The Harvest Mouse Exits the Fairytale Together with Cinderella

Elodie stared. No matter how she looked at him—his appearance, his ears, his tail, or his sheer size—he was undeniably a wolf beastfolk.
Yet, instead of feeling fear, she found herself puzzled.
“Who are you?” she asked.

“…! I am Sir Howlf, the Knight Commander,” he answered stiffly.
“Why are you like that?” she asked, tilting her head.
“I… I have the fiercest appearance, so I am naturally a terrifying presence…”

Why was he suddenly making such a self-deprecating statement?
Elodie blinked, letting out a confused, “Huh?”
Howlf hunched his shoulders and lowered his head as if trying to make himself smaller. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Are you not afraid of me?”

Well…
If he had just stood there in silence, towering over her with an imposing stance, she might have been paralyzed with fear, just as he said.
But instead, he seemed… kind of stupid.

And that made him less scary.
Besides, she had no prior memories of ever encountering a wolf before, so there was nothing instinctively frightening about him.
There was a saying—something about a newborn puppy not fearing a tiger.

To her, a wolf she had never seen before was far less terrifying than the cats that used to chase her down and try to kill her every single day.
Rather than answering directly, Elodie simply shrugged.
“Not really.”

“Gasp—are you serious?”
Because he had hesitated, Howlf now found himself face-to-face with Elodie, gazing at her with eyes brimming with emotion.
“Then… may I stay by your side?”
“Do whatever you want.”

“Haa… I shall remember this day for the rest of my life.”
He seemed like the kind of person who took joy in the smallest things. A little too much, maybe.
Elodie shook her head and resumed walking.

Or, at least, she tried to.
‘Ah! It’s Sera!’
From the building across the way, she spotted a familiar head of golden-blonde hair. Her face lit up instantly.

And at the same time, her expression soured when she noticed some shady-looking man lingering near Sera, whispering something.
‘Who the hell is that?’
His dull gray hair reminded her of a dusty old mop.

And why were they speaking in such a secluded spot, barely visible from any angle except the one she was looking from?
‘Suspicious.’
Elodie pressed herself against the window, ready to jump through it and barge into the scene.

Howlf, who had been basking in his emotional moment, followed her gaze.
“It’s Lady Bluewood… and Young Lord Wellston.”
Wellston?

Elodie quickly racked her brain.
The name sounded familiar.
‘Ah!’

As soon as she recalled who he was, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“You mean the lady left behind only a single shoe?”
“Your Highness, it seems there was a spell placed on the glass slipper. It appears to be made so that only one person can wear it…”

“Leave it to me. I will find her, no matter what.”
He was the prince’s attendant!
Her heart started pounding wildly.

The very person who had discovered Sera and delivered her straight to the prince!
“H-Howlf!”
“Yes?”

“Can you run fast?”
“Oh, yes. I am quite fast. Even faster over short distances.”
“Pick me up! Right now! Take me over there!”

Elodie clutched at Howlf’s sleeve, shaking him desperately.
Then, stretching out her arms, she urged him to lift her up immediately.
“Urgh—!”

Howlf let out a choked groan, clutching his chest as if in pain.
Was his heart giving out or something?
Elodie hesitated for a second, worried she had just triggered some latent heart disease in him, but then—whoosh—he picked her up in one swift motion.

‘Wow, he’s even bigger than the duke.’
This was the highest she had ever been off the ground.
Before she could even properly marvel at the view, Howlf took off at a terrifying speed.

***
"Lady, I only need a moment," the boy insisted.
"I told you—I have nothing to say to you."

"If you just hear me out, you might change your mind."
"I doubt that."
Seraphina’s expression grew colder and colder. No matter how firmly she rejected him, he simply refused to take the hint.

Perhaps frustrated by her lack of response, the boy let out a deep sigh.
"Then I’ll keep it short. You haven’t debuted in society yet, have you?"
"……."

"If you tell me where you live, I’ll send you an invitation to His Highness the Prince’s birthday banquet."
In short, his message was this:
From the looks of it, you've never set foot in the royal ballroom before. You must be some backwater nobody.

I can get you in. You get close to the prince, and in return, I take my cut.
"…I am not a noble," Sera responded.
She had suddenly remembered—her name wasn’t even in the Bluewood family records.

And now that she had left Bluewood behind, she could no longer be called a noble at all.
She was merely a guest, lucky to be staying in Valkyrisen, thanks to Elodie.
"Oh, is that so?"

At that, a sneering smirk curled across the boy’s lips.
The moment he confirmed that she was a commoner, his tone changed, naturally shifting to the way one would address a servant.
"That doesn’t matter."

"…Excuse me?"
"With a face like yours, it doesn’t matter even if you were born a serf. You’re not a slave, are you?"
"……."

"You might not make it as queen, but you’d do just fine as a concubine."
"You are unbelievably rude."
With that, Sera turned away without hesitation.

But Wellston had no intention of letting her go. He grabbed her wrist, tightening his grip.
"What the—?"
"What, is it queen or nothing for you?"

"Let go of me!"
"I could make you my wife right this instant. You wouldn’t want to be a viscountess?"
"You—!"

Sera had had enough. She raised her foot, prepared to stomp down hard on his shin.
CLANG—!!!
A deafening crash rang out, like metal being crushed under the weight of a hammer.

"Urgh—who dares…?"
Viscount Wellston instinctively reached for the back of his head, wincing. Slowly, he turned his head to see who had struck him.
Or, at least, he thought he had.

But before he could even process what had happened, the ground rushed up toward him—his vision darkened—and that was the last thing he remembered.
***
Howlf gawked in stunned silence, staring down at the small figure in his arms.

His precious, delicate baby.
The one who seemed so light and fragile that a single breath of wind could carry her away.
Had just pulled out a hammer and knocked Wellston unconscious in a single blow.

"……."
"……."
"Phew. Handled it," Elodie muttered, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

She looked down at the hammer in her hands, impressed.
The sacred silver weapon had the power to send a grown man flying with a single strike.
‘So it really is the Holy Hammer (physical), huh?’

It fit perfectly in her palm, just the right size. It felt… right.
Like she had just acquired a personal weapon.
‘Though I don’t think I’m using it the way it was intended.’

The High Priest of Ratson had specifically warned her not to swing it at people.
‘But Viscount Wellston doesn’t count as a person, so it should be fine.’
"Your Highness, pull yourself together! Is this really the time to be sulking?"

"These days, people call any woman who climbs the social ladder through marriage a ‘Cinderella.’ Thanks to me, Your Highness has become a symbol."
"And yet, so soon after, you're already losing interest, your status slipping away? How absurd. I trusted you…"
"I raised you up from nothing! I made you a princess! You should be grateful and stand by me as my supporter!"

"Now get up and cling to His Highness’s leg—cry if you have to!"
In front of Seraphina, Viscount Wellston had acted like nothing more than a pathetic lowlife.
But whenever the prince was around, he transformed into a completely different person.

Polite, well-mannered, diligent, a competent attendant.
He flattered so well that, if the prince told him to drop dead, he would probably play along.
Yet behind the scenes, he ruthlessly stomped out commoner servants who had no backing and harassed the maids relentlessly.

There was no saving a man like him.
The only solution was (physical) therapy.