episode_0002

The Seriratus family was located deep in the quiet mountains.

…No, that’s not quite right. The mountain range itself was the Seriratus family.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

“I’m here to take the butler exam.”

“Did you bring the notice?”

“Here it is.”

What would be called a hiking trail on Earth was enclosed by walls here.

The mountain itself had been carved and hollowed out to form a single massive castle.

It wasn’t just grand in scale—it outright dwarfed the pyramids in sheer size. From about halfway up, the castle was obscured by clouds, making it impossible to see what lay beyond.

Did they really need to go this over the top when they’re not even dragons? I thought to myself as the notice was stamped red and handed back to me.

“Confirmed. This notice will serve as your guarantee for the week of the exam. After that, please return.”

“Understood.”

Along with the other butler candidates who had received their notices, I entered the mountain—no, the castle—and after about 20 minutes of walking, an antiquated building came into view.

Unlike the other structures, this one had an Eastern aesthetic. The sight of it made the candidates tense up.

“Even though this is my fourth time here, I’m still nervous.”

“This is my seventh attempt. I feel like I’m going to lose it.”

…Hm. If you weren’t losing it after seven tries, that would be the weird part, no?

Upon entering the building, there was a long, rectangular table. Beside it were various everyday items—bowls, candlesticks, tableware, handkerchiefs, and the like.

As the others naturally took their seats, I followed suit.

“Ugh… If I fail this time, I’m definitely stuck as a servant.”

“Being a servant isn’t so bad. My older brother was one, and he got at least five days off a month.”

After about ten minutes of small talk, a white-haired old man in a formal suit entered.

The candidates collectively held their breath at the sight of him.

“Welcome, butler candidates. I am McClain, the head butler.”

“H-Head Butler?!”

“Why is the head butler overseeing the exam…?”

Apparently, it was unusual for the head butler himself to proctor the exam.

McClain, standing with perfect posture, scanned each of us one by one. When his gaze briefly landed on me, it carried a hint of curiosity—but it vanished just as quickly. In a smooth yet firm tone, he explained the exam.

“This test will assess your ability to handle real-life situations. Everyone, please step back from your chairs.”

The candidates rose in unison and stepped back.

Snap. The moment McClain flicked his fingers, a group of girls in cute maid uniforms entered, matching our numbers, and took their seats at the table.

We stood behind them, now in position.

“From this moment on, treat the maids before you as your masters. If you have anything to report or are unprepared, speak now.”

No one said a word.

“Good. Then—Sagu-style dinner preparation.”

“…?”

The candidates froze with blank expressions.

Naturally, I was the first to move.

Sagu-style—that meant a main plate, two side plates, no fork, a knife and skewer, and a handkerchief folded into a flower shape.

“Ah, ah…! So it’s about table setting!”

“Um, the handkerchief…”

The other candidates only started moving after I had finished setting the table.

But most of them got it wrong—either failing the number of side plates or choosing the wrong main plate.

Some were still hesitating over the plates, but McClain showed no mercy.

“Stop. Next, prepare the Sagu-style breakfast setting.”

Simple. Remove the side plate, add a fork.

“Done.”

The moment I finished, the maid sitting in front of me suddenly threw the knife I had set down, accompanied by a cute sound effect.

…Excuse me, you little—?

The maid stared back at me shamelessly, as if she’d done nothing wrong, then turned to McClain—but no reprimand came.

Ah, so sudden situations are part of the test.

Simply picking up the knife and putting it back would be the worst move.

Locking eyes with the maid, I asked gently,

“Miss, is there something unsatisfactory about this?”

“I don’t like this knife.”

“What kind of knife would you prefer?”

“One that cuts better.”

Bringing a sharper knife wasn’t the best solution either.

While context mattered, using unprovided cutlery at a formal dinner would be considered rude.

I quickly sharpened the same knife on a whetstone until it was razor-sharp, then placed it back in its setting.

Seemingly satisfied, the maid didn’t throw it again.

“Stop. Next, a ball. You have just received a toast.”

Clunk— The door opened, and maids wearing katyusha headdresses entered, carrying glasses and wine.

“A toast to celebrate the victory of this expedition. Please, enjoy.”

Glug, glug… Wine was poured before my assigned maid.

But after sniffing it, she didn’t drink.

“Miss, does the wine not suit your taste?”

“It’s too strong for me.”

I glanced around, but there was no substitute wine.

After a moment of thought, I checked the label.

Ah, a specialty wine from the Yukarm region. This one’s naturally rich in aroma—that should be fine.

I deliberately over-swirled the glass to dull the scent.

“How about now?”

“Hmm…”

The maid sniffed it again, then shook her head slightly.

“It’s better than before, but honestly, I don’t feel like wine today.”

A whim, then.

The choice was between letting her refuse the toast or insisting she drink.

This time, I bowed to the maid who had poured the wine.

“My apologies. My master seems unwell and will only accept the sentiment.”

“I shall relay that.”

Refusing a toast was a significant risk—in a real situation, forcing her to drink would’ve been the correct move. I might’ve been criticized for my actions.

But for celebratory occasions like victories, leniency was more likely.

Above all, a butler should prioritize their master’s comfort over their own safety.

The wine-pouring maid left, and another entered, this time carrying four glasses.

“Next, listen to a general description of the drink your master desires and select one of these four glasses.”

…

I stared at the glasses, then asked McClain,

“Am I to take this selection seriously?”

“Yes.”

Crash—!

Every candidate mid-exam turned to look at me.

Rightfully so—I had just overturned all the glasses.

Then, I pressed the knife I’d sharpened earlier against the neck of the maid who brought them. The other candidates paled and tried to intervene.

“H-hey…!”

“What are you doing?!”

The maid, completely unfazed, met my gaze and asked,

“Why are you doing this?”

“Opaque glasses for drinks are an attempted assassination. Since this is a test, a threat suffices—but in reality, you’d be dead.”

Most poisons don’t dissolve perfectly in drinks.

Plain water is one thing, but darker liquors or beverages make it even harder.

That’s why all noble drinking glasses are made of transparent glass—to check for sediment when shaken.

I was certain. But just in case this was some absurd trick, I glanced at McClain—

“…Oh?”

He was looking at me with genuine surprise.

So I wasn’t wrong.

“Now let me go.”

“Ah.”

I’d been gripping the maid’s wrist tightly to keep her from fleeing.

I released her and apologized.

“My apologies. Even if this is a test, I’ve acted rudely.”

“You held too tight. It hurt.”

The maid stuck out her tongue—bleh—and left.

Cute.

“Final test. Listen to your master’s order and make a judgment.”

I looked at the maid.

She said nothing.

…?

“Master, do you have any instructions?”

“No.”

In other words—

There was something she wanted but didn’t want to say.

I observed the maid carefully.

Arms crossed, legs crossed, foot tapping.

Bathroom? No, something that basic wouldn’t be a test question.

Then it was time for twenty questions—though in reality, far fewer.

Too many questions would irritate her. Three at most—ideally, two or fewer.

And I had a killer question up my sleeve.

“I’ve brought the latest haute couture pieces from the capital’s artisans. Would you care to try them on?”

“…!”

The maid looked genuinely startled, her eyes darting between me and McClain before nodding.

“Um… Yes, I’ll try them on.”

“…”

McClain’s expression was even more priceless.

Even during the exam, his face was unmistakably shocked as he strode over and asked,

“H-how did you guess it was about clothes in one try?”

“Well…”

This is a trade secret.

I brought a hand to my mouth and whispered,

“My father used to say that nine out of ten times, when young ladies are upset for no reason, it’s because their outfit concept clashes with another lady’s.”

“That can’t be—”

McClain cut himself off mid-denial, pausing to think deeply.

Within minutes, he let out a dry laugh and nodded.

“—You must have an exceptional butler for a father. What is your name and house?”

“Virdem of the Selbus family.”

“Virdem of the Selbus family…”

McClain repeated my name, then nodded.

“I’ll remember it.”

Me?

Passed. Guaranteed.