I Became the Leader of the Monster Circus Troupe

Gascon was the manager of the “Tomato Greenhouse.”

The Tomato Greenhouse referred to the garden area located northwest of the closed black palace, which was where the official residence of Charlotia’s ruler. Being the manager of the Tomato Greenhouse was no different from being called Charlotia’s top gardener.

The reason Gascon wasn’t called the royal gardener was that Charlotia no longer had a royal family.

The royal people had been executed, the palace closed, and the queen had disappeared.

Gascon was the top candidate to be called the royal gardener on the day the missing Queen Charlotte returned. Every time he entered the official residence, he would imagine himself as the royal gardener.

However, the queen who had disappeared before he turned 10 had not been found even when he was over 60 years old. Queen Charlotte was now considered a character from a fairy tale used to explain why this country was called “Charlotia.”

Among the younger generation who did not remember the queen’s reign, there was a growing opinion that it might be better to recognize the reigning family as the royal family. They thought the fact that the reigning family governed the country itself undermined the country’s reputation.

Gascon inwardly scoffed at these foolish remarks when he saw young people making such naïve comments in the tavern. But he refrained from getting angry as he didn’t want to come off as an old man muttering, “The queen’s time was better.”

Foolish people.

Don’t they realize that assigning an unseen figure as the country’s owner can have a unifying effect on a divided nation? Look at the Papal States and the Pope.

Gascon had held the position of Tomato Greenhouse manager for over 30 years.

Three decades was enough time for a person who considered digging in the earth and tending to plants as his calling to develop a political perspective. Especially someone in a position where they could observe the laughter and tears of Charlotia’s top leader from beyond the bushes.

Gascon remembered the first time he entered the official residence.

The country’s leader was a much weaker figure than he had expected.

His role was always to cater to the whims of the aristocracy, carefully navigating the politics and conflicts between noble factions, and sometimes even pretending to be helpless to play to his advantage.

His son had more strength than his father, so the act of helplessness was no longer necessary.

His grandson, the current ruler, had recently ascended to the throne, but the gardener was convinced he was worse off than his predecessor.

This was because the previous ruler could at least raise his voice to his wife and handle the estate’s hunting dogs, but the current ruler couldn’t even confront his own mother or control the garden’s hunting dogs.

Just by looking at that, it was clear that he was less capable than his father.

Even those who hadn’t known him for 30 years, like the gardener, could sense it.

The gardener had heard a few days ago that the garden in the Metropol Hotel of Luz was in disarray.

It was a place he had perfected the landscaping of, and the former ruler’s wife had praised it. He used to visit once a year to maintain its shape.

When he heard about the accident, he naturally thought he would be called.

The woman who had been the former ruler’s wife was now the current ruler’s mother, and the current ruler couldn’t defy his mother’s words.

However, no orders came from the current ruler’s residence for his trip.

The current ruler hadn’t suddenly started rebelling against his mother.

But that didn’t mean he was foolish enough to leave the garden of the hotel where influential nobles often stayed unattended when he didn’t have to.

When he heard the gardener’s request to go to Luz, he gave an awkward smile and dodged the question.

Instead, he suggested going on vacation.

Gascon, with his thirty-year experience, could sense there was a political issue at hand.

If the gardener, armed with the purity of the artisan spirit from thirty years ago, had still been around, he would have packed his trunk with his equipment and left for the Luz-bound airship, whether asked to or not.

However, he was not the same as he was in his youth.

Firstly, he was too old to lift a trunk containing all his equipment by himself.

Secondly, he had learned over the years that it was best not to meddle in political disputes.

Politicians often interpreted even a meaningless flower message or a particular form of garden landscaping in the background as an implication directed towards them.

The former head gardener of estate was dismissed thanks to a complaint he made to the authorities after seeing a seagull prostrating itself in front of the emblematic animal of a rival family, which he believed was a political signal.

Though the times were not quite as treacherous now, Gascon always tried to be cautious.

The Lord of Charlotia was trained from generation to generation to express the phrase ‘I am neutral’ through physical signals, verbal narratives, or political actions whenever necessary.

At this moment, he seemed to want to avoid any political interpretation that sending his own gardener to Luz for garden repairs could imply taking the side of the noble who had rented the hotel.

In preparation for later events, the Lord granted his gardener a special 30day vacation.

This provided him with an excuse for not having sent the gardener to Luz.

The elderly gardener exchanging a flight ticket to Flolande for a ticket to Luz was not because he suddenly disliked the warm sun in Flolande or was captivated by the glamour of Luz.

It was not due to anger at the current situation, which was insulting the work he had dedicated his life to.

Over the past 30 years, the gardener had also learned politics.

He was prepared for the day when the Lady of the Sebjeong Family would learn the truth and become angry. So, he came to Luz during his vacation to secretly visited the Metropole Hotel.

The hotel manager gladly agreed to keep it a secret upon the request of the top gardener of Charlotia. He offered him a corner room with fewer chances of encountering other guests.

Gascon opened his trunk and took out a worn straw hat, putting it on, and donned a pair of overalls. Besides his work clothes, the trunk was filled with various tools such as a hoe, hammer, measuring tape, lighter, soap, pliers, pruning scissors, hand shears, a small saw, nails for fastening, rings, and rubber bands for tying.

He had brought these things with him, worrying about the state of the southern garden even while on vacation, and they proved useful at this moment.

Taking only a few basic measuring tools and marking chalk, Gascon went out to the garden.

The garden looked as if a bomb had gone off.

The earth was turned upside down, with scorched areas in the center, and flowers and trees were tangled like discarded rubbish.

“It seems some troublemakers have had their way.”

He frowned as he looked at the expensive landscaping plants strewn on the ground. He had been carefully nurturing them, regulating water and sunlight from the time they were just seedlings, but they all seemed to be completely ruined.

“From here to there, I’ll need to completely redesign, and, well, here, I can just replace the plants from the arboretum. Over there, a little pruning should suffice…”

Muttering to himself, Gascon surveyed the garden. In the corner, he noticed someone standing there.

The person held garden tools, a knife, and scissors in his hands, carefully inspecting a tree he had just suggested pruning.

“Hmm, did they hire a gardener at the hotel? I never heard anything about that from the estate manager.”

Gascon scrutinized the person with interest. The young man had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a well-sculpted face. He was tall, with fair and smooth skin. His appearance did not fit that of a typical gardener. His attire resembled what you’d expect someone working in the hotel to wear. He seemed to be a young man hired to clean up the damaged remnants.

Gascon muttered inwardly, “If he came to work, he should be working. Looks can be deceiving.”

The gardener muttered something to himself. At that moment, he suddenly brought the knife to the edge of the peeled tree bark.

Gascon involuntarily shivered as he watched the movement. The way he handled the knife was far too smooth and precise for someone who appeared to have no knowledge of gardening. It was the skill of an experienced gardener who had been studying trees for decades.

Carefully, he continued to work. What was astonishing was not just his appearance. His skill in handling the damaged bark was impeccable. The apprentices working under Gascon were far less skilled than this young man.

Gascon watched with a slightly tense expression, waiting to see what the young man would do next.

Peeling the bark was not something that could be done haphazardly by tearing off the damaged parts. It required the ability to examine the inner layers, inspect the direction of the tree’s growth, and predict the shape and thickness of the new bark as it regrew. It was a task that couldn’t be solved with mere manual dexterity.

It required the experience of observing how a tree grew and recovered over a long period of time.

For someone like Gascon, just a quick examination of the inner layers would reveal precisely where to cut.

All things considered, there was only one correct line where the knife had to be inserted at this particular wounded section of the tree. If the line deviated by just 1cm, the completion rate dropped to 90%, and if it deviated by 2cm, the completion rate plummeted below 50%.

Gascon couldn’t understand why he was so nervous.

Just because his knife skills had been slightly proficient just now, there was no reason to be surprised.

Although his appearance didn’t show it, he seemed to be in his mid-twenties, so he could have had about ten years of experience.

So, his skill was understandable.

Peeling the skin was not something a young man like him could grasp just by looking at it for a moment.

The best that gardeners of his age could do was to bring a gardening manual and calculate things here and there, or first cut and then watch it grow, trimming a bit at a time.

The young man pressed the knife against the bark.

There was no tension on his face at all.

Only a calm smile was there.

His knife moved.

“Ah.”

Gascon involuntarily made a sound.

It was because the knife had entered the line he had predicted with an accuracy of 0.1 cm.

His knife skills were truly perfect.

“Who are you?”

The young man turned to the old man.

Gascon unconsciously swallowed his saliva.

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