[Complete] Ch 14.1 The World of Otome Game is a Second Chance for Broken Swords (Patreon)

The World of Otome Game

 is a Second Chance for Broken Swords

Story Starts

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Chapter 14.1 -

The School Trip

"Good morning, mistress!" Britomart greeted her as Angelica stepped out of her room into the common area of her assigned dormitory.

"Good morning, Britomart."

Angelica paused at the threshold. It had been weeks since she'd woken here. Usually she slept at Leon's place, in Olivia's room, the three of them sharing meals and conversation late into the night. Even during the Wayne request, when everything had gone wrong, she'd stayed in Leon's dormitory alongside Britomart and Melt.

Waking up in her own quarters felt strange. Foreign, almost.

"Will you still stubbornly eat breakfast here?" Britomart asked, her tone light but pointed.

"Brit—"

"Master." Britomart cut through her protest. "The two are worried about you. They want to give you space, but at the same time they're confused about what they did to earn a cold shoulder."

Angelica pulled a stool from beneath the kitchen counter and sat, shoulders slumping. The wood was cold through her uniform skirt.

"They seemed perfectly happy within their own world."

The words came out before she could stop them, petulant and childish. She hated how they sounded.

"Those two can be quite perceptive individually, but together, especially in their honeymoon phase, they can be quite dense."

Britomart chuckled. She walked around the counter and wrapped her arms around Angelica from behind, resting her chin on Angelica's shoulder. The warmth was immediate.

"It's not funny—" Angelica said, though the protest came out weak.

"Did you know all of the guardian spirits pretty much know, or at least have guessed, why you are acting like this?"

Angelica stiffened. "Then what am I feeling? I don't think even I know what I'm feeling—all I know is that I'm frustrated."

"You feel left out," Britomart said plainly. Her hand moved to Angelica's head and patted it. It reminded Angelica of her mother, years ago, before political lessons had replaced bedtime stories.

"Ah—"

Angelica began to object, but the words died in her throat.

"Ever since your debacle with the prince, it has been the three of you," Britomart said. "Sure, Mégane is sometimes there, and now we have Erica—and after the field trip, we'll probably have more guardian spirits joining the household."

Angelica leaned back into her. Britomart tightened her hold.

"But the bond forged after Folkvangr was something you valued. Your friendship with Mistress Olivia blossomed into something irreplaceable." A pause. "And let's not delude ourselves about the thing growing between you and Leon—something the prince would probably never have given you."

"We are still close—" Angelica protested. "We still had that nightcap the other night."

The night they'd returned to the campus. The night after she'd heard—

Angelica shook the thought away.

Leon had kept his promise and prepared snacks to go with the wine, and they'd drunk until morning. But it had been visibly awkward, the three of them reaching for topics that died after two or three exchanges.

"Yes, but it was obviously filled with tension." Britomart's fingers moved lightly over her shoulder. "And you keep making excuses to limit your time with them since. You haven't even slept in their dormitory."

"They don't seem to show that they're worried."

"Again, they're giving you space. Plus, they're in that period where everything is new to them, the development between the two. Something I know you know Mistress Olivia has been pining for ever since you met her."

Angelica couldn't help the hmph that escaped her. She caught herself immediately.

'Was she really jealous of the two?'

"I don't think you are jealous in the classic sense," Britomart said, as though reading her thoughts. "It's more that the distance between Leon and Mistress Olivia has finally been removed, and you feel left out."

She released Angelica and moved to face her, meeting her eyes directly.

"You think it's no longer the trio. Especially with Mégane, Erica—and the interest of others like the Atlee heir. You're scared that you'll be left behind."

The words landed. Angelica looked away.

"Both Mistress Olivia and Leon care for you," Britomart continued. "They are not the prince, nor do they think of you as some kind of political piece. They truly think of you as someone close to them."

Someone close.

Angelica remembered the prince's face when he'd dismissed her at that tea party, the way he'd looked through her as though she were furniture. Eleven years of preparation, of moulding herself into the perfect consort, only to be discarded for that girl.

Leon had never looked at her that way. Neither had Olivia.

"Now," Britomart said, her voice brightening, "should we stop this moping?"

Angelica sighed heavily.

"Now, now, that look doesn't suit you. Give me a smile and let's have breakfast with everyone. I know you've missed that."

A weak smile tugged at Angelica's lips. "I'd like that."

"Plus, today's the field trip. It would be bad if the three of you couldn't enjoy it to the fullest." Britomart's face fell into an exaggerated pout. "I feel that it's unfair that guardian spirits aren't included whilst attendants are allowed."

The isle they were visiting was neutral ground, with no ties to any kingdom, federation, or governing body, and a school full of nobles with their guardian spirits would look more like an occupying force than an innocent field trip. Angelica understood the reasoning, even if she didn't like leaving Britomart behind.

This time she managed a genuine chuckle. "I'll be sure to bring you back some souvenirs. Plus, all of you will be following closely. I'm sure Luxion can give you a feed of the place."

She stood, smoothed her school uniform, and met Britomart's eyes. "Come. Let's have some breakfast with everyone."

Britomart smiled warmly at her master.

They headed for the corridor. Angelica's steps felt lighter than they had in days.

"Brit—"

"Yes, please call me Brit."

"Brit."

"Yes, master?"

"Thank you."

Britomart bumped Angelica's hip with her own as they left for Leon's dormitory.

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Angelica walked the corridor towards Leon's dormitory, Britomart matching her pace. The morning light filtered through the arched windows, casting long rectangles across the stone floor. Students passed in pairs and small groups, voices hushed with pre-departure excitement. The field trip had consumed conversation for the past week.

She reached the familiar door and knocked twice.

The door swung open almost immediately.

"Good morning, Mistress Angelica!"

Meltryllis beamed at her from the threshold, her hair catching the morning light.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast?"

"Y—"

Before Angelica could finish, Britomart's arms draped around her shoulders from behind, pulling her into a loose embrace.

"I finally got master here out of her funk."

Angelica turned her head, face flattening into something between resignation and mild betrayal. Britomart gave Meltryllis an exaggerated wink.

Angelica extracted herself from Britomart's grasp with what dignity she could salvage.

"Have they not woken up yet?"

She was already moving towards Olivia's quarters as she asked, heels clicking against the hardwood.

"Wait!"

Meltryllis's voice came sharp, urgent—but Angelica's hand was already on the handle.

She opened the door wide.

Angelica froze.

The first thing she registered was Olivia. Olivia was on the chair by the foot of the bed, the high-backed reading chair Leon had imported from the capital.

The next thing Angelica registered was Illya. The guardian spirit lay on the bed with her head towards the footboard, silver-white hair fanned across the rumpled sheets.

Her eyes travelled upward to who loomed above Illya.

Leon.

Leon held one of Illya's ankles close to his head whilst his other hand pressed against her inner thigh.

Blink. Blink.

Olivia had her legs spread wide, heels braced at the chair's edge, knees drawn up against her chest. Her hand was between her—

Blink. Blink.

They were all naked.

"Yes, take her slowly—I want to see e-ve-ry—" Olivia's voice came breathy, each syllable drawn out. Her head turned lazily towards the door.

They were all naked.

They were all naked.

Leon shifted his grip, and Angelica's gaze dropped involuntarily to something long between his legs, angled towards—

'Don't.'

"Angelica?!"

Red eyes met red eyes.

Heterochromatic met red eyes.

Green eyes met red eyes.

Green eyes met heterochromatic.

Angelica's gaze drifted downward again, tracing the line of Leon's—

'No. Stop. Don't look there.'

Her eyes snapped back up. Then down. Then up again.

The weatherless face—the face that had held through Frampton's insinuations, through three drafts of the farce, through a hall full of hostile nobility—crumpled like wet parchment.

"Wh—wha—what's this de—debauchery!"

The words came out strangled, pitched higher than she'd ever heard her own voice.

"Get a goddamned room!"

"Yo! We were already in a ro—oomph."

Leon's hand clamped over Illya's mouth before she could finish. His other hand released her ankle and reached back for something—a sheet, a pillow, anything—but the motion only ensured that certain organs standing at attention were further thrust—

'Stop looking, Angelica!'

"WELL THEN LOCK THE DAMNED DOOR!"

Her voice cracked on the final word. Her face burned. Her ears burned. The back of her neck burned. Parts she didn't know could burn were burning.

She slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Her feet carried her through the living room at speed. She passed Meltryllis, passed Britomart—

The dormitory door banged shut behind her.

In the living room, Meltryllis and Britomart exchanged glances across the suddenly silent space.

Britomart sighed. It was the sigh of a woman who had spent considerable effort extracting her master from one problem only to watch her walk directly into another.

Scrambling erupted from Olivia's room. Thuds. A muffled curse in Leon's voice. Something that sounded like a pillow hitting a wall.

"So," Meltryllis said, turning to Britomart with polite inquiry, "will that be another pass on the breakfast?"

Britomart pinched the bridge of her nose.

More scrambling. A drawer opening. Another thud.

"I'll go after her," Britomart said. "You might want to—" She gestured vaguely towards Olivia's door.

"Remind them that locks exist?"

"That would be a start."

Britomart moved towards the corridor door, then paused with her hand on the frame.

From Olivia's room came Leon's voice, muffled but audible: "—told you we should have—"

"You didn't complain when I suggested—"

"That's not the point!"

Britomart decided she didn't need to hear the rest. She slipped through the door and set off after her master, leaving Meltryllis alone with the cooling breakfast and the sounds of Leon failing to locate his trousers.

-=&<o>&=-

The luxury liner cut through open sky. Leon stood at the promenade rail and watched the clouds thin as they pushed south.

The field trip. Two words that conjured images of packed lunches and educational pamphlets. What Leon got instead was a floating casino resort with a string quartet in the lobby and complimentary champagne at boarding.

Their destination was a warm island in the southern archipelago where the seasons ran contrary to what you expect when you're living in the stratosphere. At this altitude, an island could run climate magic to mimic what the planet's surface had once been like. It was ruinously expensive. He'd already priced the enchantments for his own territory—better crop yields—but that was a project for next year.

He had, of course, declined Luxion's offer to synthesise precious metals.

"So this is your second time doing the school trip?"

Lucle fell into step beside him as they drifted through the main casino floor. Roulette wheels clicked. Cards snapped against felt. Somewhere deeper in, a girl shrieked at a winning hand.

"The island's a tourist spot," Lucle said. "They hold a festival this time every year. The atmosphere's something else entirely."

"A festival." Leon stroked his chin.

"Cultural exchange, officially. The local girls wear yukata to the festivities, and academy students are encouraged to participate. If a boy's lucky, he might get the chance to escort a girl through the evening. Get to know each other properly, away from all the posturing back at school."

"Sounds like your moment, Lucle. Give it everything you've got."

Lucle pumped both fists, grinning wide enough to split his face.

Leon's gaze drifted across the casino floor. Angelica sat at the bar counter, a glass of something pale in hand, surrounded by a knot of girls Leon recognised as her former entourage. They leant in with eager smiles and careful laughter, each one angling to reclaim the favour they'd abandoned when the prince cast Angelica aside. Angelica's responses came clipped—polite enough to avoid offence, cold enough to discourage lingering. Her shoulders held a tension that had nothing to do with the sycophants.

She hadn't looked in Leon's direction once since boarding.

Olivia, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. She'd spent the entire day trailing after Angelica—appearing at her elbow in the dining hall, waiting outside the powder room, hovering near the observation lounge—and Angelica had dodged every attempt. Excuses about prior engagements. Sudden interest in conversations with people she barely tolerated. Once, a brisk turn down a service corridor that left Olivia standing alone in the passageway.

The last Leon had heard, Olivia had retreated to their cabin in defeat.

'This morning's mess is going to take more than an apology to sort.'

Lucle glanced sideways at him. "You're quite lucky, having things already arranged."

"It's not as easy as you think." Leon exhaled through his nose.

"That's for the best. Us low-middle rankers have our own set of girls to aim for. Chasing someone whose status doesn't match yours is only asking for heartbreak." Lucle paused. "At least despite your punishment, it looks like the palace hasn't fully pulled support. That counts for something, yeah?"

Leon made a noncommittal sound.

Lucle's gaze shifted past him. "Look—it's the Swordmaster."

Chris sat at a poker table near the far wall, posture rigid, expression flat. He raked in a pile of chips without a flicker of satisfaction, studied his next hand for three seconds, then stood and walked away from the table mid-deal.

Separated from Marie and the others for the duration of the trip. Had to be boring.

His exit drew a wake of girls.

"Lord Chris, what shall we play next?"

"There's a pool on the upper deck—won't you swim with me?"

"No, come eat with me instead!"

Chris sighed and quickened his pace. The dismissal only sharpened their interest.

Leon breathed out a sigh of his own. Chris's head turned. Chris gave a single curt nod.

Leon returned it.

The moment held a beat too long before Lucle nudged his arm. "I'm headed to roulette. Fancy trying your luck?"

"I'm not one for gambling," Leon said, turning away.

No. He would never gamble with locks again.

-=&<o>&=-

Below deck, in a storage compartment stacked with crates and covered furniture, two girls huddled between the shadows, their voices barely above whispers.

"If we're humble with her, she acts all arrogant!"

"Well, she's a duke's daughter. What do you expect?"

The speaker—a viscount's daughter with auburn ringlets—crossed her arms and leaned against a shipping crate. Her companion, a baron's heir with sharp features and sharper eyes, nodded in agreement.

Both had been part of Angelica's retinue before the Folkvangr debacle. Their group had spent weeks attempting to regain her favour after losing her trust, bringing gifts, offering apologies, hovering at the edges of her social engagements. Most of their number genuinely sought reconciliation.

These two did not.

"My house will be cutting ties with the Redgraves," the auburn-haired girl said. "Father's already drafting the letters."

"Mine as well." The baron's daughter picked at her sleeve. "The faction supporting the crown prince is all but gone. And Redgrave House keeps losing power."

Julius's disinheritance had sent ripples through the nobility. The houses that once rallied around him—hoping to reap rewards when he took the throne—now scattered like startled birds. Duke Redgrave, as Julius's primary ally, bore the brunt of the exodus. Former friends remembered urgent appointments elsewhere. Long-standing agreements suddenly required renegotiation.

The auburn girl reached into her satchel and withdrew a cylindrical object, brass-capped with a string dangling from one end.

"How are we supposed to use this thing?"

"They said to pull the string and throw it outside." The baron's daughter glanced towards the door. "We'll stand out if we do it on deck, so somewhere else. A porthole, maybe."

"Will this work?"

"I suppose?"

The auburn girl yanked the string. Smoke began pouring from the cylinder immediately, thick and acrid. She yelped and flung it through the nearest porthole, the brass tube tumbling into the open sky.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

They exchanged uncertain looks, then dusted off their skirts and smoothed their expressions into masks of pleasant neutrality. The storage door creaked as they slipped back into the corridor, footsteps quick and light as they made their way towards Angelica's cabin.

Neither noticed the trail of coloured smoke blooming against the clouds behind them.

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End

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