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Chapter 48

Side Story 8: A Certain Gardener

5 min read1,070 words

The gardens, which serve as my workplace, are even more expansive than the palace buildings where the Emperor resides.

"Hah, alright. That's the end of it."

Of course, serving in the palace is an honor, but as a mere gardener, I've been more concerned with the pain in my back lately.

There are plenty of gardeners to begin with.

No, we need that many just to maintain the place.

Even just the basic maintenance takes more than a day.

"Ah, wait! Please don't touch that without permission!"

Just as I was about to take a breather, my apprentice gardener shouted.

Looking over, he was heading toward a woman in a dress with dark blue hair.

"You idiot...!?"

If she's a noble, we could get our heads cut off just for speaking to her like that!

Anyone who can come and go here without wearing a uniform is of that status.

I hurried after my foolish apprentice.

"That hasn't been de-thorned yet! What if a child gets hurt?"

"Idiot! You!"

"Ouch!?"

I silenced the apprentice who was speaking so arrogantly to the woman in the dress by hitting him from behind with my fist.

I kept his head down and made him bow.

"We apologize most humbly! He is but a young novice who has only recently started working here!"

I bowed my head along with him, apologizing for the discourtesy.

The voice that addressed us came from around the same height as our bowed heads.

"It's fine. It seems you were just calling out to make sure I didn't get hurt. I'm the one who was careless."

Looking up, a black-haired child stood before the woman in the dress.

I immediately realized who he was, and my face nearly contorted in fear.

"Ah, right. When the citrus fruits around here ripen, could I have some?"

"W-well, that is... we gardeners cannot really answer that."

"In that case, please confirm with the administrator."

"Yes, of course."

When I avoided giving a clear answer to the child's request, the woman in the dress added her own words.

Being told that, we couldn't refuse, and it became a troublesome matter.

However, without being troubled further, the two left.

I vented my anger by giving the foolish apprentice another smack on the head.

"That hurts! Why are you hitting me? Did I do something wrong?"

"If you don't know what you did wrong, you should have asked me first, you fool!"

The fellow gardeners who had been watching from afar approached, concerned.

"Listen, there aren't many children here! And black hair! That's the First Prince!"

"What!? The one they say always makes his younger brother cry, and gets anyone who protects him fired, that wicked one!?"

At such a loud voice, I hit him again to silence him.

I hurriedly looked around, but it seems the person in question had already left and didn't hear.

My fellow gardener laughed only because we had gotten away safely.

"Nahaha, we apologized for nothing. They say he went too far and got banned from entering through the left wing of the palace. A little discourtesy wouldn't warrant punishment when dealing with that prince."

The First Prince's bad reputation, which even gardeners hear about, troubles us as well.

After all, it was in these gardens that he made the Second Prince—the next Emperor—cry.

They say the Second Prince suddenly ran off, and during the time his attendants lost sight of him, the atrocity occurred.

Because of that, the gardeners in charge of that section were scapegoated for poor maintenance, and some who argued back incurred displeasure and lost their heads.

Therefore, among the gardeners, a trend emerged to avoid involvement with the First Prince.

Everyone values their own skin.

"But he seemed more normal than the rumors said."

My apprentice muttered while cleaning up.

This strange honesty is both his good point and his bad point.

However, I had the same impression.

"I thought he'd just tear off what he wanted, but maybe it was because of the thorns?"

"Huh, no way. Not in the Emperor's gardens."

My apprentice seemed to think I was joking, but such things happened often in the past.

"Long before the previous Emperor fell ill. When there were many nobles and many evening parties, no matter how much we tended the gardens, they'd be ruined within half a day."

The amorous games of men and women breaking branches in the bushes happened day and night.

When many more princes and princesses lived here than now, it wasn't rare for imperial family members to roughly tear off and take whatever they wanted without so much as asking the gardeners.

Because of that, some rare species withered away.

And the blame fell upon the gardeners.

We weren't in a position to complain about what nobles did.

Such tyranny, such injustice, now lies dormant.

"Ugh, that's awful. Master, why did you want to keep working at the palace after that?"

"There's much a gardener can do here. The varieties we get to work with are no joke. Besides, even if I'm unfairly dismissed, once I leave the capital, having 'former palace servant' on my resume means I can find work anywhere."

The still-green apprentice seemed to be weighing his career against the injustice.

Even though I had developed a much more serious concern.

A few days later, the black-haired prince came again.

"I see... So I can't have the fruit."

The First Prince's request was denied.

I knew before asking that the administrator wouldn't hand them over.

I recall that someone who was forced to resign by the First Prince had been quite vocal about being framed and driven to resign because they were related to someone.

In other words, pure harassment.

The woman in the dress, understanding this, bit her lip and endured.

It was good that she was rational enough to know that yelling at me would be meaningless.

"Then, what about the fruit on those bundled branches over there? Do you use them for something after thinning?"

"No, we just throw these away as is."

"I see, then since you're throwing them away, could I have them? Surely I don't need permission for something you're discarding?"

The First Prince picked up the branches that were to be discarded.

The woman in the dress looked down at the prince with eyes so moist she seemed about to cry—a strangely unpleasant aftertaste.

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