The venue was still thick with heat from the unexpectedly fierce auction.
Even during the break, hardly anyone left.
As we stepped outside the building, leaving them all behind, Tino and the others hurried over to us.
Once she reached me (and Liz and Citry), she pressed both hands together in front of her and bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry, Mastaa. I never thought something like this would happen..."
"Hm...? Oh, no. It's fine, but..."
I'd originally asked Tino to bid on my behalf. It was certainly surprising that Gregg ended up winning, but it wasn't worth getting upset over.
Gregg, standing behind us, was still deathly pale even though the doll auction had ended a while ago. He was drenched in cold sweat, darting his eyes around nervously. I could really sympathize with his small-time energy.
He was the hero who'd won the highest-priced item in the first half. He'd removed his bidder number plate and his face hadn't been exposed, so he wasn't surrounded yet, but his name would probably spread soon enough.
At the Zeburdia Auction, winners' names could be easily looked up to ensure fairness. That was why some people used proxies, but it might have been a bit much for a mid-tier Hunter like Gregg.
Tino looked at Liz with an anxious expression and made excuses. Liz just smiled silently.
"Um... I really was going to handle it. But... well... I wasn't prepared... and the moment I checked for Mastaa's signal, I realized I didn't know the hand signs for bidding."
Tino really was pretty scatterbrained...
But hand signals did come in many varieties, so it was understandable for a first-timer not to know them. There were other ways to participate—shouting out prices, writing amounts on cards and holding them up—but most people at auctions used hand signals.
"So... Gregg said he knew them, so I left it to him. We split the roles—watching for Mastaa's signal and participating in the bidding... I never imagined something like this would happen. I was going to let Gregg handle the first round, learn how it worked, and then take over for the real one. But then—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it..."
Meaning, she'd blown all the funds on the Golem before the main event. Then again, I hadn't anticipated this situation either, so there was no point blaming her.
Liz patted my shoulder, made a throat-cutting gesture, and tilted her head. I wasn't going to cut anyone's head off...
I called out to the trembling Tino in a reassuring voice.
"You don't have to be so scared. You did great, really. Yep. Everything went just as I planned."
"Klye. Well... it seems like we've gone over budget... is that okay?"
So that was why Gregg looked so pale. The winning bid had exceeded what I'd told him beforehand by a hundred million Gil. If I couldn't pay, the blame could extend to Gregg too, so his expression was understandable. Proxy bidding only worked between people who deeply trusted each other.
Of course, I had no intention of causing Gregg any trouble.
"Oh, don't worry about that either. I have the money."
It wasn't mine, though.
While mentally prostrating myself to Lucia, I wrote out a check for a hundred and ten million Gil on the spot and handed it to Citry. Incidentally, the funds came from Lucia's bank account, but the paperwork had been handled already, so my signature was all that was needed. I was used to this. I should probably figure out a repayment plan and a way to butter her up before she got back.
Citry carefully tucked the check into the bag at her hip. With that, the cash on hand totaled one billion sixty million Gil.
Tino glanced up at me hesitantly.
"Mastaa, so... um... about that Treasure Weapon..."
"Oh, that one's fine now. The objective's been met. I'm a bit tired, so I'm heading home."
"...What!?"
The auction had barely begun. The area around the venue was packed with people. More rare Treasure Weapons would keep appearing. I was interested, but being shown items with no money left was brutally painful. If it were just painful, that'd be one thing, but considering the risk of blowing through the rest of Lucia's savings, it was better for me to leave. More importantly, that mask was beyond my reach now. My part in the auction was over.
The young lady was probably fired up for the fight by now, but I wasn't about to stick around for that. You win. Yeah, you've already won. I'd just go home and sulk.
"Well then, Klye! I'm heading off right away with Gregg to pick up our winnings!"
Citry hoisted the trunk case packed with white gold with a beaming smile. Let's just be glad we could keep that smile on her face. Still, rushing off to collect that massive Golem right away—she really must have wanted it.
"Hey sis, can you look into the info on lot twenty-five—the one the seller was competing for? They might be gone already, but the auctioneer should still have the records."
"H-hey, investigating information about competing bidders is against the rules—n-never mind, nothing."
Well, it was technically against the rules, but it was easy enough to look up if you tried. She'd been that fiercely competitive, so it was only natural she'd be curious. They probably wouldn't show her the records though. Against the rules, after all.
"Alright Gregg, thanks for your help today. Let's do this again sometime. Citry, take care of the rest."
"Yes! Thank you so much, Klye! I'll come see you later!"
Would Eva be mad? Probably... But there was nothing I could do about it. Looks like for a while, whenever I wanted ice cream, I'd have to drag Tino along with me.
I yawned broadly and left the auction venue feeling thoroughly spent.
§ § § "Time is up. The identity-unknown 'Mask of Flesh' has been won by the illustrious Lady Eclair Gradius for two hundred million Gil!"
Thunderous applause from the seats below rolled up to the VIP box. Eclair, perched lightly on one of those seats, let out a deep sigh. Her eyes glistened, and even her usually sharp, upturned gaze had softened for once. What lay there wasn't elation or joy from winning a battle—it was profound relief.
The battle had ended more easily than Eclair had expected. All of Montour's prior warnings had probably been unnecessary. The two hundred million Gil Eclair had scraped together proved sufficient, and she secured the winning bid without issue.
Contrary to the earlier rumors, the contest had been one-sided.
It was probably because word had spread that Lord Gradius was serious. In this empire, the power of the nobility was formidable. Neither merchant guilds nor Hunters would openly oppose them. Why would they?
Reaffirming that conviction, she looked up proudly at her father sitting beside her—Van Gradius. Neatly combed dark brown hair, piercing eyes. Her father responded to the congratulatory words from the surrounding nobles with only a word or two, gazing fixedly down at the stage. The expression on his face didn't show joy at his daughter's victory—instead, it was the skeptical look of someone who'd spotted something suspicious.
Noticing Eclair's probing gaze, Van Gradius furrowed his brow. The words that came from his mouth were far from what Eclair had expected.
"You were given the win."
"...What!?"
Montour, standing behind them, seconded the observation in a low voice.
"It appears so. Thousand Transformations has already left the venue. Among those who participated in the mask auction, none were connected to them."
"Hmm... A Level 8 Hunter... I thought he was just another boorish lout like the rest, but perhaps the rumors of him being a schemer aren't entirely unfounded. To have a Treasure Weapon he wanted snatched away from under his nose and bow out so gracefully—that's a level of composure no Hunter who values face should possess. As Ark says, he's an interesting man."
"W-what do you mean!? Father! Look, I won, just as you see!"
Just as her father had strictly ordered, Eclair had scraped together the funds and won what she wanted—albeit with Montour's help. For the martial house of Gradius, results meant victories. Following that family creed, she had defeated the infamous Level 8 Hunter—the man who had mocked House Gradius.
Van Gradius fixed Eclair with a piercing gaze—one far too sharp for a father addressing his own daughter.
"Eclair, you did indeed win the Treasure Weapon. But this victory holds no value. I was content to watch, thinking it would be a good experience whether you won or lost—but you never even stood on the same stage. Perhaps I underestimated you. And to not even realize that yourself—"
"—!"
"My lady. Thousand Transformations had indeed raised far more than two hundred million Gil. We've received intelligence that Citry Smart sold off equipment and potions to gather funds. The Hunter we placed nearby for surveillance was turned away—but more importantly, they left midway through. Before the auction for that Treasure Weapon even began."
As Eclair froze in shock, Montour continued in a calm voice.
"W-why!? Why didn't they even enter the contest?"
She couldn't understand. Thousand Transformations had been the first to want that Treasure Weapon. Eclair had only butted in from the side out of spite. So why would they give up midway? What was more, Eclair had been too focused on the bidding to notice, but the man hadn't even participated in the auction at all.
"You were given the win, my lady. Had you not gathered over two hundred million Gil, he might have participated as promised. But this contest had already shifted from a personal battle with Lady Eclair to a battle against the House of Count Gradius. It could never have been a proper contest, and even if he had defeated you—it would have had lasting repercussions."
""
Eclair received Montour's words in silence. A whirlwind of emotions churned in her mind. Confusion. Relief. Bewilderment. Anger. She forced out a rebuttal in a strained voice.
"I said... I wanted a fair and square duel."
"I negotiated with the merchant guild beforehand, since a contest was likely. My lady, as a member of House Gradius, you have a duty to win. Hunters and nobles are somewhat alike—at the very least, if you stumble here, you may be looked down upon for it going forward. And today, you defeated a Level 8 Hunter."
"Anyone with half a brain could tell the win was handed to you. Utterly hopeless. All we learned by spending two hundred million is the measure of Thousand Transformations' magnanimity."
Seeing her father's displeased scowl, Eclair murmured in a trembling voice.
"Was I... was I shown mercy? Was I looked down upon?"
"Precisely because he did not look down on you, I would say. Whether that counts as a victory is up to you, my lady—"
No. This wasn't—a victory. A win by forfeit? No. No such word could ever satisfy Eclair's feelings. She could have accepted a straight-up loss far more easily. She clenched her teeth until they ground together. She'd lost. She'd won the match but lost the contest. She couldn't face Ark—the man she respected—and present him with the Treasure Weapon with her head held high.
"So you've incurred a debt."
"...You could also say that he acknowledged my lady to some extent, since you gathered two hundred million Gil as promised—even consulting your family to do so. I find it hard to believe the infamous leader of the Mourning Specters would retreat simply because of a noble's reputation."
"...Either way, it's a debt. Regardless of how others see it, a debt incurred as a noble of Zeburdia must be repaid. ...Could this possibly be what that man truly intended by desiring that enigmatic Treasure Weapon?"
At Count Gradius's grim expression, even Montour—whose composure rarely cracked—looked troubled.
"...We found no external interference in the spread of information. My lady's visit to the Clan House regarding Lord Ark was also of your own volition. Surely—it was a coincidence."
Even hearing those words from his right hand, Count Gradius's expression did not soften. He issued a command to Eclair, who still stood frozen.
"Eclair, do as you please with the Treasure Weapon you won. But you are forbidden from further involvement with that man. He is not an opponent you can handle."
""
Frustrating. She'd thought she was picking a fight, when all she'd done was dance in the palm of his hand. It was too pathetic, too far removed from her ideals. But then, what should she do? What was she supposed to do? She'd always tried to carry herself with the dignity befitting a noble. But now, all that filled Eclair's heart was helplessness and anxiety.
"Do you understand? Answer me!"
"—Yes... Father."
In response to her father's rebuke, Eclair bit her lip, held back a sob, and answered.