chapter 7.
“Didn’t I tell you to behave properly.”
Through the smell of rain, a strong stench of alcohol rushed in.
“You’re serving drinks for another man?”
Mayna was so dumbfounded she couldn’t speak.
Dragged along by Kalif, she ended up in this deserted alleyway.
“By another man, do you mean Sir Shovatum?”
“……”
“Just because I said the ice looked melted?”
She asked, thinking surely not. But since no answer came, it must have been true.
Her mouth fell open.
“You’re doing all this just for that? Because that guy looked at me…”
Kalif trailed off mid-sentence, grinding his tongue inside his mouth as though holding back his rising anger.
“He stared at your face.”
“…What?”
“He stared. At. Your. Face.”
“Well, I mean… what else do you do with a face if not look at it…”
“You really didn’t notice? That crazy bastard staring at you all night long with those monster-piss yellow eyes of his?”
“No. Hold on a second.”
“Hold on, my ass.”
Kalif spat a harsh curse.
She flinched, but she still felt the need to correct him.
“You’ve misunderstood.
Sir Shovatum was staring at Sir Lennox, not me.
I happened to be sitting next to him, so you just assumed it was me.”
Kalif frowned.
“Why would he look at me? Are you saying he swings that way?”
“I wouldn’t know Sir Shovatum’s preferences.”
“Use that smart head of yours for a second. What reason would he have to look at me?”
“Everyone except you probably knows the reason.”
“Which is?”
“Because Sir Shovatum has always been keeping Sir Lennox in check.”
“Bullshit.”
“…Ha.”
The frustration made her want to beat her own chest.
She had seen Narciatan risking his life to win for years, while the one he was fighting didn’t even notice. It was almost pitiful.
“Really, I can’t tell if you’re just clueless or pretending not to know.”
But Kalif was the one acting like he couldn’t stand it.
His voice was closer to lament than anger.
“He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at you.”
Then, with stubborn finality, he added:
“Because of that blasphemous dress you wore tonight.”
“…What?”
One of her most hated habits in seven years of work was repeating herself unnecessarily, but today she couldn’t help it.
It was because Kalif had just called her dress blasphemous.
And this was a dress so common that eight out of ten women on the street owned one.
An utterly ordinary light pink silk dress.
It wasn’t low-cut, it wasn’t overly ornate, and the color wasn’t flashy.
“A woman who always wore pigeon-grey dresses up to her neck suddenly shows up looking like she’s ready for a royal banquet. Of course people would notice.”
Dressed up? Do you even know what that means?
She had a dozen things she wanted to point out.
But Kalif was already galloping ahead like a racehorse.
Not just letting his imagination wander, but drowning in it, carried away by some emotion.
“Forget it. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“No, go on. I’ll listen…”
“Seeing you suddenly dressed up, he probably thought you’d had a change of heart.
Add some drinks on top of that.
Add the rain falling outside.
People get sentimental.
And you’re sitting there blinking like a sparrow living off dew.
Men are animals at the end of the day—it only excites their lust more.
He glanced at your clothes, and then your face caught his eyes too.
Normally you wear those scholar glasses and tie your hair back like a sword-wielding knight.
But tonight, seeing you, he probably thought: what if she took off her glasses? What if she let down her hair?”
“…Sir Lennox.”
“What.”
“Breathe.”
It wasn’t sarcasm. She was genuinely worried.
Kalif, who had just ranted like a madman, was actually breathing raggedly.
Thud!
As though overwhelmed with indignation, he kicked the ground. Rainwater splashed up, soaking Mayna’s calves.
Cold.
Only her legs were wet, yet it felt like her whole body was drenched.
Kalif poured some unknown emotion over her head, but ironically, he seemed too drunk to even realize what he was saying.
A long silence followed.
Then Kalif sighed deeply.
“I’ll sober up a bit before coming back. You go in first.”
Mayna had no choice but to nod.
“Don’t stay out long. You’ll catch a cold.”
Nod.
Leaning against the wall, Kalif gave a vague nod.
Mayna turned away, leaving him with a typically casual yet oddly tender remark.
Her figure grew smaller in the pouring rain.
Kalif sighed again.
Earlier that day, during a break while hunting inside a dungeon, a knight from the Jaguar Guild had said:
“By the way, Sir Lennox. I’m thinking of hiring a secretary too.”
“And?”
“Where would I find someone like Lady Winslet?”
When Mayna’s name came up, even the other guild members had shown interest.
Seven years ago, when Kalif first hired Mayna, it had been unusual for a knight to have a secretary.
In dungeons, they acted as each other’s partners anyway, and outside, they already had attendants, servants, and aides.
And Mayna was the daughter of a ruined noble family.
So when Kalif started bringing her around, people had been very curious.
“Is she your lover?”
Some asked with amused smiles.
Others said things like:
“Miss Secretary, could you step aside? Dungeon intel is top-secret for civilians.”
She was just a noble lady, after all. What could she possibly know?
But now, seven years later, people looked at her very differently.
She knew more about dungeon environments than most ability-users.
And unlike them, who risked going berserk from mana exposure, she always stayed calm and rational.
Everyone started hiring secretaries, but none were like Mayna.
That was how rare her competence was.
Which was why, lately, more and more people had been eyeing her.
“Damn it.”
Hard to explain exactly what felt damnable, but it was.
Absolutely and completely.
***
When the first round of drinks ended, some went home while others moved to a second location.
Kalif claimed fatigue and chose to go home.
“Watch your head.”
Mayna, who had secured a carriage in advance, helped him aboard, sweating profusely.
“The ground is spinning.”
She had noticed he’d drunk recklessly tonight.
Especially after that alleyway incident, his drunkenness worsened.
She pushed his large frame into the carriage like loading cargo, then climbed in after.
“Hyah!”
With the crack of the whip, the carriage set off.
The rainy night streets of Gillingham Square streamed past outside.
Mayna gazed blankly out the window.
Carriages, rickshaws, trains, ships, and even portals—chaos reigned in this age of transport.
Her mind felt unsettled, but maybe that was the only reason.
“You must be tired. Why not use a portal?”
“I’m fine.”
Fine? I’m the one exhausted, you bastard.
“Well, you do prefer carriages for short distances.”
“I like analog. Maybe I’m just a sentimental man.”
What is he even saying?
“…Sure. I guess.”
“You used to like sentimental men, didn’t you?”
“…Me?”
“Yeah.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else.”
An awkward silence fell like frozen time.
After a long while, Kalif asked again.
“What are you staring at so hard? What’s outside?”
Mayna tilted her head lazily.
“Rain. The night sky. Stars. People’s umbrellas. Things like that.”
Her profile in the lamplight.
Through his drunken haze, her face was the only thing he saw clearly.
“Spring has come.”
She turned from the window at his odd remark.
“Spring? I can see my breath out there.”
“Does this look like breath to you?”
“Then what is it?”
“The anger I couldn’t fully vent earlier.”
“…Good lord.”
Mayna thought to herself.
Tomorrow morning, he’s definitely getting mussel stew with extra jalapeños.
She could already picture Kalif half-dead from a hangover.
After about an hour from Gillingham Square, Lennox Castle finally came into view.
Just ten minutes away from home, Kalif suddenly announced:
“I’m going to the second round.”
Mayna didn’t bother responding. She’d seen this countless times.
One of his drunken habits—changing destinations on a whim.
Kalif fumbled inside his jacket.
A handful of silver coins clattered onto Mayna’s lap, 5s and 10s all mixed together.
“Keep the change as pocket money.”
Another tired routine.
He always threw extra coins to avoid dealing with fare. Then left for his new destination.
“Yes.”
Mayna quietly gathered the coins and tucked them into her dress pocket.
“You…”
Kalif looked at her clothes, sighed heavily.
“It’s all see-through.”
“Oh, the sudden rain today…”
“And you went around wearing something that thin? In this weather?”
“Well…”
“Buy yourself some clothes. Where does all your salary go? Your debts were cleared ages ago.”
“Yes.”
“Not enough salary?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell!”
Finally, he exploded.
“Clothes just need to be clean and neat.”
“Of course, Lady Winslet.”
Mocking, with hands raised in surrender, Kalif stopped the carriage and jumped out.
“Go inside.”
It was the forest path leading up to Lennox Castle.
He was clearly planning to send her home and then teleport back to the party.
Just before the carriage set off again—
Whoosh.
Something was thrown inside. Kalif’s jacket.
The carriage moved on. Mayna fiddled with the sleeve, then slowly put it on.
The cool, pleasant scent wrapped around her.
It felt less like wearing his jacket than wearing his scent.
***
Kalif didn’t head for the second round after all.
Instead, he went to a small whiskey bar tucked away behind Gillingham Square.
It was a place he often went when he wanted to drink alone.
“Compliments of the chef, sir.”
A young waiter with orange hair brought out a platter far too luxurious to be called complimentary.
Fruits, roasted ham, pickled olives, cheese, crackers. Kalif picked up an unpeeled apple.
“Ah—!”
The waiter gasped. The apple had a blemish.
“My apologies, Sir Lennox! I’ll bring you a better one…”
“When an apple has a blemish?”
“…Pardon?”
“Oh.”
“Sir?”
“Ap—”
“Th—that…”
“Three, two, one, ding.”
A random quiz show.
The waiter panicked, but Kalif was dead serious.
“Correct answer: a blemished apple.”
“…Hahaha…”
The waiter forced a terrified laugh.
Drunk customers were normal, but this was Sir Lennox.
The top-ranked knight, who usually drank silently and left without fuss. Tonight was different.
Kalif waved him off.
Yes. A blemished apple was still just a blemished apple.
A blemish didn’t turn it into a grape or a mandarin.
But…
“She looks so worn down by life.”
A noblewoman’s comment about Mayna at the party.
That phrase had stuck in his throat like a fishbone.
Not just that. Many people had remarked on her pale complexion and shabby clothes.
The same girl who once looked like a princess from a fairy tale, as though sprinkling sugar with every step.
When her family collapsed ten years ago and she signed the contract at his table, Kalif had thought:
Even as a beggar in the slums, she hasn’t changed.
Despite poverty, she still had that beauty and vitality.
But now?
“….”
Beside him, there was no vitality in Mayna anymore.
No warmth.
No smile.
When? Since when had she…
Kalif set his glass down with a sharp thud. Shaking his head, as if refusing to accept it.
He bit into the apple. Juice dripped down his jaw.
Crash!!!
The window shattered with a deafening noise.
“What in the world?!”
Guests panicked, but Kalif instantly drew his dagger.
A man stumbled inside from the street.
“R—run!”
He collapsed in a spray of blood.
***
The carriage halted.
Mayna, ready to pay, was struck with a strange feeling.
The destination had been Lennox Castle.
But this was a rain-soaked forest path.
“Is something wrong?”
“……”
She tried to ask calmly, but the coachman gave no answer.
The carriage did not move. It simply stood still.
