Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent

The butler sat chained to the heavy wooden chair, his wrists raw from struggling against the iron cuffs. His head hung low, the damp strands of his graying hair clinging to his forehead.

The small underground cell was lit only by a single torch bracketed to the wall, throwing jagged shadows across the rough stone.

Footsteps echoed down the narrow stairs, slow and deliberate.

Lady Rose emerged from the gloom, her dress a deep crimson that caught the flickering light. She stood a moment in silence, watching him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but carried a sharp edge.

"Why?"

The butler didn't look up.

"Why would you betray me after all these years? I trusted you. You were… more than a servant to this household. You were family."

She pressed, stepping closer.

Still, he said nothing, only shifting his gaze toward the floor.

Her hands tightened at her sides.

"You've seen what this has done. The panic. The hunger. The shame it brings upon us. And yet you hoarded the food—the lifeline of our people—and for what? Tell me!"

The butler's lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes hard and bloodshot.

"For what? For survival, my lady. Not yours—mine. My family's. The people you never see, the ones you never think about unless they're standing in front of you in silk and bowing low."

He repeated, his voice low but heavy with venom.

Lady Rose blinked, caught off guard by the bitterness in his tone.

"That's not—"

"Oh, don't lie to yourself. You think you're kind. You think you care. But you only care about what fits inside that polished little world of yours. The problems you can see. The ones you can parade around fixing in front of your peers."

He cut in, his voice rising.

She took a step back, frowning.

"You're saying this is my fault?"

"I'm saying you're a fool who doesn't know her place. While you were busy holding banquets and arguing over who sits where at the table, we were out there watching children starve. We were watching mothers barter their dignity for a handful of grain. And you—"

He snapped, the chains rattling as he leaned forward.

his voice cracked into a bitter laugh.

—"you brushed it all aside when I told you."

Her eyes widened. "I—"

"Do you remember, two winters ago? I came to you with the ledger from the outer villages. Prices were rising, and the stockpiles were already low. I told you we'd have famine if we didn't cut the banquets and redirect the supplies. You called it 'nonsense.' Said I was trying to scare you."

He pressed, his tone accusatory.

She looked away, but he wasn't finished.

"And the spring after that—when the river dried early and the farmers came begging for water rights? I told you we needed to spare the reserves. You laughed. Said, 'They've survived worse.'"

His voice grew harsher with every word, each one striking her like a lash.

"You only see the crisis when it breaks through your gates. Until then, it doesn't exist to you. So we—those of us choking on the cost of living—did what we had to do. We took the food. We hid it. We kept it for the day you finally noticed the world outside your pretty little court."

Lady Rose's throat tightened, but she forced herself to meet his glare.

"You think stealing from our people is helping them?"

His mouth twisted into a humorless smile.

"Better than letting them die while you pretend to 'look into it.'"

For a long moment, neither spoke. The torch hissed softly, its flame bending in the damp air.

"I am not…I am not the person you think I am."

She hesitated, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady.

"You're exactly who I think you are. A woman who could have done something—should have done something—but didn't because it was inconvenient."

He said, his tone flat now, almost weary.

The words hung in the air, heavier than the cold stone around them.

Lady Rose wanted to argue, to defend herself, to point to the countless duties she had fulfilled, the responsibilities she had carried.

But every memory of his warnings, every time she had dismissed his concerns, came rushing back like shards of glass in her mind.

She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of them settle in her chest.

The butler leaned back in his chair, the fight seeming to drain from him.

"You wanted to know why I betrayed you. I didn't. You betrayed us first."

Her hands trembled, and she clasped them together to hide it.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then simply stood there, staring at the man who had served her since she was a child.

For the first time in years, Lady Rose felt utterly without defense. His words were cruel, yes—but they were not without truth.

She had failed to see beyond the polished walls of her life, and the cost of her blindness was carved into the faces of those who had once served her loyally.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I… didn't know."

"You didn't want to know."

He corrected.

She turned and walked toward the door, her steps unsteady.

The guards opened it for her, but she paused, glancing back at him one last time.

In his eyes, there was no triumph—only the cold, hollow ache of someone who had lost too much for too long.

Lady Rose stepped out into the corridor, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud.

The sound echoed in her mind, sealing away not just the man she had once trusted, but the truth she could no longer ignore.

Lady Rose's lips trembled as she looked at the man she had trusted for years, now shackled and bloodied before her.

"…I didn't know. If I had known—"

She whispered, her voice barely audible.

The butler's laugh was dry and bitter.

"That's the problem, my lady. You never know. And worse—you don't care to."

His gaze hardened, each word striking like a blow.

"The signs were there. People starving. Children too weak to walk. I told you. Again and again. But you dismissed it—'the market will adjust,' you said. 'It's just a bad season.' You stayed in your silks while they chewed on boiled roots."

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.

"I… thought it wasn't as bad as that…"

"You chose to think so. Because the truth was inconvenient. And now you see the result."

The butler's voice shook with restrained rage.

Lady Rose's throat tightened. She wanted to defend herself, to remind him of all she had done for her people, but the weight of his words smothered her.

Each memory he recited—moments she had brushed off—was a blade twisting deeper into her conscience.

For the first time, she wondered if his betrayal had truly begun with greed… or with her own negligence.

Her voice faltered.

"I… never meant for this."

The butler's eyes glistened, though his expression stayed cold.

"Meaning changes nothing, my lady. Actions do."

Lady Rose lowered her gaze, the truth pressing down like a stone on her chest. For once, she had no defense—only the bitter taste of regret.