The Sub-Heroine's Butler Is a Vicious and Innocent Idiot

4. Frost Syndrome (3)

Three years passed, and both Arlot and I turned fifteen.

Through constant training and education as a butler, I had grown into a proper young man.

In preparation for the academy, I’d been building up my physical strength and stamina—but above all else, I’d devoted myself to finding a way to cure Eral’s illness.

But day by day, I was coming to realize just how close to impossible that truly was.

Medicine offered pain-relieving drugs.

Theology offered pain-relieving prayers.

But not a single book spoke of a way to cure her.

Step. Step. Step.

Around 3 a.m., my body worn out from the endless tasks, I made my way to Arlot’s room.

I was to take the next shift standing night watch.

At the door stood a familiar servant.

“Night Raven.”

“Bell Cat.”

After exchanging our codewords, the servant silently vacated the spot.

I carefully entered, making sure not to wake her.

Just a few years ago, this room had been warm and quaint, filled with gentle elegance.

But now, like its owner, it has become quiet and cold, void of color or warmth.

Even the dolls that had once added a girlish charm were all thrown away last year.

Whenever pain like a seizure struck, Arlot would tear or bite at them without realizing—so we couldn’t leave them around any longer.

Now, the only thing left atop the bed was the frail, young girl.

While I had grown into a young man at fifteen, her body had barely changed.

Her height, and even other aspects of her development as a girl, had stalled entirely.

The main reason, of course, was that she had started skipping meals more and more.

When did it begin?

On the days when the pain came, she would vomit up everything she ate.

From both ends, no less.

Apparently, the convulsions caused by the pain also affected her internal organs.

It must have been unbearable for her as a girl to have no control over her own body’s functions.

“...”

I quietly took my place at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep.

Though emaciated, her face was still beautiful.

I no longer dared hope for her to smile.

I knew far too well now that such a wish was a luxury.

Even a blank expression would do.

As long as she could stay as peaceful as she is now…

I let myself drift into a shallow sleep under that foolish comfort—until suddenly:

“Ugh, ahhh! Aaaagh!”

Her pained wails pierced the silence, ringing sharply in my ears.

I instinctively looked toward the window. The sky was already starting to brighten.

Has so much time passed already?

There was no time to be surprised—I quickly turned back to her trembling body.

“Ahh… ngh…”

“M-My Lady! It’s Schmitz. Can you hear me?”

I hurriedly assessed her condition.

Having skipped dinner in a fit of frustration, only pale bile was now dribbling from her mouth, and her sheets were soaked through with urine.

Her eyes were bloodshot, tears and snot mingling across her face.

It was as if every orifice in her body was trying to reject the pain.

Her trembling hands were gripping her feet as if pleading for the agony to stop.

“M-My… my feet… Schmitz… my feet hurt…! Haaagh!”

She was paralyzed from the waist down—so why was she feeling pain in her feet?

I set aside the foolish question and gently took her left foot in my hands.

But the moment I touched it, my hands stiffened.

It was like holding a block of ice.

“…Kh…”

The icy pain shot into my own spine, but I couldn’t pull away.

Compared to the torment she was enduring, my discomfort was nothing.

So I kept holding her foot—for what felt like an eternity.

Eventually, her trembling started to subside.

I soaked a towel in warm water and wiped her feet, just as I had done many times before.

Funny, isn’t it?

Back before I was reincarnated, someone once mocked me, saying I’d end up as Eral’s foot-washer.

That cruel jab now felt all too real.

Just as I was feeling the weight of it, her hoarse voice quietly asked me to stop.

Her face, soaked in sweat and various bodily fluids, was matted with messy strands of hair.

“…That’s enough.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d wished I could take her pain upon myself.

The illness had stolen her cheerful personality, turned her bright eyes dull and lifeless.

And I…

The self-proclaimed “Arlot stan” who had once taken pride in loving her most—could only watch as she withered.

“…I’m sorry, My Lady. I…”

“…For what?”

“It’s just…”

“Leave. It’s shift change time.”

With those few words, she retreated beneath her blanket.

I wanted to change her soiled sheets, but dragging her out for that would only earn me scorn.

So I quietly bowed and left her room.

Pawning off the things I couldn't do onto the next shift.

I was sick of my own helplessness more than ever.

Wasn’t I the one who had sworn I could care for her better than anyone?

And yet, while I fumbled around, she had been pushed to the edge.

Surrounded by watchful servants, under constant care, the once-lively girl had lost her privacy.

Endless pain had dulled her emotions, and the constant pleas for her to keep living had worn her spirit thin.

Is this really all I can do?

Creak.

I walked down the hall to a small room.

Just a bed and a wardrobe—this was my room.

I peeled off my sweat-soaked clothes and collapsed onto the bed.

“…Haa…”

A heavy ache sat in my chest.

At fifteen, I thought back to when I was eight.

Had I thought this was easy? A jackpot?

What a joke.

Just what the hell is Frost Syndrome…

I recalled Party to Savior from my past life.

In the game, Eral de Arlot’s Frost Syndrome was nothing more than a periodic debuff that dealt damage and inflicted status effects.

But seeing it happen in real life…

It was hell. Pure, merciless hell.

Is this really okay?

That’s what troubled me.

My past life may have been insignificant, but I was a seasoned veteran in Party to Savior.

I even knew of a hidden piece that could help alleviate her condition.

So why not get it now?

Because of the nature of that hidden piece.

Helping Arlot using it was no simple task.

To obtain it, you had to overcome a “Trial”—an event so difficult even hardcore players often failed.

And if you failed the trial, you could never attempt it again on that game file.

Of course, in a game, you could save and reload as many times as needed…

But this wasn’t a game.

One failure, and Frost Syndrome would haunt her until the day she died.

“…Hah.”

So even though I had a way to save the one I wanted to protect most…

I was hiding like a coward in my room, afraid to act.

Even now, she was suffering—writhing in agony.

Since she lost use of her legs at twelve, I’d been torn between helping her through the hidden piece and holding back for fear of failure.

That conflict… was definitely eating away at me.

Knock knock.

“…Come in.”

Startled by the knock, I quickly got up.

Standing beyond the door was a silver-haired old gentleman in a crisp uniform.

My grandfather—Waltz Sebas.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No, I was awake… something on my mind.”

“Hmm.”

Though he seemed concerned, his sharp eyes darted around the room, scanning everything.

My space wasn’t particularly dirty, since I’d cleaned it recently.

But my clothes… well, I hadn’t thought to change.

“A servant’s appearance is a reflection of their master.”

“I’ll correct it at once.”

“No need. There’s something more important.”

Sebas was meticulous when it came to cleaning and etiquette.

So if he was brushing that aside, this must be serious.

“Do you remember that today is the young lady’s birthday?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Escort her to the banquet hall this evening. Make sure her eyes are covered. I’ll explain the details later—for now, get some rest.”

“Understood. Thank you.”

With his message delivered, Sebas left without another word.

With everything going on, I had completely forgotten.

Today was Arlot’s fifteenth birthday.

And they were even preparing a banquet hall… likely a major celebration.

Now that I think about it, this world has a tradition of holding grand celebrations every five years.

I remembered the protagonist’s 25th birthday—when the heroines threw a party for him.

...I hope this birthday party brings Arlot a little joy.

The part about covering her eyes probably meant they were planning a surprise party.

Everyone—her family, the servants—was likely pouring everything into it.

Though the morning had been chaotic and grim, I forced myself to sleep with the hope that I’d see her smiling face at the celebration.

…Never once suspecting the tragedy that would come.