TPWTL 18

Chapter 18: I’m Not the Protagonist of a Love Story.

As the man trailed off and silently handed over the entire pouch of coins to Ambre, the surrounding air fell into complete silence. Buying and selling people with money was strictly prohibited under both continental and imperial law. Yet the desires of man, passed down since ancient times, continued to create demand—and where there is demand, supply follows. In the underworld where money could buy anything, even people were sold as commodities. However, someone so openly offering to buy a person was rare. And someone offering such a large sum, without asking any questions, was even rarer. For a moment, silent conversations passed through the darkness like invisible tension in the air. The silence was sharp, almost cutting the skin. How long had it passed?

“Come this way.”

A gruff male voice called out, and a man, two or three times larger than the buyer, appeared from the darkness. As the smaller man followed, he winced at the sudden brightness. When he blinked against the light, he found a few wooden placards marked with numbers laid out in front of him.

“The red ones are girls, blue ones are boys. The paler the shade, the older they are…”

The large man explained without pausing for breath, then pointed his chin.

“Which one will you take?”

“This one.”

“Wait here. Don’t move carelessly or you might lose a limb.”

It was unclear if that was a threat or just advice. As the large man turned to leave, the man reached out to stop him.

“Wait a moment.”

“Hm? If you’re going to change your mind, now’s the only chance.”

The man shook his head. He had successfully bought someone to be his offering, but had hit an unexpected wall.

“That’s not it. You’re saying I can’t take them with me?”

“Oh, come on. It’s simple. Whatever you do, handle it here. We can lend you a room if needed.”

The man almost blurted out that the room wasn’t the problem, but instead asked another question.

“Why not?”

“Man, you’re really asking the obvious here.”

The large man frowned, clearly annoyed, but the man didn’t back down.

“Sigh… obviously, it’s for protection.”

The man was left speechless by the answer. Thinking he didn’t understand, the big man offered a more detailed explanation.

“People… ahem, merchandise is hard to come by these days. If anything happens to the goods we already have, it’s a loss. So, to ensure their safety and survival, we keep them within our line of sight.”

The Empire was currently enjoying a period of peace so prosperous it could be called a golden age. Desperate people willing to sell themselves were nearly nonexistent, and even those being sold due to debt were extremely rare. Some might resort to abduction, but the risk was too high, and so-called “human hunters” had long since abandoned such practices. Moreover, the act of buying and selling people was strictly and relentlessly monitored.

If the pitiful wimp before him hadn’t pulled out such a large amount of money, he would’ve been kicked out for spouting nonsense in broad daylight. With all these factors, they were merely conducting their business as safely as possible—but there was no need to explain all that to the customer.

“Well, as long as we can check, do whatever you want. Just don’t kill them.”

The man’s eyes darkened with boiling fury at hearing scum like these talk about safety and protecting lives. What a sick joke. But there was nothing he could do. If the seller refused to sell, the transaction couldn’t proceed.

He had intended to buy a human offering for the gods, but he couldn’t perform the ritual under these people’s watchful eyes.

“Fine…”

“What? Hey! We’re not giving your money back!”

The burly man shouted in a panic, but the man had no choice but to turn and leave.
And so, ironically, in the darkest and most miserable alley of the capital—where one would expect the worst—no one had yet died at the hands of the serial killer terrorizing the city’s outskirts.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

He muttered curses over and over, gnashing his teeth until his mouth was raw, but he never gave up. If he couldn’t buy an offering, then—

He had hoped to avoid touching the people in his own neighborhood until the very last resort.

“But now is the last of the last.”

It wasn’t out of affection or guilt that he had tried to avoid harming his neighbors. Nor was it because he saw them daily and couldn’t bring himself to hurt them. It was a calculated, cold decision—if he touched people nearby, his chances of getting caught before the ritual was completed would skyrocket.

Dragging his tired legs, he returned to his neighborhood but didn’t go home. Instead, he walked to a nearby clearing.

“Hi.”

“Huh? Hey, it’s been a while!”

“Big brother! Big brother’s here! Guys, he’s back!”

Before long, children had gathered around, chattering away with their various stories.

“…And then, she said to me…”

“Yesterday, I… so in the end…”

The man listened silently, with a smiling face, as the kids excitedly told their tales.

“Move! I’m going to hang on his leg!”

“No, you move! I was first!”

While a few kids argued over who got to cling to his leg, one child who spoke slowly finally opened their mouth—and the man’s eyes flashed.

“My mom cries at night a lot these days… she says it’s too hard because we have no money…”

Finally. This was the story he had been waiting for.

Those in hardship would grasp at straws—or even a spider’s thread dangling in the dark.

That’s what he had been counting on.

If someone constantly talked about how hard things were, and then suddenly disappeared… it wouldn’t be called a kidnapping, but a runaway.

The man pried the kids off his legs and smiled sweetly. Then, reaching out with malicious intent and persistent purpose, he offered his hand to the child whose mother was struggling.

“I’ll help you. Come with me.”

As the sun, once high in the sky, began to sink westward, Olivia stood facing Ambre.

“Greetings, Your Highness. Endless glory to the Empire…”

After listening quietly to the lengthy greeting, Olivia asked,

“I told the Marquis of Taren to appear in the palace himself.”

“Yes! My father is currently somewhere he can’t return from in just a day, so I’ve come as the representative of our house!”

Olivia fell silent—not because of the content of the reply, which was perfectly reasonable, but because of Lady Taren’s strangely excited demeanor.
Her fluttering pink hair, her bright, beaming smile, and eyes sparkling to an uncomfortable degree—it was painfully obvious that she was idolizing Olivia to a concerning extent.

“Lady Taren.”

“Yes! Yes, please speak!”

Even after a second attempt, the response was unnaturally enthusiastic. Olivia found it bizarre. As far as she could recall, she had never met Ambre Taren personally, and hadn’t achieved anything recently that would make her the object of such fervent admiration. But she didn’t think too hard on it. Many noble daughters harbored romantic fantasies about the imperial family. And this was Bolsheik—the imperial bloodline that appeared in children’s storybooks and legends. It wasn’t strange for someone to grow up idolizing them.

But Olivia’s assumption was shattered soon enough.

“Th-the greatness of love… I feel it anew every day through you, Your Highness!”

Ambre nearly stood up in a cheer as she shouted. Olivia blinked quickly.

Love? Out of nowhere?

As Olivia struggled to respond, Ambre chattered on excitedly.

“A love that transcends social class, falling in love at first sight…”

Ah, that’s what this was about.

Olivia listened with distant eyes as Ambre gushed her own romantic epic. Then, when Ambre finally paused to breathe:

“Lady Taren.”

“Yes! Ah, I’m sorry, Your Highness. I got a bit carried away.”

Ambre, who had been practically bouncing in her seat, quickly stood and bowed. Olivia waved a hand.

“I appreciate your thoughts on love, but I must make one thing clear: I am not the protagonist of that love story. In fact, a tournament soon will prove it.”

“Yes! …Excuse me?”

Olivia didn’t scold Ambre for her reflexive rudeness, only repeated calmly,

“I’m not the protagonist of a love story.”

And she prepared to say it again. If Ambre had gone this far in romanticizing things, she likely wouldn’t believe it right away. But to Olivia’s surprise—

“Yes. My apologies.”

Ambre nodded sincerely and accepted her words as they were.

That’s… unexpectedly easygoing.
After dreaming up a dramatic love tale and projecting it onto Olivia, she gave in that easily?

You could call it pure and cheerful—or, more harshly, oblivious and lacking awareness.

Still, the fact that she so easily accepted being wrong suggested it was more of the former.

Olivia sighed lightly and touched the rim of her teacup.

So what if the heir to the Taren family wasn’t what she expected? Her innocence wasn’t harming anyone.

She took a sip of chamomile tea and waited for Ambre’s excitement to settle. When the overly elevated energy had finally subsided, Olivia got straight to the point.

“I understand there’s been growing concern over incidents in your family’s business district.”

“Ah…”

Ambre deflated like a scolded child, lowering her head. Olivia watched with a slight frown.
Is Taren really going to be okay?

She quickly shook the thought away. It wasn’t her place to intervene in another family’s affairs unless they asked for help.

“The branch manager has been struggling. We’ve lost a noticeable number of workers, and some of the remaining ones have disappeared too…”

Olivia didn’t miss those words. Her ears perked, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Disappeared?”