Chapter 4: Visualizing Waste
Three days later, the Arkwright duke’s mansion’s second drawing room was shrouded in a heavy silence.
This room was usually reserved for only two occasions — welcoming important guests or hosting secret, uncomfortable discussions. Most of the time it sat unused under dust covers, but for today, it had been hastily cleaned. A faint smell of mildew lingered in the air.
At the head of the round table sat Duke Darius von Arkwright, arms crossed, wearing a deeply displeased expression. Beside him sat his wife, Isabella, who hid her mouth behind a fan, though her eyes betrayed her boredom.
Across from them were the two elder sons, Albert and Bertrand, both wearing mocking smirks.
“So, what is it this time, Zenon? ‘Fiscal reform’? Don’t make me laugh.”
Albert said with a tone dripping in arrogance. He brushed his golden hair back, looking his younger brother up and down like an insect under glass.
“Probably just another tantrum.”
Bertrand rumbled, the chair creaking under his massive frame.
“Let’s get this over with. I’ve got training to return to.”
Neither their father nor mother scolded them. To everyone present, this summons from the third son, Zenon, was nothing more than a childish whim. At best, they thought, he’d come to beg for a bigger allowance.
Right on the dot, the door opened quietly.
Zenon entered, accompanied by his retainer, Gray. He gave his family a brief glance, then sat down at the end of the table without a word of greeting. His calm, unflinching composure made the others frown slightly.
“All members are present, it seems. Then, let’s begin.”
Zenon’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He held a thick bundle of parchment in his hands.
“As stated in advance, today’s topic is ‘On the Financial Rehabilitation of House Arkwright.’ I’d like to start by sharing the current situation.”
“Hmph. Stop dragging it out. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”
Duke Darius said irritably, tapping his finger against the table.
Ignoring him, Zenon signaled to Gray.
With a stiff nod, Gray began handing out the prepared documents to each family member. These were the results of Zenon’s three days and nights of analysis — meticulously copied by Gray without a single numerical error.
“What is this? Just a bunch of numbers. Makes my eyes hurt.”
Bertrand grumbled, scowling at the paper.
Albert glanced at the document once, then let out a derisive laugh.
“Is this a ledger copy? How diligent of you. And what exactly do these figures have to do with our finances?”
“They have everything to do with our finances, brother.”
Zenon replied coolly, standing up.
He spread a large sheet of parchment across the center of the table — on it was a beautifully drawn pie chart.
“This visualizes the breakdown of House Arkwright’s total expenditures over the past year.”
For the first time, his family began to actually compare their copies with the chart in front of them. The circle was divided into color-coded sections, each labeled with a spending category and percentage.
“As you can see, roughly sixty percent of all expenses are concentrated in just a few categories.”
Zenon’s finger traced the chart’s largest section — labeled ‘Personal Expenditures.’
“Allow me to explain the details.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted slightly. Zenon’s cold blue eyes turned toward his mother first.
“Mother. Over the past year, your total expenses on dresses and jewelry amounted to five thousand gold coins — about twenty percent of our household’s total spending. For comparison, that amount is roughly equal to the entire annual tax revenue of our territory’s Milan Village.”
Isabella’s graceful smile vanished. Her hand trembled faintly around her fan.
“W–what nonsense are you speaking? It is a duchess’s duty to maintain a suitable appearance.”
“And yet, to fulfill that ‘duty,’ you have spent the equivalent of an entire village’s yearly taxes.”
Zenon said without blinking.
“That is not duty. It is what we call waste.”
“You insolent—!”
Ignoring her sputtering, Zenon turned his gaze to his eldest brother.
“Albert. Your expenses from attending evening banquets and related entertainment totaled three thousand gold coins last year. With that amount, we could hire a hundred trained knights for an entire year.”
“Don’t be absurd! As the heir, networking with other nobles is essential! It’s an investment in the future!”
“An investment, you say? Then tell me, what returns did this investment yield? Did you bring back valuable intelligence? Forge profitable connections? According to my investigation, your only returns were cheap vanity and a hangover.”
“Why, you little—!”
Albert roared, half-rising from his chair, but his father’s sharp glare froze him in place.
Unfazed, Zenon turned next to Bertrand.
“Bertrand. Your purchases of swords, armor, and horse tack totaled two thousand gold coins this year. While improving your martial prowess is admirable, the items listed here are mostly decorative weapons — overly gilded and impractical. Too heavy for battle, too fragile for use. In short, not arms, but toys.”
“You—what did you say?! Are you insulting my arms and armor?”
Bertrand clenched his fist. He didn’t fully grasp the nuance of Zenon’s words, but he understood one thing clearly: his pride had been wounded.
Finally, Zenon faced his father, Duke Darius, head-on.
“And Father. The most inexplicable item in the ledgers is your expenditures. The amount listed as ‘unaccounted-for expenses’ comes to ten thousand gold coins per year. This sum — roughly one-third of our total annual spending — what exactly is it being used for? Gifts for a mistress? Gambling debts?”
“…Silence.”
A low, guttural voice escaped Darius. His eyes burned with furious indignation.
“How dare the third son address his father in such a manner. Who gave you the authority to investigate to this extent?”
“No authority was required. I merely analyzed the facts that were before me. And based on that analysis, this conclusion follows.”
Zenon spread another sheet of parchment on the table. It bore a line graph with two plotted lines. The blue line sloped downward; the red line shot steeply upward.
“The blue line shows the trend of our household’s total assets. The red line shows total liabilities. And the point where these two lines intersect —”
Zenon’s finger indicated the right-hand edge of the graph.
“In about five years. If our current fiscal trajectory continues, House Arkwright will inevitably go bankrupt. Lands, the mansion, everything will be seized to cover debts; we will be stripped of our titles and cast into destitution.”
Those words struck the room like a cold hammer. Total silence fell.
There was no derision now, no anger, no boredom. Only the stunned disbelief on their faces and a spreading, slow-growing fear.
It was as if they’d just been told that the ground beneath their feet was actually a bottomless mire. The comfortable life they’d taken for granted would be over in five years — that truth paralyzed their minds.
Darius was the first to regain himself.
He forced calm, suppressing a trembling voice as he said.
“…Nonsense. Impossible. There must be some mistake. A child like you cannot possibly read the ledgers correctly.”
It was a desperate denial — a shriek against accepting reality.
Zenon did not flinch. He fixed his father with a cold, unyielding gaze.
“Nonsense, is it? Very well, Father. Then please, point out specifically where in these figures I am wrong.”
The question sealed off their escape routes.
This was no longer a battle of emotion or authority. It was a contest governed only by facts and logic — and Zenon sat calmly, waiting for his opponent’s rebuttal.