Since It's My First Time Being a Lady, I'll Cause Some Trouble - Chapter 19

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Lady for the First Time, A Novice at Causing Trouble — Episode 19
Tatio’s bewildered expression was written plainly across his face—upper half and lower half alike.
For someone whose face was more than half hidden, he certainly had a gift for broadcasting his feelings to everyone around him. If that counted as a talent, then so be it.
“Can you do it or not?”
I pressed him again.
If a mere servant like me could successfully play the role of a Noble Lady and master the Social Skills required, surely Tatio, an actual nobleman, could have learned one or two Covert Techniques as well.
“…I can do a little, at least.”
See? He could do it. This is exactly why you shouldn’t hold prejudices.
I gave Tatio a push from behind and pressed him to hurry up and find Penri to get the Safe Key.
“If that’s too much, at least gather some intel on what those people are saying. If worst comes to worst, just run.”
“W-wait a minute! Do I really have to go? What if the Marquis Penri comes here to return the Safe Key?”
There he went with his naive remarks again.
“If he were going to return it, he’d take it to the Storage Room, not here.”
There was a high probability that mercenaries were guarding that place.
“While you’re getting the key, do your best to avoid running into the manager or any other servers. It’s hard to fool the staff entirely, you know. Disguise only works on guests.”
A brief encounter might slip by, but anything more than that would be dangerous.
“And your red hair makes you stand out even more.”
The lighting was dim, but not so much that it could conceal your hair color.
“Then shouldn’t you go instead, since you have black hair? Somehow I get the feeling you’d be better at Pickpocketing than me anyway.”
Of course I would be!
But I only step in when there’s truly no other option. And there is another option right here.
“If I speak, my identity will be discovered. Have you ever seen a server who doesn’t answer when a guest addresses them?”
“No.”
He answered well enough.
* * *
In the end, Jereon had been persuaded by Ulfina’s logic and went upstairs to steal the Safe Key from the Marquis Penri.
Since this was a conspiracy being conducted in utmost secrecy, the rebels would surely be in some hidden chamber where no one could enter.
The hallway on the third floor of the Omerta Club, lined only with Private Rooms, was as quiet as a library.
The only sound that reached his ears was the bartender shaking a cocktail shaker.
‘I don’t know which room number the Marquis Penri uses.’
Unlike the common areas, the Private Room section operated on a system where customers would pull a bell rope to summon a server.
Then the server in the Waiting Room would check which room number the bell had rung from and attend to the customer.
‘Should I pretend to make a mistake and peek inside? I could open one door and say I came looking for the wrong room…’
Just then, the bartender who had been busy mixing cocktails called out to him.
“Hey, you there. Take this to Room 3.”
Jereon seized the sudden stroke of fortune without hesitation.
What’s more, on ordinary days, two or more bartenders would staff the bar, but for some reason, today there was only one.
Apparently due to the backlog of orders, the man’s expression had grown taut as he busily mixed drinks.
Which meant Jereon would have more opportunities to scout other rooms.
‘It would be best to stay close to the bar.’
Just as he reached for the tray holding the cocktail—
“Wait. Did we ever have a server with red hair at our place?”
Ulfina had been right. Red hair attracted attention. Beyond the mask, he felt the bartender’s suspicious gaze upon him. Silence would only deepen that suspicion.
“No, sir.”
“Huh?”
“I tried dyeing it once. But it didn’t suit me, so I’m planning to shave it all off.”
“You’d really shave it just for that…?”
The bartender’s tone softened as he murmured at Jereon’s brazen reply.
Before another question could be asked, Jereon quickly grabbed the tray and made for Room 3.
The door opened, and through the haze of cigar smoke, the interior of the room came into view. Seated arrogantly with crossed legs at the head of the table was a young man.
‘Lucky me.’
It was the Marquis Penri.
His face bore the unmistakable features of both the Emperor and his mistress Constance in equal measure, and his base nature showed through without mask or apology.
Those gathered around him were all nobles of considerable standing whom Jereon recognized by sight, or newly ascendant nobility of recent prominence.
Jereon clamped his mouth shut to suppress the rising tide of betrayal welling up inside him.
The Marquis Penri and the nobles chattered on, unaware that Rodinia’s Second Prince was standing right beside them.
“So I told Goden: if you can lobby the councilors to support the Tax Rate Increase, I’ll convince His Majesty to grant you a Title. The tax revenue would increase anyway—surely one peerage is no great matter.”
“A wise observation indeed, my lord. And soon will you not become family to the highest person in the empire? There is no glory greater than such glory.”
At the flattering words of one of the nobles, the Marquis Penri broke into a cruel smile.
“Quite right. There is no glory like it.”
He jingled a single key for all to see—a gleaming brass key stamped with a number.
It was the Safe Key that Jereon had been searching for.
The fact that he’d produced it so readily suggested he’d been clutching it in his palm the whole time, like some cheap conjurer.
“Before long, the contents stored here will finally shine.”
Jereon’s eyes sharpened. The rebellion was truly at the door now.
“Of course it will, Your Grace.”
“Who else would sit in that seat if not the Duke?”
“At last, everyone’s desires come to fruition.”
Flattery poured across the table like water.
Duke Penri slipped the key into his right trouser pocket with a satisfied smile.
Once Jereon confirmed the key’s location, he bit back a silent curse.
Extracting something from a sitting man’s pocket was all but impossible unless you were a master thief.
‘At least I’ve gathered the intelligence I was sent for. The objective is achieved.’
He’d need to steal the safe’s contents before they moved into action, though there was no reason to take that risk tonight.
Better to slip in among the guests on other floors, then crack the Storage Room open after the club closed.
Jereon had just set down the last glass and turned to leave when it happened.
Without warning, Duke Penri’s crude hand shot out and seized his red hair. Caught off guard, Jereon was yanked forward helplessly.
‘Did he recognize me?’
Ulfina’s voice echoed in his mind again: red hair always draws attention.
‘That’s exactly why I told you not to go, didn’t I?’
Why did the Voice Modulation skill have no application for a lady’s training?
Duke Penri tightened his grip, wrenching Jereon closer. His breath reeked of hard liquor.
“What’s wrong with you, you wretch? This red hair—what is this?”
Jereon dropped his voice an octave to respond.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I was touching up my roots and chose the wrong dye. That’s how this happened.”
Duke Penri’s eyes narrowed to slits. Between them hung a tension sharper than broken glass.
He spoke through gritted teeth.
“Listen well. I despise red hair.”
“I’ll remember that, Your Grace. I’ll dye it again immediately.”
Satisfied with the answer, Duke Penri released his hair.
Outside, Jereon rubbed the scalp where fingers had clenched. As he ran his fingers through his locks, red strands tumbled free.
“Damn brute.”
His scalp throbbed—not just stung, but felt as though it had been flayed raw.
“How long is he going to hold that grudge?”
Duke Penri had been raised under the Emperor’s favor and his mother Constance’s high expectations.
No one dared reprimand him, even when he showed disrespect before the throne.
It seemed the Emperor had simply given up on disciplining someone incapable of learning, content to indulge him.
As a result, the Duke had carried himself since childhood like he was the crown prince himself.
It wasn’t enough to bully the Emperor’s other bastards; eventually, he’d grown bold enough to show contempt for Jereon, the legitimate heir.
Jereon had been ten years old then. And unlike the Duke, he was clever.
He understood that Penri commanded the Emperor’s attention not from paternal love but from the same affection one reserves for a cherished pet.
The problem was that Jereon was only ten.
No matter how sharp one’s mind, at that age it was easier to follow instinct than to reason through words.
Before the servants could rush in and separate them, Duke Penri—despite his size—was beaten senseless by his two-years-younger half-brother.
After that, he’d snarl whenever he saw Jereon, but never dared to provoke him again.
“A coward who takes out his fear on servants over a head of red hair.”
Still, the night hadn’t been a total loss.
‘At least I have the intelligence that matters.’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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