Gojo blinked at Felt with perfect innocence.
"Why, I was securing a supporter for the esteemed Royal Candidate Lady Felt, of course."
Royal Candidate?
Felt's brain stuttered.
Royal Candidate. As in, future ruler of the kingdom. Like Emilia. But she was an orphan from the Slums who made a living picking pockets. There was no universe in which that applied to her.
"No. No way. You've got something mixed up." She shook her head. "There's no chance I'm a Royal Candidate. This is a prank, right? You and Roswaal cooked this up together to mess with me?"
Her experience with Gojo's capacity for chaos was extensive. He was the first suspect, always.
"Honestly, the slander I put up with." Gojo clutched his chest in mock heartbreak, then pulled the insignia from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. "See for yourself. The dragon jewel only lights up red when a Royal Candidate touches it. Go on, look."
Felt stared down at the insignia. The jewel at its center was glowing, shifting steadily into a deep, unmistakable red.
Her expression went blank. The impact of it was too much to process all at once.
"Wait." She looked up. "How did you even know I was a candidate?"
"When you handed the insignia back to Emilia, I saw the reaction. Didn't think much of it at the time, but once I learned what the glow meant, the pieces fell into place. I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you."
"And here we are. Moment found."
"Not bad for a surprise, right?"
Felt stared at the insignia in her hands, silent. Something was turning behind her eyes.
After a long pause, she lifted her head.
Gojo grinned and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could speak. "Don't get all sentimental on me. That's what friends are for."
"Save the thank-you speech for when we're back in the room."
He threw her a pointed look as he said it.
Felt puffed her cheeks. Remembering what he'd told her before they came, she swallowed whatever she'd been about to say and nodded.
"Right, that's settled. We'll be heading out, then. I'll leave the details in your capable hands, Roswaal."
"Of course. Though, regarding Lady Emilia..."
"I know. Don't worry, we won't make things difficult for you. Not a word from any of us."
Gojo was already pulling Felt toward the door when Roswaal's voice stopped him.
"One more thing."
He paused.
"As the fifth Royal Candidate, Lady Felt's existence will need to be reported to the Council of Wise Men. The matter of the candidates has been suspended for some time due to the incomplete count."
"No problem. Handle it however you see fit."
Gojo tugged Felt along, the girl shooting him a withering look, and exchanged parting nods with Roswaal and Ram before leaving.
The moment they cleared the parlor doors, Felt opened her mouth. One glance from Gojo shut it again.
They walked in silence all the way back to his room. The instant the door closed behind them, Felt exploded.
"Are you an idiot? Why wouldn't you let me talk back there? Do you have any idea what you just signed me up for? That's not playing house! It's war between candidates! We have nothing! How are we supposed to compete with anyone? Even if you're strong, you're one person! We can't hold a candle to the other candidates..."
The words came out in a torrent, everything she'd been bottling up since the parlor flooding out at once.
Gojo, by contrast, showed zero concern. He flopped onto the bed and stretched with the contentment of a cat in a sunbeam.
"Who said anything about competing for the throne?"
Felt stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open.
"This one is beyond saving. He's started talking nonsense." Betty gazed at Gojo with the pitying look one might reserve for a terminal patient.
"Come on, Betty. You weren't around for the backstory. Saying dumb things out of ignorance is one thing..."
"Who are you calling dumb..."
Betty's protest was cut short. Gojo sat up, hauled her into his lap like a throw pillow, and clamped a hand over her mouth. She squirmed, managing only muffled sounds of outrage.
"Think about it, Felt. What was our goal before we came to this mansion?"
"Money!" Subaru beat her to the answer.
"Exactly. From day one, this has been about getting paid. You need money to leave the Slums. I need money for sweets. And our boy here needs funding for his hero fantasy."
"Before this, even if Roswaal had given us a lump sum out of gratitude, then what? Split three ways, you take your share, move Old Man Rom out of the Slums, buy a house, some furniture, new clothes, live a decent life for a while. How long does that last?"
"When the money runs out, what then? Go back to stealing? Start a small business and pray it doesn't fail?"
He rested his chin on top of Betty's head, unhurried.
"Now it's different. With this title, we have a reason to keep the tap running from Roswaal's coffers. A count's fortune is beyond what any of us can imagine, especially with the Mathers family's deep ties to the industrial city of Costuul. Their magic tool manufacturing alone generates a constant stream of wealth."
"Even the scraps from that table would keep us comfortable for years."
"A lot better than a one-time payout, don't you think, Betty?"
He released her mouth. Betty immediately seized his hand and bit down on it, clearly furious about the manhandling.
Gojo didn't flinch. Compared to tangling with Cursed Spirits, this barely registered.
After venting her frustration, Betty let go with a huff, shot him a warning glare, and spoke.
"The Mathers family is wealthy, that much is true. I never paid close attention to the specifics, but with so few family members, their day-to-day expenses have always been modest compared to the larger noble houses. The main drain was magical research, and even that was only heavy during the first few centuries. In recent hundreds of years, that kind of spending has tapered off considerably."
As a longtime fixture of the Mathers household, Betty knew the family's affairs better than most.
"Even so, what about the other candidates?" Felt still looked worried. She understood her position with painful clarity. A Slums orphan who'd lucked into knowing Gojo and his friends was still laughably outmatched. If the competition turned ugly and someone decided to play dirty, it would be a disaster for her and Old Man Rom. If the price of a little money was that kind of risk, she'd rather walk away.
"Look." Gojo sighed. "Felt, do you remember our bet?"
He changed the subject, and Felt knew exactly what he meant. The bet about getting Roswaal to call her "Lady."
"This isn't the time for that."
"Shout 'Felt is an idiot' first, and then I'll explain everything."
She glared at him.
"What a terrible hobby," Betty muttered, trying to shove his chin off the top of her head.
Felt's face flushed. She looked ready to lunge at him.
"If you don't want to hear the explanation, that's fine by me."
That insufferable expression. Felt ground her teeth, turned red, and shouted: "Felt is an idiot!"
"There! Happy?! Now talk!"
She looked ready to commit violence if the answer wasn't satisfactory.
"It's simple, really."
"This Royal Candidate title? For us, it's nothing more than a license to print money."
"If we can squeeze Roswaal, why stop there? There are nobles everywhere. Even skimming a little from a handful of them adds up to a fortune."
"Better yet, our rivals are also our marks."
"For the right price, we offer to drop out. One fewer competitor, just like that. You think the other candidates wouldn't be tempted? You think they wouldn't pay?"
Gojo's voice was lazy, but every word landed like a revelation. Felt felt like a door had been kicked open in her mind, showing her a room she'd never known existed.
"Gojo... are you planning to run a scam?" Subaru was the first to piece it together. He stared at Gojo with an expression caught between horror and admiration.
"Who's scamming anyone? What exactly am I lying about?" Gojo looked wounded. "Investments carry risk. There's no such thing as a guaranteed return. And when we eventually withdraw, it'll be perfectly reasonable. We were the underdogs from the start."
He was warming to his own argument now, growing more righteous by the second.
"Besides, voluntarily stepping down just means we couldn't keep up. There's nothing wrong with the method itself. Everything I've read about the Royal Selection says there's no rule requiring candidates to fight to the bitter end. Dropping out is allowed."
"Imagine how much money we'd be holding if all of this works out."
"And if you're worried about retaliation afterward, we take the money and leave Lugunica entirely. Problem solved. Didn't Old Man Rom mention some city-state... Kararagi or something? Sounded nice."
"Maybe we'll end up as neighbors."
Felt listened, and the furious blush from shouting about being an idiot faded fast. When money entered the conversation, she cooled down in a hurry.
Forget everything else. Just the outline of Gojo's plan sounded incredible. Roswaal's wealth alone would be substantial, and adding other sources on top of that...
With enough effort now, the rest of her life could be spent doing whatever she pleased. No more scraping by. No more worrying about the next meal.
The anxiety from moments ago, the tension and the fear, crumbled like paper walls the instant she weighed them against gold.
Gojo's words wound through her thoughts like a devil's whisper, every syllable dripping with the promise of wealth. For a devoted miser like Felt, it took a moment to fully absorb. She swallowed hard and looked at him, hope naked in her eyes.
"This would really work? No problems?"
"No danger?"
"What danger? Let's be honest, we're mascots. Our symbolic value outweighs our actual value. Once we've converted that symbolism into cash, we disappear."
"If things go smoothly, we could be living in a new country within a month or two."
He shrugged, utterly unconcerned.
The longing in Felt's eyes deepened.
"Then... maybe we should try it?"
All talk of danger evaporated. Her head was full of Holy Gold Coins.
A little risk for money? She could live with that. Stealing on the streets hadn't been safe either, and she'd done it every day. As long as the reward matched the risk, it wasn't a problem.
"There's the Felt I know. Money over everything, survival optional."
Gojo grinned, lavishing the compliment without reservation.
"That doesn't sound like a compliment."
"Details, details. Moving on." He clapped his hands together. "Felt's sorted. Now it's your turn, Subaru."
"Huh?" Subaru hadn't expected the spotlight to swing his way.
"Everything I said just now, you followed all of it?"
"Yeah."
"Any part you didn't understand?"
"Don't think so..."
"Good. Because my one fear is that a certain someone gets so dazzled by Emilia that he forgets what we're actually here to do."
"If he pulls something like that, I won't forgive him." Felt's smile went cold. She reached behind her back and produced a short knife.
Subaru froze. "You changed clothes. How do you still have that?"
"Slums survival rule: never go anywhere without your weapon."
He laughed nervously. "I won't. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I promise."
...
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