Mob No.122: “Excuse me, but this is our first meeting. Well, perhaps I was shown your face and name the other day? At any rate, there’s no reason for you to call me ‘Grandfather.'”
[Side: Third-Person Perspective]
In front of the office building of [Lebam Corporation], a black bus and a limousine came to a stop.
From the black bus emerged a group of black-suited men who appeared to be bodyguards, forming a perfect human wall from the limousine to the building’s entrance.
Then, from the limousine, an elderly man appeared.
Dressed in an ordinary dark brown suit and matching fedora, with thick-rimmed glasses, the old man leaned on a cane but walked briskly into the building.
“Miss, where might I find the Sales Department?”
He addressed one of the female receptionists.
“Y-yes! The Sales Department is on the 8th floor—take that elevator over there, then turn left after exiting!”
“Thank you.”
Smiling warmly at the flustered receptionist, the old man headed for the elevator, trailed by his black-suited entourage.
Meanwhile, on the 8th floor, the Sales Department was bustling with employees hard at work.
Some were drafting contracts, others making sales calls, attending to clients, or checking inventory lists. There were also those who weren’t present—out visiting clients or seeking new business.
Amidst them, at a desk marked [Sales Department Manager], sat one man with headphones plugged into a handheld device, absorbed in an online game.
His attire and hairstyle made him look anything but a salesperson, let alone a manager.
The other employees kept their distance, making a conscious effort to avoid engaging with him as usual.
Yet, until about twenty years ago, scenes like this were commonplace—second or third sons of noble families, unable to inherit their houses, would leverage their family’s prestige to secure corporate positions, drawing high salaries without doing any real work.
Thanks to reforms by the late emperor, many such incompetent noble-employees had been purged, but remnants like this still lingered.
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Then, the old man from the reception arrived.
“Pardon me. I was told a man named Tenot-Lingard works here. Is he present?”
The old man addressed a nearby female employee.
“Y-yes. Manager Lingard is… over there.”
She hesitantly pointed toward Lingard’s desk.
“Thank you.”
Removing his hat politely, the old man approached the desk and spoke.
“Are you Tenot-Lingard?”
The moment Lingard saw him,
he immediately tore off his headphones,
“Grandfather!
abandoning his game with a beaming smile as he stood up.
What brings you here all of a sudden? You said meeting me directly would be problematic!”
To the employees, the sight of Lingard—usually smug and arrogant—smiling so warmly was bizarre.
Even the old man, Altischult-Bingil-O’Vorls, was taken aback by Lingard’s demeanor.
He had expected panic, yet the man acted as though he genuinely revered him as his grandfather.
But a duke would never falter over such a trivial matter.
“Excuse me, but this is our first meeting. Well, perhaps I was shown your face and name the other day? At any rate, there’s no reason for you to call me ‘Grandfather.'”
“What are you saying, Grandfather? Just last week, we spoke on the phone—”
With a signal from the duke, the black-suited men swarmed in, restraining Tenot-Lingard.
“Ow! Grandfather! What is the meaning of this?!”
“Naturally, I’ve come to apprehend the fool who has been impersonating my grandson and causing trouble.”
Though the duke wore a smile, his eyes remained cold.
Taking a seat at Lingard’s desk, he began speaking leisurely.
“I’ve done some digging. Who would’ve thought your grandmother was that filthy woman? Your grandmother, Karutina-Lingard ni Karutina-Olidentark—was a countess during the reign of my father, the 4th Emperor Gadberant-Maris-O’Vorls. She was permitted to reside in the imperial palace solely because of her beauty and my father’s favor. But she also seduced my eldest brother, Crown Prince Aegis, my second brother Ragdaron, and even me. A gold-digging harlot, as they say. Naturally, her character was equally repulsive. Neither my brothers nor I indulged her, and she was widely despised in court.”
As he reminisced, the duke chuckled faintly.
Then, turning back to Lingard, he removed his glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket.
“So, you exploited the delusional ravings of your senile grandmother—that she and I were once in love, that your mother was the result, and that you, born from her, are my grandson?”
He tapped the floor sharply with his cane.
“You know full well you are no grandson of mine. Yet you used my name, and upon meeting me, acted the part, hoping I’d doubt myself—perhaps even accept you as kin. Isn’t that right?”
Lingard’s face stiffened, but he forced a smile despite his restraints.
“Yes, exactly. But wouldn’t it be better for you to acknowledge me as your grandson? As you know, my grandmother lay with the late emperor—your father—many times! My mother was born from that union!”
He threw out this desperate claim—
that even if not the duke’s son, he was the direct grandson of the emperor three generations prior!
That his existence could shake the current emperor’s foundation!
The duke had his men force Lingard to stand.
“A shame, but that’s impossible. Despite having an empress, consorts, and dozens of mistresses, my father sired only three children. Do you know why? Because after three heirs, emperors undergo a procedure to ensure no more offspring. Two successors and a spare are enough. Meaning any woman who bore a child after my birth did so with another man. And incidentally, any child conceived before an emperor’s ascension is disposed of upon coronation. Not that you or Karutina would know—this is a secret known only to the imperial family and their physicians.”
He whispered these royal secrets into Lingard’s ear, shattering his final defense.
“Th-that can’t be… I was supposed to be the emperor’s grandson…”
The realization that his lifelong conviction was a lie drained all strength from him.
“Now then, it’s time you came with me. You will not be forgiven for exploiting my name. You will be punished thoroughly.”
At the duke’s command, the black-suited men escorted Lingard out.
Rising slowly, the duke turned to the employees.
“Forgive the interruption. I apologize for disrupting your work.”
With a polite tip of his hat, he made to leave.
But as he exited the Sales Department, he added coldly:
“Rest assured, that everyone will compensate every last victim of his schemes.”
Then he was gone.
Strangely, days passed without any news of Tenot-Lingard’s arrest for impersonating Duke Altischult-Bingil-O’Vorls’ grandson or his many crimes—fraud, extortion, false accusations.
Yet, all his victims received full compensation… under the name of the Lingard Viscountcy.
“Well done, my lord.”
Inside the limousine driving away from [Lebam Corporation], the duke’s longtime steward offered praise as he steered.
“Not at all. It’s been too long since I visited a planet outside my domain or the capital, Hein. A change of scenery was welcome.”
The duke retrieved a bottle of mineral water from the built-in fridge, opened it himself, and took a deep drink.
“Still, what a pity. We’d spared him as a potential scapegoat, only for this.”
“General Breskin learned of his existence. Leaving him be would’ve risked my reputation.”
“But who informed the general?”
“No matter. Sooner or later, someone would’ve heard. It merely happened now.”
“As you say.”
“Besides, I rather enjoyed myself. Telling that filthy woman’s grandson the truth was exhilarating! Felt like playing the detective in a drama!”
Laughing, the duke drank again.
“A fine performance indeed. Shall we return to the estate now?”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
With that, the limousine—followed by the black-suited men’s bus—headed for the spaceport.
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