Became the Villainess’s Guardian

The train that had departed Londinium after breakfast arrived at the Belfast border around lunchtime.

Pulling into the border region’s station, the sense of having entered another nation became palpable.
Naturally, there were differences like the unfamiliar lettering on signboards and the locals’ fashion styles. But most striking were the brooding soldiers loitering around the train.

Glancing out the window, Freugne remarked,

“Security seems quite stringent.”

“They did conduct extensive screening operations until recently, so it can’t be helped.”

The Demonic Tribe had been covertly mind-controlling the slums, right under the capital’s nose.
It must have felt akin to running a free antivirus scan only to receive a warning about 300 detected viruses – an understandable reaction.

Fortunately, our situation was more favorable.
Upon seeing me accompanied by two magicians from the Royal Academy, bureaucrats, and other personnel, the immigration officer merely conducted a cursory forehead inspection after removing his cap.

From there, I transferred to a train bound for the capital.
Freugne seemed captivated by the passing scenery, observing the people through the window as we engaged in casual conversation to pass the time.

And so it continued until:

-Thunk!
-Screeeeech!

“Seems we’ve arrived.”

“Let’s disembark, then.”

As the sun began to set that evening, after several intermittent stops, the train finally reached Antrim, the capital of Belfast.
As we gathered our belongings to exit, a Glassgow bureaucrat approached and handed me a note, saying:

“Sir, here is your schedule for tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

“Then I shall see you again tomorrow morning. Your weapons and equipment will be relocated separately, so please proceed to the location I provided earlier. Would you require an interpreter?”

“No need, I have a rudimentary grasp of Belfast’s language. And you mentioned my schedule concludes around evening, correct?”

“Yes, after which you will have some free time for adjustments. Feel free to roam as you please.”

Pocketing the schedule, I nodded farewell to the bureaucrat before hailing a carriage with Freugne.

While fewer than Londinium, automobiles plied the streets – though public transportation seemed limited, presenting business opportunities as a prospective vendor.

“[You seem to be visitors from Glassgow. Where shall I take you?]” the driver inquired in Belfast’s tongue.

Our destination was the Bergson Hotel, but what was the Belfast term for ‘hotel’?

As I struggled to recall amid my characteristically labored pronunciation, Freugne interjected smoothly:

“[To the Bergson Hotel, please.]”

“[Understood.]”

Turning her expectant gaze towards me, I duly provided the anticipated praise and commendation.

“Your Belfast fluency is impressive. When did you learn it?”

“At school, as general education. I figured it couldn’t hurt to study it. The grammar was rather convoluted, so it took some time.”

“Still, well done.”

While I had undertaken a rushed one-month crash course, leaving me still amateurish, her intellect shone through as always.
I had been aware of her precociousness from the start. But it seemed I might need to further revise my assessment upward.

After this winter break, Freugne would turn nineteen, rendering my coddling increasingly unnecessary.
And though she seemed unaware, she had recently begun subtly appealing to be treated as an adult, chafing at childlike treatment.

In truth, her stance was not entirely unfounded. This might have been her first overseas trip, but she was hardly in a position to obediently await my return at the hotel.
Particularly when language barriers were non-existent, she could explore the vicinity independently without need for an interpreter.

From atop the jostling carriage, I addressed Freugne:

“My apologies, but I have somewhere to be first. We’ll have time tomorrow, so we can venture out together then.”

“For work, I presume? Very well, I shall entertain myself nearby in that case. This would be an opportune moment to survey potential destinations for tomorrow as well.”

“Sounds good. But if any troubles arise, be sure to contact me through the hotel, understood?”

“Yes, no need to worry excessively. I’m an adult now, after all.”

“Right, an adult……”

Yet her petite, slender frame still struck me as implausibly mature.

While trailing slightly behind Londinium in industry and magic, Antrim’s vibrancy from its cultural and artistic renown was undeniable.
The interplay of yellow streetlamps against the reddening twilit sky possessed an ineffable beauty.

Londinium’s perpetually smoke-choked skies and commonplace morning acid smog rendered this vista all the more precious.

A faint smile graced Freugne’s lips, a reassuring sign of her enjoyment.
In an era where overseas travel remained an arduous proposition, the novelty of Antrim’s architecture and nighttime streetscapes would soon become ephemeral luxuries.

Hence, I ought to ensure she thoroughly savored such experiences, lest regrets linger.

“[We have arrived.]”

“[Thank you. Have a pleasant day.]”

“You’re rather fluent in foreign languages yourself, uncle.”

“I have studied as well. Originally, I had hoped to provide you with enriching experiences, but you seem to outshine me. It’s quite embarrassing.”

“Not at all. Just… your intentions alone filled me with joy.”

I unpacked our belongings in the reserved hotel room, markedly more spacious than my Londinium residence.
As an invited guest whose expenses were largely covered by Belfast, such lavish accommodations did not burden my own finances.

The clock had already struck nine – an ambiguous hour, neither suited for venturing out nor retiring early.
Having spent the day traversing trains, my fatigue prompted me to promptly retire alongside Freugne.

And the following day:

“I’ll return by evening, so feel free to roam until then.”

“Understood, have a safe journey.”

After providing Freugne with some spending money, I hailed a carriage outside the hotel.

Antrim’s administrative districts bore remarkably soulless designations.
Londinium had simply divided its regions by cardinal directions: East, West, and so forth. But Antrim had taken a further sterile step, numbering them from one to twenty.

It seemed my hometown and this city shared an utter lack of naming sensibilities.

“[Where to, sir?]”

“[District 12, the Carno Research Institute.]”

An overseas trip.
A rare indulgence, rendered all the more precious by its impending impossibility in a few years’ time.

However, while Edan had framed this as a personal excursion, he was simultaneously fulfilling an official duty of sorts.
The Royal Academy’s membership did not constitute a civil service role, yet they received government funding, occupying an ambiguous position defying clear definition.

Fortunately, both the Kingdom and Republic seemed aware of the Demonic Tribe’s encroachment.
Hence, they could understand Edan’s predicament necessitating his absence from the outset. Freugne was not so childish as to throw a tantrum over it.

She could simply occupy her remaining time with her own planned endeavors.
Her schedule was equally demanding. If she intended to spend time with Edan tomorrow, there were preparations to be made.

“I should get going as well.”

Having watched Edan depart by carriage from the hotel window, Freugne donned her outer garments and exited.

Unlike conventional martops or companies, her organization did not provide salaries.
To be precise, the directive was to compensate themselves through the information she provided – an implicit acknowledgment that evading government scrutiny would prove challenging.

Moreover, was not Antrim mired in chaos akin to Londinium?
Without deterrents like Edan present, leaving it unchecked would have inevitably led to a conflagration. Thus, Freugne had infiltrated the pandemonium, establishing a foothold to serve as her base.

Leveraging the Earl of Norton’s investment company, she had secured a suitable headquarters within Antrim’s capital.
And the administrator of that facility was, by extension, the de facto overseer of Antrim – and Belfast as a whole, on a broader scale. Of course, with Freugne unilaterally holding the leash, outright defiance was unlikely.

Passing through the streets, Freugne slipped into a dimly lit nearby alleyway, its mud-caked ground indicative of neglect.
A lone figure already awaited her arrival.

“This is no place for a child like you, lass.”

“One moment, please… If I show you this, you’ll understand, yes?”

Freugne presented him with a letter bearing a clover-shaped seal.
After scrutinizing it with a furrowed brow, the man eventually nodded and emerged from the shadows.

“…Younger than I expected. Ah, my apologies if that was discourteous.”

“Not at all, I hear it often.”

She had never bestowed a name or symbol upon the organization herself.
However, her subordinates had devised minimal means of mutual identification, hence the clover emblem’s origins.

An unremarkable backstory – it had simply adorned the entrance of the initial clubhouse where members had convened.

In Londinium, where faces were known, such protocols were unnecessary. But remote operations necessitated dedicated communication channels, prompting Freugne to utilize the clover emblem when conveying information or directives to Belfast via letters.

And she had forewarned of her impending arrival to circumvent the hassle of convincing them piecemeal.

“You must be the Antrim magician, Carno?”

“Indeed. And you would be the boss’s emissary, I presume?”

“Correct.”

Ultimately, whatever he uttered would reach her, so the moniker was not inaccurate.