The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent

Chapter 187

Charlotte seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself.

Well, I supposed she wasn’t all that different from Alice, come to think of it. While Alice had been largely neglected, Charlotte hadn’t exactly grown up in a completely free and loving environment either.

The King of Belbour, as depicted in the original work, was a loving father and a ruler who cared deeply for his country. Yet, as a king, he had no choice but to impose strict expectations on Charlotte. Without that discipline, she likely wouldn’t have grown up knowing the proper decorum expected of her station.

Though legally still a minor, the laws defining adulthood were relatively recent on a global scale. In many people’s minds, if a child could walk, carry things, and follow instructions, they were practically an adult.

At fifteen, commoners of the same age would already be working full-time in factories, regardless of gender.

To nobles, royals, and even the imperial family, children of that age were ready to be groomed into their roles.

They were taught politics, strict etiquette, and how to suppress their desires. @@@@

Charlotte’s enrollment in the Academy wasn’t necessarily because she had wanted to attend. Belbour likely had its own renowned schools, and she probably had friends there. But with two imperial princesses and countless children from the Empire’s most influential families attending this Academy, the King of Belbour must have ordered her to come here to observe the political climate.

Charlotte seemed to be enjoying her school life for the most part, but moments like the one on the rooftop earlier hinted at the frustrations she dealt with.

Perhaps she found some guilty pleasure in moments like these, engaging in acts that were slightly subversive.

"By the way, Sylvia," Charlotte said.

"Yes, Princess?"

"Don’t call me ‘Princess.’ Just call me Charlotte. We’re in ‘stealth mode’ now."

Her pronunciation of “Charlotte” leaned so heavily into the Belbour accent that it barely sounded like an imperial name.

But that hardly mattered.

For this “mission,” Charlotte—no, "Charlotte"—had swapped her usual uniform for a modest dress likely purchased nearby. It was the kind of plain brown dress you’d expect to see in a Victorian-era romance, the sort worn by a heroine at the story’s beginning.

Of course, as the saying goes, fashion is all about the person wearing it. On Charlotte, the dress looked anything but plain.

She had even styled her hair into a loose side ponytail and wore a wide-brimmed hat, perhaps trying to blend in as a commoner. But the noble air radiating from her made her attempt at disguise laughable. If she wanted to pass as a commoner, her posture and gait would have to change first.

"In that case, is there any reason for me to keep my name as Sylvia?" I asked.

"My point exactly!"

Charlotte—"Charlotte"—puffed out her cheeks slightly in mock indignation.

"You haven’t even bothered to disguise yourself. You’re still wearing your uniform. What’s the point of me calling you by a different name?"

"..."

I looked around.

It was a sunny Sunday, albeit chilly. A coat was enough to fend off the cold.

And I had a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

Charlotte, however, seemed perplexed. Tilting her head in confusion, she murmured, "Why is he doing all that?"

I wasn’t entirely certain myself, so I just shrugged.

Eventually, Leo, laden with supplies, headed into a secluded alleyway.

"Uh..."

Charlotte hesitated at the alley’s entrance, clearly uneasy.

Understandable.

Leo likely felt comfortable entering because he was confident in his swordsmanship—and because he’d clearly been here before.

Sophia followed without hesitation, which suggested she was similarly familiar with the area.

While Charlotte and I could probably handle ourselves if trouble arose, her hesitation was understandable. She was a princess, after all. Entering a place like this without any guards must have felt deeply unsettling.

I had a pistol tucked into my waistband, so dealing with a few thugs wouldn’t be a problem even without rewinding time. The sound of gunfire would bring Leo running, too.

Still, if Charlotte decided to back out, I’d leave with her.

But it seemed she was determined to go in.

"..."

Leaving the indecisive Charlotte where she stood, I approached the burly man stationed at the alley’s entrance.

Though he had a rough demeanor, his attire was unusually refined for a common thug—a proper suit, albeit one that didn’t quite suit him.

"Is there something I can assist you with, miss?" he asked, straightening up the moment I approached. He seemed experienced in dealing with people like me.

"Entering this alley with just the two of us seems a bit dangerous, doesn’t it?"

"Indeed, miss. Of course, I have no authority to stop you, but you don’t strike me as someone unfamiliar with the ways of the world."

To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could trust him entirely. But his confident stance at the entrance and his polished attire suggested he was a professional.

Some nobles or upper-class commoners were curious about life in the slums, not out of altruism but out of a voyeuristic fascination, akin to visiting a zoo.

This so-called "backstreet tourism" likely kept his business running, and maintaining a reputation for safety was essential for attracting more patrons.

I nodded at him and pulled out my wallet, handing him a handful of pound notes.

"Ah, such generosity! Rest assured, miss, I’ll treat you like royalty!"

The man’s enthusiastic bow confirmed that, as always, money spoke louder than rank in this Empire.