"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to your attention this magical item—!"
Merat's voice died in his throat.
His gaze snagged on the girl who had just slipped through the entrance and settled at a corner table, half-hidden in shadow.
It was the same young lady from before—the foolish creature who had pressed a silver coin into his palm just for the privilege of walking through his doors.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but the auction demanded his attention.
He smoothed his expression and continued.
After all, she had never won a single bid.
The reason was painfully obvious: she hadn't placed one.
The girl clearly lacked the financial means to compete.
She had probably returned simply to gawk at rare items she could never afford.
"So, the starting bid for this sacred artifact will be seventy gold pieces—"
"I'm buying!"
Her hand shot into the air, cutting through the murmur of the crowd.
"I'll buy it!"
Merat suppressed a laugh, his lips curling with amusement.
"Excuse me, my lady, but the price of this item *starts* at seventy gold pieces..."
"Is this enough?"
Without a moment's hesitation, she produced a heavy purse from her pocket and let it thud against the table.
Gold coins gleamed through the leather.
This young woman had genuinely decided to pay full price.
"Well—of course, my lady!"
The girl won the bid for a goblet encrusted with multicolored glass gems.
It was beautiful to behold but utterly impractical.
Moreover, no sensible buyer would have paid such a sum if it hadn't been marketed as a *sacred artifact*.
"Ah, it looks so lovely...!"
The goblet was nothing more than an exact copy of the real relic, glass masquerading as precious stones.
But the woman remained blissfully ignorant, admiring her purchase with wide, innocent eyes.
"So, the next lot is an artifact recovered from a three-hundred-year-old castle—"
A sharp, unmistakable sound cut through his announcement.
"Are you alright, miss?
You should have been more careful!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry..."
The girl stood over the shattered remains of the glass goblet she had just purchased, her expression sheepish.
Merat approached swiftly, arranging his features into a mask of concern while muttering under his breath:
"Fools are nothing but trouble."
"Hmm?"
"No, no—I simply wanted to ask if you were hurt?"
"Of course not.
I'm perfectly fine."
Fortunately, she proved even more foolish than he had anticipated.
She didn't mention a refund—not a single word—which suited him perfectly.
But this was only the beginning.
What followed defied all expectation.
The girl won bid after bid, her purse seemingly bottomless, her enthusiasm inexhaustible.
With each victory, Merat became increasingly convinced that this naive creature was a golden angel dispatched by the Goddess herself.
"Now, I would like to present this exquisite ceramic ivory vase—"
"I'm buying!
I'm buying the vase too!"
"Sold!"
Merat announced the verdict from the stage, momentarily stunned into silence.
The reason?
The girl hadn't waited for him to deliver her purchase.
Instead, she climbed onto the stage herself.
"Be careful—!"
"Hmm?"
"What do you think you're—!"
She had barely lifted the ceramic vase before it slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.
Ivory shards scattered across the wooden boards like broken teeth.
Merat's fury erupted.
Spittle flew from his lips as he screamed.
"What are you *doing*?!
Do you have any idea how much this costs?!
You crazy, reckless idiot—"
"Excuse me?"
"What?"
The girl tilted her head, her voice carrying a strange, measured calm.
"I paid for it, so I know exactly how much it costs.
Why are *you* asking *me*?"
Merat's mouth opened and closed.
The words tangled in his throat.
Then Juliet's expression shifted.
The wide-eyed delight that had painted her features moments ago vanished completely, replaced by something cold and sharp—like a blade slipping free of its sheath.
"Perhaps it's because this one was *real*?" she asked quietly.
"What are you talking about...?"
"You didn't react this way when I dropped the goblet earlier."
Her gaze pinned him in place.
"Why has your attitude changed so suddenly?"
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"So that's how it is."
A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips.
"Now it's perfectly clear."
Her voice rang out across the auction hall, crisp and accusatory.
"The bejeweled goblet and the so-called sacred artifacts you sold me—they're counterfeit copies.
You replaced the real artifacts with fakes before handing them over, didn't you?"
"What... what do you mean...?"
Cold sweat slicked down Merat's spine.
"Did he exchange real artifacts for fakes?"
"Counterfeits?
He replaced the genuine items?"
A terrible commotion erupted among the hundred-odd people gathered in the auction house.
Voices rose in outrage, echoing off the walls.
"He was deceiving us!
The artifacts are copies?!"
"He's a *fraud*!"
As the situation spiraled toward chaos, Merat edged toward the back of the stage, seeking escape.
"Going somewhere?"
Juliet's voice stopped him cold.
She glanced toward the entrance and called out:
"Hey, Theo—your turn!"
The Red King's youngest grandson strode through the parting crowd, his presence commanding instant attention.
But it was the small figure following behind him that drew gasps from the audience.
A priest, clad in pristine white robes.
"A priest?"
"What is a priest doing here...?"
Whispers rippled through the hall like wind through dry grass.
Juliet turned to the holy man with a gracious smile.
"Dear Father, would you be so kind as to compare the artifacts on stage with the ones I purchased?"
"Certainly, my child.
Give me just a moment," the priest replied, his tone cheerful.
"No—wait!"
Merat's chin trembled.
Terror clawed at his chest.
But he had no defense.
No refutation.
The girl's words were irrefutable.
"Come now, let's evaluate the authenticity of these artifacts—just as this young lady suggests!"
"Wait—something's wrong here—"
The priest reached into a box on the stage and lifted out a second ceramic vase.
"What is this?"
"A second sacred artifact?"
"But why are there *two* identical vases?"
Merat squeezed his eyes shut.
His body shook uncontrollably.
It was over.
***It was all over.***
He stumbled toward Juliet and collapsed at her feet, words tumbling out in a desperate, pathetic stream.
"You're absolutely right...
I didn't mean to...
I'll refund every coin you've spent—everything—"
"That isn't all the money I spent."
"What?"
Juliet extended her hand, palm upward.
"You already received the entrance fee from me, didn't you?
You'll need to return that as well."
Panic surged through him, but he fumbled for the silver coin and pressed it into her waiting palm.
"Yes, yes!
I'll return it all!
But these items, they—"
"Do you remember what you said earlier?"
"What are you talking about?"
Juliet's smile widened, bright and merciless.
"You said that *'only a fool lets himself be fooled.'* Isn't that right?"
Merat's eyes bulged, nearly leaving their sockets.
"You...!"
## — Justice Served —
In truth, Juliet's plan had been elegantly simple.
Steal the real artifacts before the other party notices.
Once the deception is exposed, demand a refund—and walk away with the genuine relics.
"Let me go!
Do you have *any idea* who stands behind me?!
Hey—listen to me!"
Merat was caught red-handed and dragged away by the guards, bound for custody on charges of fraud.
He should have been grateful, really.
If the guards hadn't intervened, the furious auction-goers would have beaten him to death on the spot.
"You bastards!
You scum!
I won't let this go!"
But as the guards hauled him toward the door, Merat spat out words that sent a chill through the room.
"I am the Marquis of Guinness's loyal servant—a man who enjoys his *complete trust*!
You are all ***finished***!"
"Who is that?"
The name meant nothing to Theo.
But Juliet's face drained of color, pale as winter snow.
The Marquis of Guinness was a powerful aristocrat from the South.
His adopted son, Count Casper, was betrothed to Princess Priscilla, the Emperor's niece.
More importantly, the Marquis led the coalition of former noble houses that had long worked to keep the Duke of Carlisle in check.
And there was something else.
Something far more personal.
He had been Juliet's fifth husband in her first life.
Her uncle, Baron Gaspard, had sold her to him like livestock at market.
"What's wrong?
You've gone completely white."
Theo studied her with concern.
"This Marquis of Guinness... do you know him?"
Juliet couldn't answer.
The words lodged in her throat like broken glass.
It took a full minute before she managed a single syllable.
"No."
But the memories refused to stay buried.
Whenever she encountered anything related to the Marquis, she remembered—the cruelty hidden behind his respectable facade, the way he had smiled for society while making her life a private hell.
Even now, the thought of him made her skin crawl with revulsion.
Still, something didn't add up.
The Marquis of Guinness belonged to the southern aristocracy.
Carcassonne was Akitas territory—far to the east.
How could a southern noble's influence extend this far?
While Juliet struggled to recall the events of her first life, Theo's voice cut through her thoughts, laced with irritation.
"Hey—was it really necessary to break that last artifact?"
"You mean the vase?"
"Yes.
Isn't that a wasted relic?
Something like that must have been quite expensive..."
Juliet reached behind him and, with a flourish, produced an identical ceramic vase from the box.
She smiled.
"The broken vase was the fake."