TMIAP Chapter 1

A beautiful estate, and roses that five gardeners had labored for days to bring into bloom. Under the gaslight of a summer evening, the flowers rioted in a dizzying profusion.

If one were to transform the word "wealth" into a landscape, it would look rather like this.

The scene deserved undivided admiration, yet Monica could not give it. The man before her made that impossible.

"You're saying you're not Garcia."

Monica found herself thrown into confusion.

Someone might question whether Monica had lost her wits not to the estate's splendor but to the man's face.

The man was handsome enough to warrant such speculation. Remarkably tall, with picture-perfect golden hair that would draw admiration from anyone who saw it, and deep-set eyes besides.

"How many times must I tell you? That is not my name."

The man's expression when he answered was glacial.

Monica observed him carefully once more.

Come to think of it, contrary to the person she knew, he was dressed in expensive clothes.

'Is he really someone else?'

Mistaking one person for another was hardly unusual, of course. Monica herself had recently experienced the same thing twice.

'...Wait. This situation feels far too familiar.'

Monica pressed her furrowed brow.

Hadn't she initially mistaken Garcia for Luis as well? Before the confused Monica could organize her thoughts, she blurted out:

"You're not about to tell me your name is Luis now, are you?"

"Ha."

A smile curved the glacial man's mouth.

Nothing like Luis's sunlit warmth, yet the face was far too similar.

But the man denied her words by offering a new name.

"My name is Enrique Solivén."

"...What?"

She couldn't believe it. She had recently met two men with identical faces.

Golden hair, blue eyes, and extraordinarily tall besides!

All perfectly matching the man before her.

Which meant Monica was now meeting the third man with the same face.

Three people, all with identical faces, yet all claiming to be different people?

"That's a lie... It's a lie."

Monica's eyes widened.

When he laughed with a deflating sound, the man's right cheek twitched briefly as if in spasm.

In that moment, the light from the ballroom created contrast on the man's cheek, and Monica saw a shadow spread like a hollow stain at the corner of his eye.

"What a waste of time."

The man turned away immediately. His steps held no hesitation whatsoever. Monica grew urgent.

On the man's cheek—no, near his eye—was a scar. Barely visible, yet unmistakably one she recognized...

"Wait!"

Monica's hand touched the hem of the man's clothes. He turned around with a furrowed brow.

"Are you... no. Are you triplets?"

Up close, between the man's sweat-dampened hair, the scar near his right eye showed even more clearly.

Moreover, so did the small scar at the corner of his red lips. Monica knew these scars.

"But I've never seen twins with scars in the same places."

Or, at the very least, someone with multiple personalities.

To tell the story of how Monica met someone who was, at minimum, a liar and, at maximum, suffering from multiple personalities, one must go back several days.

Beyond that, certain facts about Monica herself bear knowing.

Monica disliked being asked her name.

"Your name?"

"Monica."

She swore it wasn't because she disliked the name Monica itself. The person who had given her that name was the orphanage director.

Apparently taken from the name of some kingdom's precious princess. Once she learned that origin, she rather liked her name itself.

The problem was always the other question that followed.

"Monica what?"

"Um..."

When Monica hedged, whoever had asked her name would inevitably press again.

"Your surname?"

Then Monica would smile awkwardly or, sometimes, roll her eyes before answering.

"I don't have one. I'm an orphan."

The response of whoever heard this would also grow awkward.

Or:

"Oh dear..."

They would trail off in this fashion and roll their eyes just like Monica. Then hastily change the subject to something else.

So of course she hated being asked her name!

Not that Monica truly lacked a surname, mind you.

To extract every possible penny of royal support, the orphanage director had diligently registered the birth of every orphan. But all those orphans shared the same surname.

The orphans listed side by side in documents she'd glimpsed by chance. That identical surname for all.

Seeing that perfunctory name, Monica made up her mind: better to flatly declare she had no surname than speak that one aloud.

The orphanage director had her excuses, naturally.

"You'll all change it when you're adopted anyway, won't you?"

Good heavens! Even so, who on earth registers every child with the exact same surname?

And if you weren't adopted and passed eighteen, you'd live your entire life with that surname. Mercy, what a dreadful prospect!

"...Miss Orphen."

Dreadful...

"Miss Orphen!"

"Yes!"

Lost in thought, Monica startled and answered loudly without thinking.

The surrounding gazes swarmed toward Monica, then withdrew in an instant. Monica's face turned scarlet.

Monica Orphen.

The word "orphan" with just one letter changed—that was her surname.

Better to introduce herself as an orphan outright. What a surname!

But this time she had no choice. That was because Monica was currently seated at an interview for employment.

The person who had called Monica by that dreadful surname was a middle-aged woman with her hair elegantly arranged.

A tearoom on a commercial street with excellent sunlight. The middle-aged woman had introduced herself as head housekeeper serving a wealthy aristocratic family.

"I'm sorry, I arrived by train this morning and I'm still rather scattered."

"I understand. That train is truly dreadful."

The middle-aged woman who'd introduced herself as Mistress Oraingne replied in a tone suggesting she understood very little. Monica smiled with effort and mumbled something evasive.

Mistress Oraingne didn't seem inclined to discuss the particular dreadfulness of spending a full day crammed motionless in a third-class train car.

Instead, Monica straightened and sat properly.

The tearoom windows were made of opaque glass. Sunlight streaming through the glass illuminated Monica's face at an angle.

She had confidence in her appearance.

Now, confidence in one's appearance would ordinarily apply to someone very beautiful, or possessed of beauty sufficient to capture a man's attention at first glance.

But Monica's confidence was of a different variety.

Intelligent green eyes, neat black hair pulled back and coiled in a tidy bun.

The best dress Monica owned—a navy blue taffeta with narrow, long sleeves—looked proper and modest.

In a word, she appeared remarkably intelligent.

Perfect for a governess position teaching the children of comfortable aristocratic families.

And Monica had just applied for a similar position.

Fortunately, the lady asked nothing further about Monica's blatant surname. Monica's spirits lifted.

"I've reviewed your letter of recommendation. The endorsement is solid. You worked as an army nurse."

"Yes, I served in the same unit as Miss Diana."

"Excellent. The spirit of self-sacrifice—throwing oneself body and soul into service to one's country—is precisely the virtue today's young ladies require."

"I'm grateful you view it so favorably."

Though I don't agree.

Monica stuck out her tongue inwardly. Throwing herself body and soul into service to her country, indeed.

The kingdom where Monica had been living was two years into a war.

The front lines were short of people, and the kingdom promised rather handsome compensation to women who volunteered as nurses.

Two hundred shing a month in wages, and for those who wished it, university admission support for women who served more than two full years.

She'd had no intention of throwing herself body and soul into service to her country. But she'd been quite prepared to throw herself body and soul at the wages and university admission.

The university the kingdom had announced wasn't particularly distinguished, of course. But she'd had no other options. So Monica enlisted.

Life, however, did not roll along as easily as she wished.

She'd somehow spent three and a half years on the battlefield, but rendering that devotion worthless, the kingdom went and lost the war.

Moreover, because of the defeat, they had to pay war reparations to the opposing kingdom, so they couldn't pay the wages owed. Apparently.

The city with the women's university Monica had wanted to attend was bombed, and the university collapsed completely.

So at twenty-two, Monica needed to find a new path forward. Fortunately, Diana, a nurse friend she'd been close to during service, introduced her to a good position.

The port city of La Spezia. A wealthy quasi-noble family staying there was seeking a governess, Diana said. They had one sickly young child and needed someone to teach him lightly while caring for him.

"Governess" was nominal—it amounted to seeking a nurse to look after a child from morning to evening. Above all, the salary was quite decent.

Monica thought it fortunate that the city she'd arrived in after spending a full night on the train seemed a very pleasant place indeed.

La Spezia. A resort at the kingdom's southernmost point.

Peaceful-looking, but with such rough currents that anyone unfamiliar with these waters would inevitably run aground—a curious city.

Naturally, the war's influence had never reached it once. The king himself had evacuated to La Spezia just before defeat. Not only that, aristocrats who settled in to wait for the defeated kingdom's recovery were thick on the ground.

Money inevitably flowed through the city. An atmosphere of prosperity filled it.

For Monica, who'd spent years on battlefields, it was a truly galling yet welcome city.

"I thought I'd introduce you tomorrow, Miss Orphen. The lady we serve will likely wish to assess whether you're suitable, but... you should be able to begin work immediately, barring complications."

"Do I have lodging?"

"Yes. I've reserved an inn near the train station."

At those words, Mistress Oraingne covered her mouth with a worried expression.

"Oh my. That's hardly a place for a young lady visiting this city for the first time."

"Really? It seemed clean enough..."

"Oh, hygiene is important, of course. But that's not what I mean."

Mistress Oraingne adjusted her clothes and spoke lightly.

"La Spezia Station wasn't used during the war, so the area in front is chaotic. People get lost all the time. The streets are terribly confusing."

"I see..."

Monica rolled her eyes. She'd need to leave early tomorrow morning, then.

Mistress Oraingne's way of hinting not to be late, it seemed.

If she could work with a lady like this, it might prove a rather decent position.

When the lady tidied the teacups and rose, Monica also stood with proper posture.

The lady placed two coins on the saucer to pay for tea and opened her mouth as if in passing.

"By the way, I'm curious about something."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Are you... an orphan, by chance?"

The expectation that it might be a rather decent position vanished with that single question. But she didn't erase her smile.

Mistress Oraingne added as if in excuse:

"It's because of your surname."

That blasted surname!

Monica nodded gently with effort.

"Oh my... you must have had a difficult time."

Mistress Oraingne patted Monica's shoulder unnecessarily. Only after exchanging a few more words of greeting—not particularly comforting but seemingly obligatory—could Monica part from Mistress Oraingne.

"Ha."

As soon as she turned away, a long sigh escaped.

"I really am too kind-hearted for my own good. I shouldn't have been so kind back then."

Monica muttered quietly as she walked. Rather late for such reflections.

"I really should have let myself be adopted."

Monica had once had an opportunity to acquire a prettier surname. She'd simply kicked it away with her own feet.

Ironically, because twelve-year-old Monica had been too kind-hearted.