All Jobs and Classes! I Just Wanted One Skill, Not Them All!

The question landed more cleanly than anything before it.

For all her poise, for all the training stamped into her posture and voice, Eclaire was still young enough that the first crack showed in the eyes. Small. Brief. But there. She looked away.

Not dramatically. Not with a trembling lip or some practiced display of vulnerability. Just a turn of the head toward the window, as if the glass and the pale light beyond it were easier to face than him for a moment. When she answered, her voice was quieter.

“I didn’t want to.”

Ludger said nothing. That was honest enough to make him listen. Eclaire kept her eyes turned aside.

“I still don’t, really,” she admitted. “Not because I don’t think this matters. And not because I think you’re wrong.” Her mouth tightened faintly. “I just… didn’t want to step into anything again.”

That sounded familiar in a way Ludger disliked. Not because he related to it, but because he understood the shape of it. Someone who had spent too long surviving by staying small eventually started mistaking stillness for safety. Eclaire drew in a slow breath.

“For a long time, hiding has been the sensible thing for me,” she said. “Staying quiet. Taking up as little space as possible. Not drawing the attention of the wrong people. Not making myself useful enough to be noticed, but not useless enough to become disposable.” A bitter little smile touched her mouth and vanished just as fast. “A very elegant way to live, really.”

Ludger’s expression didn’t change. She continued before the silence could harden.

“But after Lord Torvares spoke to me…” Her hands folded a little tighter in her lap. “No. That’s not the right way to say it.”

She shook her head once, more at herself than at him.

“After thinking about it, I realized something.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “I felt disgusting.”

That got his attention more than anything polished would have. Eclaire’s voice stayed controlled, but the control had become something harsher now, a lid pressed down over boiling water.

“There are people here shielding me,” she said. “Maybe not for my sake alone. Maybe not even because they intended to make me feel protected. But they are.” Her eyes lowered slightly. “Lionsguard took me in. Lord Torvares arranged it. Your family allowed it after knowing it. People are giving me space to exist without trying to use me, sell me, expose me, or drag me back into imperial games.”

She let out a thin breath.

“And I’ve been hiding behind that.”

Ludger stayed silent. Eclaire finally turned her face a little back toward him, though not fully.

“I told myself it was practical,” she said. “That staying hidden was the smartest choice. That keeping my head down was how I survived.” Her gaze dropped to the papers on the table. “But the longer I kept doing nothing… the more it started to feel less like survival and more like rotting.”

The room went still. Outside, somewhere beyond the house, he could faintly hear distant voices from the town and the dull rhythm of work still being done, but inside the room the silence felt heavier than that. Eclaire’s next words came out softer.

“I felt like I would die of shame if I kept hiding without lifting a hand to the people protecting me.”

Not physically. That much was obvious. It was worse than that. The kind of death that came from letting your spine soften one compromise at a time until you woke up one day and realized you had become nothing but a shadow with manners.

Even Ludger understood that one. She gave a humorless little exhale.

“Even if protecting me wasn’t their goal,” she added. “Even if I’m just a loose piece they decided it was better left under watch than thrown away. Even if I’m not important enough for anyone to care deeply.” Her jaw tightened faintly. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been allowed to remain here while others carry risks around me.”

Now she looked at him fully.

“And I was starting to hate myself for it.”

No theatrics. No delicate tears. No reaching for pity. Just a statement. Ludger studied her face. There was shame there, yes. Frustration too. Pride, damaged but not dead. The ugly awareness of someone who knew exactly what kind of cowardice she had been practicing and no longer had the comfort of pretending it was wisdom.

That was… respectable, in a miserable sort of way. He crossed his arms.

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“So this is guilt.”

Eclaire accepted the hit without flinching.

“Partly.”

“And the rest?”

She was quiet for a second.

“The rest,” she said slowly, “is that if the kind of people you’re investigating truly exist… then staying passive won’t save me anyway.”

That was better. Much better. Fear mixed with self-respect usually produced clearer decisions than either one alone. Eclaire glanced down at the notes again.

“If powerful people are erasing threats before they fully rise,” she said, “then someone like me survives only as long as I remain beneath notice. That isn’t safety. That’s a timer.” She looked back up. “I’m tired of living like my best quality is being easy to overlook.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. That line, too, felt honest. Maybe Torvares had guessed this. Maybe he had pushed her on purpose, knowing she was sitting in that ugly space between caution and self-contempt. Or maybe he had simply seen a useful tool and nudged it toward work. With Torvares, either explanation was believable.

Ludger clicked his tongue softly.

“You should’ve just said that from the start.”

A tiny, dry smile touched Eclaire’s mouth.

“You’re not exactly easy to speak plainly to.”

“That sounds like a skill issue.”

That actually got a faint breath of amusement from her, brief and worn thin, but real. Then the moment passed. Ludger’s expression turned serious again.

“If you’re helping because you’re tired of feeling useless, fine,” he said. “If you’re helping because you’ve grown a conscience, also fine. If you’re helping because you’re scared and want to make yourself harder to discard, that’s fine too.” He leaned forward slightly. “But don’t confuse helping with truly belonging.”

Eclaire’s gaze steadied.

“I won’t.”

“You haven’t earned that yet.”

“I know.”

Ludger nodded once. Good. At least she wasn’t stupid enough to think one honest confession bought trust. He looked down at the papers between them, then back at her.

“Still,” he said, “that answer was less annoying than most of the noble garbage I expected.”

Eclaire exhaled through her nose.

“I’ll treasure the compliment.”

“Don’t.”

A beat passed. Then Ludger pushed one of the sheets closer to her.

“Since you’ve decided not to rot in place,” he said, “start earning the trouble.”

Eclaire lowered her eyes to the notes that Ludger passed to her, and this time when she leaned in, there was something more solid in the motion. Not just the refinement of a girl taught to sit beautifully, but the first trace of someone who had decided that if she was going to stand in the room, she would stand there as a person rather than furniture.

Eclaire’s gaze remained on the papers in front of her, but only briefly. Then she looked back up at him and asked, more directly now, “What exactly have you learned so far?”

Ludger stared at her.

“Torvares didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head once.

“He said I would hear it from you if you accepted my help.”

That made Ludger let out a long, tired sigh through his nose.

Of course he did. That old bull had thrown her at him, left out the actual details, and apparently decided Ludger could do the rest himself. Efficient in the most irritating way possible.

Perhaps it couldn’t be helped since he was trying to avoid causing more problems for Ludger, but he didn’t have to walk around eggshells.

Then he dismissed the thought. If she was going to be useful, then she needed context. And if she turned out not to be useful, then at least he would know quickly. So he leaned back in his chair and gave her a brief summary. Not every detail. Not every suspicion. But enough.

By the time Ludger finished, the light in the room had shifted slightly. Eclaire had not interrupted once. She sat very still, hands resting on the papers, her expression growing more focused the further he went. When he finally stopped speaking, she stayed silent for a while longer, thinking through the pieces.

Ludger let her. She wasn’t the type to reach for a quick answer just to sound useful. That alone put her above a surprising number of people with noble blood.

After a while, she spoke.

“I was aware that some nobles use underworld guilds,” she said slowly. “And some even create them.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Eclaire continued, calm and matter-of-fact.

“They need disposable hands. People who can threaten, steal, smuggle, burn, kill, or make problems disappear without any action ever tracing back cleanly to a noble house. Underworld guilds are useful for that.” Her mouth tightened slightly. “Especially when the family in question wants plausible deniability more than efficiency.”

“So you know who?”

Eclaire shook her head.

“Not right now.”

Ludger clicked his tongue, annoyed, but she kept going before he could say anything.

“I know the pattern exists,” she said. “I know the structure. I know what kind of people would approve of it and what kind would find it distasteful while still benefiting from it.” Her eyes shifted briefly to the notes again. “But I don’t have a list of names hidden in my sleeve.”

“At least you admit it.”

“I prefer being useful over sounding impressive.”

That answer was decent enough. Ludger folded his arms.

“Then what?”

Eclaire looked at him with a sharper expression now, the pieces clearly moving in her head.

“Considering what you’ve already learned,” she said, “I think you can still find the next clue.”

Ludger’s gaze stayed on her.

“How?”

“By asking the right people in the capital.”

That made him pause slightly.

The right people.

Not officials, then. Not archives first. Not another neat household inquiry.

He asked, “Who?”

Eclaire held his gaze for a moment before answering.

“Some people in the black market.”