The Harvest Mouse Exits the Fairytale Together with Cinderella

Elodie’s first thought was instinctive.
Fairy Godmother?
It was the black hood, the fully covered face, the way only the eyes were visible.

Karon looked exactly like her.
Now she understood why, from the moment she first saw him, she had felt that strange sense of familiarity and longing.
But at the same time…

This is… unsettling.
Because Karon was the spitting image of Nyx Basilisk.
Which meant—if seeing him reminded her of the Fairy Godmother, then didn’t that also mean Nyx Basilisk looked just like her?

…No. That’s impossible.
Besides, she had only ever seen the Fairy Godmother’s eyes.
Elodie clenched her teeth.

She tried to ignore the thoughts bubbling up in her subconscious.
But—
Karon is nine years old now… meaning he was twenty-four when I died.

The Fairy Godmother had white hair.
Long, cascading down to her waist.
To Elodie, white hair = old lady.

It was a simple association, maybe even a bias, but she had never been good at guessing the age or gender of humans.
Besides, the Fairy Godmother had sounded old.
Her voice had been hoarse, rasping, broken—so rough it was impossible to distinguish age or gender.
Thinking back… I was the one who started calling her that.

But she had never corrected me.
She had told me to call her whatever I wanted.
And so, she had become my Fairy Godmother.

But now that she was remembering—
…She didn’t have wrinkles, did she?
Lately, Elodie had gotten better at recognizing people.

She was no longer so terrified that she fled at the mere sight of a shadow.
She was interacting with people other than Sera.
And now, for the first time, she was starting to think—

Wasn’t the Fairy Godmother… a bit too well-built?
Almost as tall as Eisen…?
Well, Eisen was old too.

So wasn’t it only natural that another "Fairy Godmother" could be just as big?
Yes. That must be it.
The lack of wrinkles? That was just magic.

A youth-preserving spell.
That’s all it is… right?
Yes! There’s no way the Fairy Godmother was a Basilisk!

Elodie stubbornly denied the possibility that the Third Young Master could have been her.
She also refused to acknowledge the memory of the Fairy Godmother’s hand—
The one she had glimpsed peeking from beneath the robe.

Twisted.
Blackened.
Ruined.

She refused to think about it.
Shoving aside the ridiculous thoughts flashing through her mind, Elodie stepped forward.
The Fairy Godmother—who had always supported her, standing silently by her side.

Nyx Basilisk—who had mocked her suffering, who had spat at her and sneered, Would a god really save a filthy little rat like you?
How could this boy remind her of both of them at once?
Elodie stared at the Third Young Master, her expression unreadable.

"Hi."
"……."
"Hiii!"

"……."
Even when he ignored her, she planted herself in his path and greeted him cheerfully.
Karon stood still, silent.

Then, with a barely audible mutter, he turned his head slightly away.
"…Move."
His voice was high, clear—still untouched by puberty.

…It’s pretty.
Like glass beads rolling smoothly across a surface.
Even when he grew up, she doubted his voice would change much.

Yeah. Definitely not the Fairy Godmother.
Satisfied, Elodie nodded, even though he had just told her to get lost.
It wasn’t a scratchy, ruined voice, so it wasn’t her.

"Karon, wait a—!"
Edmund suddenly appeared, bounding up the stairs two at a time, his expression surprised.
"…Lady Ratson?"

Startled, Karon instinctively raised his gloved hand and pushed Elodie aside.
"Ah!"
"Karon!"

Edmund rushed forward, alarmed, as Elodie stumbled.
But before he could catch her, Karon had already vanished, disappearing down the corridor in quick, silent steps.
"Are you alright?"

"Mhm."
He hadn’t pushed her hard.
Just enough to make her lose her balance—a precise, calculated movement.

Why does he keep running away?
Every time they met, it was the same.
Either he told her to go away, or he left first.

This translation is the intellectual property of .
Did he really hate dealing with people that much?
"More importantly—what are you doing here?"

Edmund, relieved that she wasn’t hurt, immediately turned serious.
And for good reason.
Elodie had been standing right outside the interrogation chamber.

A toddler barely past her first steps, loitering near the torture room.
And the Silver Order had allowed this?
"What kind of excuse is Sir Howlf going to come up with this time—"

Edmund turned toward the captain of the Silver Order, expecting an explanation.
But Howlf looked like he was on the verge of tears.
As did the rest of the wolf knights.

"…?"
Why is he making that face?
For a moment, Edmund hesitated.

And in that brief pause, Elodie seized the opportunity to ask first.
"Karon, why did he run away?"
"Ah…"

At that, Edmund’s sharp expression crumbled into something far softer—something laced with sorrow.
"I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you."
So it was personal.

If it was just a family dispute, Elodie wouldn’t have bothered prying.
But Karon had come from the underground interrogation chamber—where Packer was being tortured.
There’s no way this isn’t connected.

Narrowing her eyes for a moment, she then shrugged, switching topics.
"By the way, how long are you gonna keep calling me that?"
Even now, Lady Ratson?

Compared to Zeno, who had immediately called her a rat the first time they met—granted, he’d been brainwashed—Edmund was way too formal.
"Then…"
"Call me Elodie."

Edmund’s fingertips twitched.
Slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer.
Then, as if worried that a sudden movement would make her flinch and run away, he carefully raised his hand and placed it atop her head.

It was the complete opposite of his grandfather—who always gripped her head like he meant to break her neck.
Instead, Edmund’s touch was soft, gentle, barely ruffling her hair as he stroked it.
A quiet smile formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Alright. Elodie."
This guilty man.
He had already been fairly affectionate before, but now?

Now, he radiated a blind, overwhelming fondness.
His golden eyes practically dripped honey.
"So, did you come all the way here because you needed something from me?"

His voice was calm and gentle, as always.
But there was something different.
It felt like—

Like no matter what ridiculous request she made, he would grant it.
Like no matter what absurd thing she said, he would believe her.
Well, considering she had freed him from five years of torment, it made sense.

Still… He’s way too grateful. It’s embarrassing.
All she had done was follow a recipe to make a candle.
He was the one who lit it.

Clearing her throat, Elodie tried to keep her tone casual.
"I just wanted to know if you got anything out of Packer."
"Ah…"

For some reason, Edmund looked… a little disappointed.
Had he expected her to come for a different reason?
Looking somewhat deflated, he answered honestly.

"He claimed to be following someone’s orders."
Of course.
There was no way he had acted alone.

No one would dare manipulate the Valkyrisen heir for five years without backing.
"I tried to uncover the identity of his benefactor, but it seems they never made direct contact. They left no trace."
So there was no proof.

Elodie had been half-expecting this to be linked to Valkyrisen’s downfall.
Hearing that they had hit a dead end was disappointing.
But just as she was about to let it go, Edmund continued.

"However, we did confirm one thing—the person behind all this hired the Basilisks."
There might not be solid evidence.
But the connection was clear.

Not again!
Elodie’s eyes widened in outrage, her tiny fists clenching tight.