Became the Villainess’s Guardian

Whether a curse or lament, those ambiguous words sprang forth daily like a memorial service chant.

“Hear this, hear this!”

“This kingdom was fundamentally flawed. It deserves to be utterly dismantled and rebuilt from scratch!”

“Thus, from this day forth, we shall seize control of this parliament!”

However, this time could not be summarized as merely “Season 20 Episode: The City Fell Apart Again.”

It was not like the periodic strikes or protests that would erupt and then be forgotten.
It was an outright rebellion with blatant intentions to overthrow Londinium by force – ferocious from its very name.

‘We shall seize the kingdom’s power.’

‘With no obstructions, this revolution will allow us to start anew from the very beginning.’

‘If we wait any longer, we’ll be exposed eventually. Can we win this? Just join us, and let’s start right away.’

Power. Sweet power.
In place of the hesitant impoverished masses, the Demonic Tribe overtly attempted to brainwash the few intellectuals who showed potential for more extreme action.

In their fog-addled state, they could not help but resonate with those mind-numbing phrases dangling that tantalizing lure.
Arming themselves with blades and cold weapons obtained from who knows where, they rose up as promised on a humid, misty morning.

Up until the very last moment, they prided themselves on achieving complete surprise.

“How pathetic.”

“What shall we do?”

“Round up all the Demonic Tribe members.”

It had been a flimsy plan that Freugne had seen through as easily as examining her own palm.

Even without glimpsing the future, the government and police were already somewhat aware that something was brewing among the impoverished.
While their response each time it was reported had been dismissive – ‘Oh come now, surely they wouldn’t act that extremely?’ or ‘Not during my term, at least!’ – they were not so foolish as to let it spiral completely out of control once the situation had been acknowledged.

And for the Demonic Tribe, this was hardly a concern – they cared little about such details.
As long as they achieved their goal of sowing chaos, that was enough. They had not expected much success to begin with.

Hence:

“Where’s John? Where is John?”

“Mr. Brown. You claimed thousands of workers would rise together, but this seems to differ from your words! Open the door, teacher!”

“Hugo, Hugo, where are you? How dare you instigate this and then abandon us alone? Are you even human after doing this?”

“We’ve lost contact with our leader Anton since yesterday. Does anyone know his whereabouts or situation?”

These were the sacrificial pawns.
Evidence symbolizing the operation’s failure, or at least the pawns the Demonic Tribe had recklessly discarded into Londinium to claim some semblance of achievement to their superiors.

Thanks to their initial surprise and momentum, they had managed to occupy parts of Londinium’s city center for a time. But that was as far as it went.
For some reason, the rebel leadership suddenly disintegrated, losing their focal point. The rebellion, having finally regained its senses, melted away like ice cream on a summer day before the city’s defense forces.

Initially, they had defiantly turned a blind eye, but when that persisted for days, they could no longer deny the truth, however reluctant.
Belatedly realizing the betrayal as the price for their blind trust, the rebels let out agonizing wails.

“Dammit! Daaaammiiiiiit!!”

“They said communism would lead us to parliament!”

“Paradise – we were a single step away from building our own new paradise! How can it end in such meaningless disarray, deterring any who might follow in our footsteps?”

Failing to even secure the capital, let alone claim governance over it, their control had lasted a mere three days.
The Demonic Tribe-instigated uprising had fizzled out in futility. With neither numbers nor potential supporters, it had been a half-baked rebellion doomed to burst prematurely.
The ringleaders either surrendered one by one or struggled vainly before being dragged off to prison in disgrace.
There, who should they tearfully reunite with ahead of anyone else but the Demonic Tribe members who had fled first only to be captured earliest?

Parliament was in disarray due to these reckless intruders.
Barricades the rebels had erected in a last-ditch effort at resistance still remained in the streets.

Scarred and festering here and there, the Glassgow Kingdom had nonetheless survived.

Londinium.
The Houses of Parliament north of the Thames River.

Excluding the occasional closure due to the stench from the Thames’ waste, Parliament had remained open for business as usual, even when the Demonic Tribe had previously waged all-out war against humanity.

“My, what a dreadful ruckus on a weekend!”

“I nearly lost my life. No, why did those vile creatures raid my home in the dead of night?”

“A rebellion? A rebellion! In this wonderful Londinium, of all places!”

Having eagerly lifted the lid expecting to witness the public execution of rebel leaders, they found the public sentiment, centered around the slums, to be far from reassuring.
While initially bewildered solely by rebels roaming the capital brandishing blades, the MPs quickly realized that mishandling this could lead not just to strikes and protests, but to a potential Season 2 of the rebellion.

Hence, at this juncture, Parliament should have commenced its time-honored tradition of spouting empty rhetoric boasting its long history.
If they readily admitted Londinium had become unbearably harsh, driving its people to rise up, would that not amount to acknowledging their own failings?

So the responsibility would circulate from Parliament to the police, from police to border patrol, to capitalists, and so on, until interest eventually waned and it could be quietly buried.
This was hardly their first rodeo. For a while, they could simply submit frivolous proposals like beef stew recipes to buy time until everything blew over, as was customary.

In other words, that is how it would have unfolded without intervention.

“Ah, it seems to be time to scour the slums again. Step forth.”

“Here I am. Let us commence.”

“What has the inspector of East End been doing to allow this situation?”

“Just the usual game of smoke and mirrors. Shall we step out for a meal?”

“Very well. It should be resolved by lunchtime, so why not-”

“Wait, may I have everyone’s attention!”

Threaten dismissal, and they would respond with tearful cries of “I have committed an unforgivable sin!” before moving on to the next target.

It had been a tiresome spectacle repeated over the past few days.
However, this time, some newly appointed MPs raised their voices to break this meaningless cycle.

“Everyone, there is one fact we have overlooked. The Demonic Tribe was behind the instigation of this rebellion!”

“There’s certainly ample circumstantial evidence. The incident at the magic exhibition, for instance. But ultimately, there was no definitive proof, was there?”

“That is incorrect. Not only the Demonic Tribe, but traitors colluding with them have already infiltrated the Glassgow Kingdom. Here is the list of their names!”

“…And your proof?”

“From here, Metropolitan Police Superintendent Baldor shall explain. Let us call him forth immediately.”

As if lying in wait, Baldor hurried forth as a witness and presented the evidence he had covertly gathered as per Freugne’s instructions.

The magic tome.
Eyewitness accounts of the instigating Demonic Tribe members.

And above all:

“Right before the rebellion, we succeeded in apprehending several Demonic Tribe members.”

“I had heard of a major arrest operation, but why was the Demonic Tribe’s involvement not mentioned?”

“We had considered it a possibility, but could not be certain the Demonic Tribe was truly involved.”

In any case, there was more than one eyewitness.
It was no trivial matter that could be easily covered up, so revealing it to the public was only a matter of time.

And through Freugne’s ingenious grafting technique, the issue that had been pushed aside came roaring back, setting all of Londinium ablaze.

“The Demonic Tribe? The Demonic Triiiiibe?!”

“What have you been doing while those bastards infiltrated the capital?!”

Parliament was, of course, upended once more.
Although they could not replace the entire membership so soon after an election barely a year ago, few could act nimbly enough to emerge as the center of power amid the kingdom’s chaos.

And among those who did ‘nimbly’ act, the individuals whose words they heeded were well known to each other.

Having thrashed Parliament to the point of restoring discipline without causing fatalities, and instilling a sense of vigilance, they also rounded up any potentially troublesome Demonic Tribe members and sent them to the underground cells of the Metropolitan Police Department.

Up to this point, everything had proceeded according to plan.
It was Freugne’s production, with all of Londinium as her cast, overseeing everything from the script to the direction.

It meant she could finally manipulate this Londinium, and by extension the Glassgow Kingdom, like a personal puppet.
At long last, she had attained the position of not having anything taken from her, as she had vowed amidst those burning factories. Thus, she could afford to skip school and celebrate, just for today.

‘I wonder what that future had been…’

However, glimpsing roughly four years ahead to a future where Londinium burned as Demonic Tribe members brazenly roamed its streets had left her sleepless.

“Freugne, where are you going?”

“I’ll just step out for some air.”

“It’s chilly out. Be sure to bundle up warmly.”

“…No. It will help clear my head as is.”

Peering into the distant future was difficult.
Naturally, she had mobilized other organization members besides just Hugo to investigate that future, but had yet to make any significant headway.

Fearing the unknown and unfamiliar was a primal instinct ingrained in humanity.
However, her near-obsessive insistence on identifying every potential risk stemmed from having nearly lost her most precious person due to a single moment of complacency.

Each evening, she issued orders to her organization, while taking night walks around her home to clear her head.
Even the biting autumn winds chilling her to the bone could not deter Freugne. She firmly believed her efforts today would be rewarded in the distant future.

The result of shouldering everything was:

“Achoo!”

“You’ve caught a cold. Blow your nose.”

“…Hmph!”

Freugne had fallen ill with a cold, confined to bed without recourse.