Bailonz Street 13

It was a time when a boy was transitioning into a young man. Life at Eton was unbearable. Amidst a crowd of arrogant children basking in their sense of superiority derived from the class system, he stood out like a rough stone. To the students of Eton College, Liam Schofield Moore was just an odd and peculiar boy.

Children from the upper echelons, whether they liked it or not, always heard about their parents’ connections, and in their first term, they would scout each other out. Seeing the eyes that judged who could become a new connection made the place feel more like a small society than an educational institution.

Liam Moore hated it. It was annoying to think about where they heard rumors about his family and how they knew about his godfather.

“Aren’t you ‘that’ Moore?”

When someone first approached him with those words, Liam Moore felt a bit disdainful. He thought, for these kids, their family’s background is all they have to brag about.

“What do you mean by ‘that’ Moore?”

“You know. Who in England doesn’t know about Sir Moore?”

At this point, unfortunately, or perhaps a bit arrogantly and conceitedly, Liam Moore retorted,

“There are many great Moores in my family. Which Moore exactly?”

“Does it matter? It’s all about connections anyway.”

Ah, so that’s why Father hated Eton, he thought. It was somewhat amusing that he pushed his son into Eton despite despising it.

When Eton was first decided, Liam Moore protested. If he could, he would have laid down at Nifoisse Hall and resisted. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked. “Oh? He’s lying down? Easy to move. Take him away.” That’s what they would have said.

“Father, if you dislike it so much, why are you sending me to Eton?”

Instead, he argued like that, and Arthur Moore gently whispered,

“Son, some things need to be experienced personally to be understood deeply.”

Yes, I hate it, so you should go and hate it too. We need to have shared experiences to avoid ideological conflicts within the family.

That was Arthur Moore’s educational principle. At this point, Liam Moore wanted to echo his father’s favorite saying,

“Father, I don’t have a hobby of torturing myself.”

But do things ever go as people wish?

Liam Moore eventually graduated from Eton, entered a prestigious university following its curriculum, and became part of a gentleman’s club.

This series of processes felt like a factory nurturing the privileged class.

One of the first friends he made at university used the term “bourgeois pig,” and Liam Moore somewhat agreed with it. If you eat what is given and grow fat, you become a pig. A well-fed animal eventually becomes ham. So, it was clear that he had to live like a rough stone.

Around this time, he also distanced himself from home.

The Moores were, to put it nicely, capable people, and to put it bluntly, perfect in terms of connections.

Looking back, the Moore family was always like that. Though it was his own family, Moore’s people were all the same—once they focused on something, they threw themselves into it. Look at his father, Arthur Moore. He would jump out of bed if a relic was discovered. They were often highly scholarly. One sold their soul to medicine, and another ancestor loved the country so much he went to war and died.

While telling such stories, Arthur Moore would say that sometimes, people prioritize fields over people. Liam Moore thought that both were equally undesirable.

Liam Moore suspected that he would eventually become like the Moores, but if he had to be acknowledged by these noisy kids, he’d rather live as a layabout for the rest of his life.

When he became known as “Liam Moore of the Law School” at university, he liked it even less. Naturally, he didn’t make any friends and always stayed alone, which made people either admire or criticize him. Some said he was pretending to be noble alone.

“He’ll never make it to the courtroom.”

Who said that again? He remembered it was a senior, but couldn’t recall the name. Did he know his brother got slapped embarrassingly for juggling five girlfriends? His idolization of his brother, believing even the slap marks were the result of a “great duel,” was pitiful.

“I’ll make sure of that.”

Watching the guy mutter that, Liam Moore propped his chin. What a joke. Would someone die if they didn’t make it?

Well, in the end, Liam Moore half-gave up pursuing his major after graduation.

He had the Moore family background and didn’t directly clash due to his father’s and godfather’s influence, but he didn’t want it enough to bear the scrutiny and take it as a career. So, instead of pursuing his major, he used his talents to become a detective.

Seeing the top graduate start working as a detective and gradually becoming known in the newspapers, alumni meetings were filled with exasperation.

“Why does he keep popping up just when we forget about him?”

Someone shouted.

“Oh, I see you missed me. Well, you could become a lawyer with those grades because I stepped back, right?”

“That bastard!”

His godfather once fell over backward hearing that he got grabbed by the collar at the first alumni meeting.

＊ ＊ ＊

The talk of keeping Liam Moore out of the courtroom turned out to be nonsense. Naturally, given his involvement in cases, entering the courtroom was as natural for Liam Moore as it was for Scotland Yard.

As a result, it was obvious how much Liam Moore, stirring up as a private detective and meeting his old classmates, got on their nerves. His nickname, “Bastard Moore,” greatly contributed to this. At such times, Liam Moore would add, “My middle name is Schofield, not Bastard.” He knew it was childish.

He met Jane about two years later.

It was on the day he turned twenty-seven. His fifth or sixth assistant had run away. They packed their bags and fled, shouting, “I can’t work with you and live to see another day!”

Liam Moore had no choice but to post an ad in the newspaper looking for an assistant and flatmate. Exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

It was a young woman. She seemed to be around his age or a year or two older.

“You said you were looking for an assistant and flatmate?”

She had a faint, watery impression. Her neat and upright appearance spoke of her character. She never bowed her head unnecessarily, initiated the handshake, and introduced herself.

“I’m Jane Osmond. Hiring me wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

＊ ＊ ＊

And now, they were gathered around the fireplace, enjoying December.

Downstairs in the flat, a girl Jane had found was working. Mrs. Mayer, the landlady, was now old and not as spry as she used to be, and needed someone to help with the housework. The girl was a perfect fit for the job.

…Was her name Mary?

T/N: it’s the maid from chapter ~30 !! She’s back !!!!

The girl looked up to and followed Jane. Even though she was no longer a maid, she still called Jane “Miss.”

She was an employee who received fair wages, not just taking care of Liam and Jane but managing the entire boarding house. Hence, Liam also called her “Miss Mary,” and Mary called him “Mr. Moore.”

Even when Mary came up to help clean the flat where Liam and Jane lived, she always called Jane “Miss.” Jane’s constant embarrassment at this was adorable. She no longer struggled against it, showing she had given in to the girl’s earnest eyes.

The three of them often sat together for meals and sometimes went out to eat together.

Jane said it felt like having an additional younger sibling these days. Liam agreed. It felt like three people living together. When he said that, Jane smiled.

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