EPISODE 9

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Yancy: Junior Master, you cannot neglect that task. It is essential.

Tiberius: Mr. Yancy Wil! I see no reason to heed you. Do you realize what would happen if I framed you before my father?

Yancy Wil remains silent, his calm expression unchanged.

Tiberius: Let this not happen again.

As he turns to leave, Yancy Wil firmly takes hold of his wrist—and without effort, lifts the young master over his left shoulder.

Tiberius: Huh?! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!

Despite his protests, Yancy Wil doesn’t budge. Through the grand foyer they go, the young master yelling all the way.

Tiberius: Put me down, you rigid man! I said put me down!

Housemaid 1: Mr. Wil! What do you think you’re doing?!

Yancy calmly glances around, spots a chair, and sets the squirming Tiberius down with firm precision.

Assistant Butler: (rushing in) What is going on here?!

Yancy: (sternly) Will you still not do it, Junior Master?

Tiberius: (pouting) No!

Yancy: Junior Butler, if at all possible, I’d very much like to have a word with his father about this unacceptable behaviour—perhaps even discuss—

Tiberius: (teary-eyed) No! I’ll do it. I’ll compromise!

Yancy: Are you quite sure?

Tiberius: Yes, yes! Just—don’t tell Papa. Please!

Silence falls. Yancy exhales softly, his gaze gentler now. He wipes a tear from Tiberius’s left eye with a gloved thumb.

Yancy: Good. Always remember—these plans are for your own good. Understood?

Tiberius: {His hands… and his temperance… they feel like hers. That nanny. Why is that?} (nods silently)

Yancy: Very well then. (smiles) 😄 Now, would someone kindly prepare his noon bath?

Housemaids: Right away, Mr. Wil!

And just like that, a wildfire rumour spreads through the Empire Territory: Mr. Yancy Wil—annual nanny to the young master—is not only a charming, ever-smiling man, but in rare moments, a cool, stern gentleman.

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Days later, at the Empire gates, a sleek car rolls to a stop. A little girl, no older than nine, peeks out the window, her eyes sharp with mischief.

Azenor: Heh. Distant relative, I’m here for you. (smirks) He won’t escape me. No one ever does.

Uh-oh… I smell trouble.

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In the parlor, silence lingers between three seated figures: Tiberius, Yancy Wil, and Azenor.

Yancy: So… you say you’re a distant relative?

Azenor: Distant cousin, actually.

Yancy: Distant cousin, hmm?

Azenor: Yes. The late Mr. Kamen’s younger sister’s great-grandchild is biologically my maternal cousin. Which makes young Tiberius here my distant cousin.

Yancy: (raising a brow) I see… though I haven’t the faintest clue what you just said. (smiles politely) 😄 Hope that doesn’t trouble you?

Azenor: Oh, not at all! I can explain further—my cousin’s mother, who is my aunt, is the grandchild of the child of—

Yancy: Oh, dear. How about I make us some beverages instead, eh?

Azenor: Can you? That would be delightful!

Yancy: (chuckles) Endearing, truly. {All these noble families and their twisted family trees…}

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Tiberius: Did you really have to use our family tree to chase him away?

Azenor: Hehehe, works every time. 😉 (to her bodyguards) Leave us.

Bodyguards: Yes, Young Miss.

Azenor steps off the sofa, adjusting her spectacles and notes with serious grace.

Azenor: So… is he?

Tiberius: That’s the problem. I don’t know.

Azenor: (arches a brow) He’s been your caregiver for over a week and you don’t know?

Tiberius: I’m serious!

Azenor: Relax. No need to be so formal. Be yourself.

Tiberius: (sighs) Th… thank you.

Azenor: How is he around the other men in the mansion?

Tiberius: Very normal.

Azenor: Hmm. Then perhaps he’s got a bigger fish to catch.

Tiberius: Maybe. But he’s definitely friendlier with the women.

Azenor: Forget that. He might be pretending.

Tiberius: If so, then he’ll be the third gold—gold…

Azenor: Digger.

Tiberius: …digger to taste our furry—

Azenor: Fury.

Tiberius: (snaps) You get it, yeah?!

Azenor: (hands raised, grinning) All right, all right! I can already taste the sweetness of this chaos. 😇

Tiberius: 😏 {Get along? Dream on, Yancy Wil Maarschulkarwart.}

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