A Mastermind? No, I'm just the Live-In Son-in-Law-Chapter 32: Completion of the Puzzle

Whitney’s expression initially hinted at disappointment, but at Bergen’s next snide remark, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Oh, and I’m aware that the Count family’s finances are teetering on collapse.”

“Hmm...”

“I don’t know what kind of deal you struck with that infamous duchess, but you seem barely able to pay your servants, whose wages have been halved over the past few years.”

Bergen continued his provocation, as if expecting a reaction. But when Whitney didn’t flinch even as he stood directly in front of him, Bergen’s voice turned sharper.

“...Would it satisfy you if I threw in some useless detail, like how your hobby is origami?”

“Oh?”

“Ha, I thought that was bullshit. Guess it was true.”

Only then did Whitney nod with satisfaction and bend down to whisper.

“You’ve lived so quietly that I had my doubts. But your information network really is impressive.”

“And yours is pathetic.”

Contrary to the saying that a compliment makes even a whale dance, Bergen only sneered, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“My daughter died years ago.”

His voice came out like a broken groan, thick with grief.

“Along with my beloved wife. They left me in an instant... a carriage accident.”

“......”

“You thought you’d manipulate me with some half-baked rumor? You’ve got it all wrong.”

A silence settled over the office.

“Mr. Bergen.”

In the midst of that tension, Whitney tilted his head slightly and whispered.

“There was no body, was there?”

For the first time since bursting into the room, Bergen’s eyes flickered.

“You came here because that fact didn’t sit right with you, didn’t you?”

“...I take it back. What I said earlier.”

But regaining composure with a clenched jaw, Bergen glared again.

“Still, that doesn’t change anything. Because—”

“Because there were torn pieces of your daughter’s clothes and a pool of blood at the scene?”

Before Bergen could finish, Whitney cut in, forcing him into silence again.

“Yes, at first glance it could’ve looked like a wild animal attack.”

“......”

“But if that’s the case, why was your wife’s body untouched?”

As Whitney continued, Bergen’s complexion darkened.

“Think about it. It reeks of suspicion.”

“...Shut up.”

At last, Bergen growled, his face contorting in fury. Lunelle’s hand tightened instinctively on her sword, the veins on her hand bulging.

“It’s fine, Lunelle.”

“...Please be careful.”

At Whitney’s calm gesture, Lunelle relaxed her grip slightly and resumed her guard stance.

“You think I didn’t look into it?”

Blood trickled from a shallow cut on Bergen’s neck where the blade had grazed him.

“I dug into every suspicious organization in the Empire. Even risked my life snooping around one of the Emperor’s secret agencies.”

Still spitting words with bitter resentment, Bergen stared at Whitney with wild, bloodshot eyes.

“But no matter how hard I searched...”

His voice grew softer, blurred with exhaustion.

“There was no trace of my daughter. Nowhere.”

By the time he finished, all that remained in his gaze was despair.

“...Mr. Bergen.”

Looking down at him, Whitney spoke softly.

“What if I told you I know where your daughter is?”

“Heh.”

“What if I told you I’m willing to help you find her—with everything I’ve got?”

Bergen’s eyes slowly refocused. He let out a hollow laugh as he looked up at the boy in front of him.

“...And if I agreed, would you make me work for you?”

The way the moonlight hit Whitney’s figure at the window, casting a glow on his already ethereal face, made the moment feel unreal.

“You sound like the devil.”

“...Hah.”

Bergen muttered, dumbfounded, while Lunelle unconsciously nodded, letting out a small breath and glancing toward Whitney.

“But I don’t believe in gods. Or devils.”

Then Bergen closed his eyes and answered coolly.

“I only believe in what I can see with my own eyes.”

“Ahh.”

“So if you can prove it—show me undeniable evidence...”

Though his tone seemed firm, anyone with sharp ears would notice the faint tremble in his voice.

“...I’ll serve you like a dog for the rest of my life.”

Even after all those years spent rotting in despair, it meant that Bergen had never truly let go of hope.

“You’ll have to keep that promise, then.”

Smiling faintly, Whitney turned to Parsha.

“Parsha, bring her in.”

“...Yes!”

“Hmm, I had a hunch, and it turns out you understood perfectly.”

Parsha jumped to her feet and ran out the door. Silence returned to the room, now thick with tension.

‘...Calm down. Don’t let it shake you.’

Bergen fought to steady the violent pounding in his chest. He knew better than anyone that it was when people were most desperate that deception came easiest.

—Creeaak...

And so, even if his daughter walked in alive through that very door, he was determined not to trust it too easily. He turned a cold gaze toward the slowly opening door, gritting his teeth.

“You even dropped your disguise without being told.”

“...Huh?”

“Well, I guess that saves us the trouble.”

Bergen couldn’t help but gape at the person who walked in behind Parsha. His disbelief overwhelmed him.

“You must already know the incident that made me famous—the reason I’m called a hero.”

“That person... no way...”

“Yes, it’s exactly who you think it is.”

The guest who had entered alongside Parsha was far beyond anything Bergen could have predicted.

“I’d like to introduce you to Saint Hestia, who is currently staying at our estate for certain reasons.”

“......”

“And of course, this stays between us.”

For a moment, Bergen considered the possibility that this was some maid dressed up as the Saint—but with his unmatched eye for disguises, honed over years as a top-class thief, he immediately ruled it out.

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“...So? What’s a Saint got to do with anything?”

Though his head swam, Bergen clung desperately to clarity and asked Whitney,

“I asked you for proof that my daughter’s alive—”

“She’ll provide that.”

Whitney cut him off, gently pulling Hestia forward as he whispered in her ear.

“After all, guiding the lost is a Saint’s most basic duty.”

“......”

“Isn’t that right, Saint?”

Hestia glanced around, her eyes darting nervously. Then, finally, she nodded and spoke.

“L-leave it to me.”

“Ah...”

In that instant, Bergen realized something.

The hope he thought was long dead...had already arrived—right in front of him.

***

“...P-please, offer your hand.”

Hestia, staring nervously down at Bergen, who was clearly starting to waver, finally opened her mouth and extended her hand to him.

“My hand...?”

“To read your soul, the Saint needs to touch you,” I explained smoothly in Hestia’s place, since she was frozen stiff. I gave her a discreet nudge at the side.

“There is no bond stronger than blood ties.”

At last, the line we’d rehearsed over and over the past few days came out of Hestia’s mouth.

“A-and that includes the connection between souls as well.”

“......”

“So now, through your soul, I’m going to... um... reach out to your daughter’s soul?”

Even though she had memorized the lines, her utterly hopeless acting instincts couldn’t be helped.

“You’re not seriously trying to run a scam with a Saint, are you?”

“Haha, Mr. Bergen, come now. Do you really think I’d go that far?”

Naturally, suspicion flickered in Bergen’s eyes again, so I jumped in quickly to defend our credibility.

“In this world, even low-level holy knights are struck by divine wrath the moment they utter a lie. Do you think a Saint would dare speak falsely in such a situation?”

“...!?”

Thankfully, Bergen seemed convinced and gave a slow nod, but Hestia’s pupils trembled like an earthquake.

“Y-you didn’t say anything about that part...!”

“It’s alright,” I whispered as gently and reassuringly as I could. “This is all to help that poor man’s daughter.”

“When you think about it, it’s really just a little white lie, right?”

“B-but what about divine punishment...”

“The intention is good, so surely the gods will understand, no?”

It may have sounded like I ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ was just making things up on the spot, but in truth, the scenario I’d planted in the Saint’s mind was based entirely on facts. Besides, Hestia hadn’t even been fully chosen by the gods yet—so she couldn’t be punished for something like this in the first place.

“P-please close your eyes... and imagine your daughter...”

“And then?”

“U-uh, one second.”

Despite breaking into a nervous sweat, Hestia held Bergen’s hand and continued with her lines. When Bergen urged her on, she quietly turned to me in a panic.

“W-what do I do now?”

“Just follow what we rehearsed. Just stick to the script...”

“A-and you’re sure I won’t get struck by lightning?”

“I’ll buy you as many cocktails as you want after this is over, just please focus...”

I whispered like I was coaxing Sasha through one of her panic attacks, and that was when it happened.

—Crack!

A sudden flash sparked from the place where their hands met.

—Ssshhhh...

And then, slowly, a strange gray smoke—eerily similar to my own suspicious white mana—began to rise.

“Saint? What are you...?”

“I-I don’t know either...!”

That effect definitely hadn’t been part of the plan. I stared at Hestia in shock, but she was just as confused.

“D-did I get punished—? Mmph!”

“Saint, please calm down. Just let go of his hand—”

I barely managed to cover her mouth before she blurted something truly disastrous and moved to separate the two of them, but—

—Subject 347. Reactivity is promising.

A cold, disembodied voice echoed through the smoke. Then, black-and-white shapes began to form in midair.

—Further experiments required. Clear your schedule.

As Bergen stared up, stunned, his eyes widened in disbelief.

—Dad...

The smoky vision became clear: a young girl shackled in chains, branded with a mark of black magic.

—I miss you...

Tears streamed from her eyes as her voice grew fainter.

“Lily!!!”

With a surge of superhuman strength, Bergen threw Lunelle off and lunged toward the smoke, crying out his daughter’s name.

“Ah—”

But the moment his hand touched the image, the figure dispersed into thin air.

“No...”

He swiped at the fading wisps with empty, trembling hands before collapsing to his knees, stunned and hollow-eyed.

“...N-no way.”

The room went completely still. Hestia, mouth agape, turned to me with a look of horror.

“Was... was that part of your plan too?”

I couldn’t answer. I could only stare at her in silence.

This is impossible.

Because that’s when I noticed it—Hestia’s pupils were flickering with a faint, pale-white glow.

She’s already begun using the Saint’s powers... without even meeting the Hero?

I didn’t know whether I should be thrilled or terrified by this new, unpredictable variable.

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“...Um, Mr. Bergen?”

At the very least, it didn’t seem like I had lost anything.

“Do you believe me now? Haha...”

“.........”

Lunelle now looked at me with even greater reverence, which was expected. But Bergen and Hestia... both had gone pale as ghosts.

***

Meanwhile, at that very moment—

—Clench...

Parsha, usually all grins and sarcasm, watched the dispersing smoke with a rare expression—completely blank.

Unconsciously, she clutched the space between her neck and shoulder and lowered her gaze.

“...So there are others like me.”

Beneath the collar of her butler’s uniform, the exact same brand as the girl in the vision glowed faintly in the dark.