then—
"Hey, Michelle not here today?"
Another guest entered, trailed by a small entourage of men.
"Oh, Baron Aubry. Michelle’s currently entertaining upstairs."
"When’s she comin’ down?"
"Around six, most likely."
"Got a banquet next week—want her to sing."
"She’s free next week. Would you like me to book her?"
"Don’t be daft. I’m wooing her, not hiring a singer. I’ll ask her myself. Might even start dropping by weekly."
Josée waved over a waiter and placed a round of orders. The clatter of pots and pans erupted from the kitchen.
"Oi, you there. What’s your name?"
"...Serge. Serge de Baradur."
"Hah! A councilman? That’s just a dumping ground for nobles without titles, honor, or real jobs!"
"......"
"Order something, councilman... Wait, is that ladies' cider? Open something proper, cheapskate! Waiter! Whiskey!"
Suddenly, the atmosphere in Lirondelle shifted into chaos. Men waiting for courtesans grew rowdy, their boisterous banter heating up the room. Serge loosened his tie, sweat gathering at his collar.
In this tangle of laughter and lewd jokes, class lines blurred. Serge hesitated—then cautiously joined the free-for-all energy.
"Surprised? This is the underworld’s underbelly," Josée said with a wry smile, her cheeks flushed from the cider.
Serge nodded, sipping his second glass.
"But this brothel? It’s just the beginning. You know where the real underworld hides? The palace. There’s a secret salon there—an exclusive one. Harder to get into than the highest echelons of society. I’ve never been... but don’t you want to go, Serge?"
He swallowed hard, about to respond—
"Police! Someone call the police!!"
A furious shout snapped through the room, silencing the laughter in an instant.
Frédéric stormed down the stairs, face flushed red with rage.