Chapter 33: A Hidden Arrangement

Chapter 33: A Hidden Arrangement

Inside the art room, Dorothy held a stone cube in her hands, frowning with slight confusion. In her previous life, she’d dabbled a little in art. Shouldn’t still-life drawing be done with plaster models? She had never seen anyone use actual stone before.

Placing the cube back onto the low table, Dorothy took advantage of the moment when the teacher was rearranging the still life setup. She wandered over to the cabinets at the edge of the classroom and found a row of hyper-realistic busts resting neatly on top. Curious, she reached out and touched one.

‘This sculpture… it’s stone too. Just coated with white powder to look like plaster? Is this school really that rich? Using full-on stone sculptures for art class… and not just one, but a whole bunch…’

Her gaze swept across the line of busts—each one exquisitely carved, lifelike in expression, and uniquely different from the others. Her confusion only deepened.

There was a vast difference between plaster casts and actual stone statues. Plaster models were made by pouring the substance into molds, which could be reused over and over again—cheap and efficient. Stone sculptures, on the other hand, had to be carved by hand from solid rock. They took far more time and effort to create, and were usually reserved for public monuments or art exhibits.

Yet here, this school was casually using finely-crafted stone busts as drawing models. And they weren’t just decorative—each one had an incredible level of detail, the kind that could only come from a true master’s hand.

Thinking about it, Dorothy recalled seeing various other stone sculptures placed throughout the school grounds as well. ‘Does this place have some kind of resident stone sculpting genius?’ she wondered.

With that curiosity gnawing at her, she forced herself to focus and finish her drawing. But as soon as class ended, she made up her mind to get to the bottom of it. She already had someone in mind to ask.

. . . . . . . .

During the sweltering midday break, the sun bore down fiercely on the campus. In a shaded corridor on one side of the school, an elderly janitor was carefully wiping down a stone bust standing beside the walkway.

He worked with focused precision, not missing a single detail. He wiped down the ears, the underside of the nose, the arch of the brows, even the inner folds of the collar and beneath the eyelids—each crevice meticulously cleaned.

Just as the old man was lost in his task, a voice called out beside him.

“Mr. Dean, may I ask you something?”

He paused mid-motion, slightly surprised. Turning, he found a young girl standing politely nearby. She wore the school’s black uniform and a courteous smile. Her long white hair swayed gently in the breeze.

The janitor blinked, puzzled for a moment. “And you are…?”

“Dorothy Mayschoss,” she replied with a gentle smile. “We’ve met before, remember? On my first day here.”

Dean’s expression relaxed as he nodded. “Ah, yes, now I remember. You and your brother helped me out back then. I appreciate it.”

Then, smiling faintly, he added in his aged but kind voice, “So, what can I help you with, Miss Mayschoss?”

Dorothy didn’t hesitate.

“It’s like this, Mr. Dean,” Dorothy said with curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “I noticed there are a lot of really exquisite statues around the school—especially in the art room. But outside of that, there’s nothing like it anywhere else. Do you happen to know where they came from?”

She’d already done some digging earlier and learned that this elderly janitor had been working at the school for many years. His name, Dean, wasn’t unfamiliar to her anymore.

“Heh~ Interested in those statues, are you?” Dean chuckled, clearly pleased. “Can’t blame you. You won’t find such quality pieces in other places that teach art. These aren’t some cheap plaster knockoffs made with molds. Each one is a masterpiece—so lifelike and refined, a shop could use one as a showpiece and claim it as their treasure.”

The old man’s face lit up with a knowing smile as he continued.

“Those statues? They were all carved by School Principal Aldrich himself. That man’s a true master when it comes to sculpture. He enjoys placing his works around the school—to inspire the students, you see, and help cultivate an artistic atmosphere. He’s always said he hopes this school will someday produce a new generation of great artists.”

“The school principal… Aldrich, huh?” Dorothy repeated the name under her breath, staring thoughtfully at the kindly old janitor in front of her.

. . . . . .

That afternoon, in one of the classrooms, the religion teacher—a man with greying hair and a pair of spectacles—stood at the lectern passionately reciting the doctrines of the Radiance Church. The students sat below him, scribbling notes while muttering prayers under their breath.

At the back of the room, second seat from the window, Dorothy rested her head on one hand, gazing out the window with barely restrained boredom.

Outside, in the courtyard garden, she spotted Mr. Dean again, snipping away with a large pair of shears. Despite his age, he moved nimbly, tending to the plants with almost artistic precision. The bushes and hedges he trimmed had a neat, decorative flair that was almost pleasing to the eye.

‘I should confirm a few things… Might as well, since class is a bore anyway…’

Glancing briefly at the teacher still preaching fervently at the front of the room, Dorothy reached into her crossbody bag and took out a small box. She slid it open, pulled out a strange ring, and slipped it onto her finger.

The moment she did, a large gecko slithered out from her pocket.

Wearing the Corpse Marionette Ring, Dorothy focused her mind, and the gecko moved at her will. It crept quietly out of the classroom and into the open, slipping through the school grounds unnoticed. Through the ring, Dorothy's senses extended beyond her body, merging with the reptile’s perception.

. . . . . . .

The sun dipped low in the sky, and the day came to its end.

At sunset, the dismissal bell rang through St. Amanda’s School. For Dorothy, it signaled the end of another long, tedious day—and a long-awaited return home.

Of course, the fact that she got to return home didn’t mean St. Amanda was a day school. Quite the opposite—it was a full boarding institution. But Dorothy could leave each day for a simple reason:

She was a girl.

In this era, education was still steeped in discrimination. It wasn’t just about class—it was about gender, too. Before the industrial revolution, most women had virtually no access to formal education. At best, noblewomen might hire private tutors. Schools like St. Amanda, from grammar academies to universities, were traditionally all-male institutions with full-time boarding for boys.

Only after the industrial age did women’s status see a modest rise. Some schools gradually began accepting female students. Daughters of nobles, the bourgeoisie, and even affluent middle-class families—like Dorothy—were finally able to attend secondary schools.

But that was far from the norm. Most schools still clung to their traditions. St. Amanda, by choosing to admit female students and transition into a co-educational system, was already considered something of a trailblazer for the time. Yet even so, compromises were made.

For example—female students weren’t allowed to board.

Mixing boys and girls in the dormitories, even with strict segregation, would’ve drawn sharp criticism from the conservative public.

The policy was far from ideal. Girls, unable to stay on campus, missed out on many of the evening classes and extra tutoring sessions. Over time, that gap in access often translated into a gap in performance—a fact that was both frustrating and quietly accepted.

But for Dorothy, who preferred the freedom of movement, going home every evening was a small comfort… even if it meant navigating a world that rarely gave her an even playing field.

Of course, none of this bothered Dorothy in the slightest. If anything, she was glad to miss out on some of the more absurd classes. Subjects like mathematics, logic, art, and grammar were tolerable—but religious studies and etiquette? She could hardly stomach them unless they involved actual arcane knowledge. Without a boost to her spirituality, she had no interest in sitting through such nonsense.

So, as usual, Dorothy strolled out of St. Amanda’s gates alongside a group of other highborn girls, the setting sun casting a golden glow on their neatly pressed uniforms. Waiting for them beyond the gate were rows of horse-drawn carriages—some elaborate, some modest—all ready to ferry their young mistresses home.

Most of the noble and bourgeois daughters had private carriages waiting for them. Dorothy, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of a personal driver. She had to rely on hired rides instead.

Luckily, the school’s dismissal time had become well-known to the city’s freelance coachmen. They often gathered near the school entrance at this hour to pick up fares. Dorothy had taken those carriages many times before. They were cheap and convenient.

Shouldering her satchel, Dorothy lazily stepped through the gate and scanned the usual spot where the independent coachmen waited. But this time, something was off.

‘Huh? That’s weird… There’s usually at least a few carriages parked here…’

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Just as she was wondering what was going on, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed from the distance. Turning toward the noise, she saw a single carriage approaching steadily from down the road. It rolled to a stop right in front of her.

“Need a ride, miss?”

The coachman glanced down at her with a friendly smile.

Dorothy blinked.

‘I was just looking for a ride and one pulls up immediately? A bit too convenient, isn’t it? Feels like this guy was waiting for me…’

“Hmm… Give me a moment to think.”

Feigning indecision, she secretly activated her Corpse Marionette Ring. From her pocket, the hidden gecko poked out just enough to peek around and check her surroundings—especially the blind spots behind her.

What it saw wasn’t reassuring.

Two adults had quietly approached from behind. Both wore long coats and hats pulled low over their faces. They pretended to read newspapers, but their eyes were fixed intently on her.

‘Looks like… I’m being watched.’

Dorothy took a slow, steady breath, then nodded as if she’d reached a decision. With a faint, polite smile, she looked up at the driver.

“Alright. Please take me to Southern Sunflower Street.”

“Of course, miss. Hop in.”

The coachman gestured toward the door, and Dorothy stepped forward. But just as she reached the carriage, she deliberately let her foot slip.

“Eep—!”

She stumbled with a gasp and fell toward the ground.

“Are you alright, miss!?” The driver quickly jumped down and rushed to help her up, concern written all over his face.

“Ah… Thank you…” Dorothy muttered as she let him pull her to her feet.

In that moment, while his guard was down, she stole a glance at his hip—where something caught her eye.

A gun holster… armed.

“…Thank you,” she repeated, her tone calm but her mind now razor sharp.

She allowed the coachman to help her into the carriage, then sat back as the vehicle began to roll forward, wheels crunching over gravel.

Behind her, the two men in coats exchanged a glance and slipped away down a nearby alley.

Moments later, two more carriages emerged from around the corner, trailing Dorothy’s ride at a discreet distance.

Back on the road, unnoticed in the dust left behind, a lone gecko crouched in the shadows, watching the three carriages disappear into the city streets.

Then, in a sudden burst of motion, it darted back toward the school campus—moving fast.

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