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Chapter 05
As soon as I arrived at the blacksmith’s, my eyes were drawn to the longswords hanging on the wall, visible from far away.
I doubt they sell kitchen knives in a place like this, but…
I decided to drop by anyway—half to look around, half to ask.
And then—
“Oh.”
I spotted that man.
“The mercenary from before?”
A man with dark reddish hair, leisurely polishing a sword.
“Excuse me.”
It was finally time to get my money back.
Up close, the mercenary looked like a painting.
Long hair still shadowing his eyes.
A tall, straight nose.
Tiny beads of sweat glistening in the warm sunlight.
Large hands carefully tending to his blade.
Judging by his flawless face alone, he looked like someone who’d never known hardship—but his hands were a mess of scars. And the thick forearms exposed by his rolled‑up sleeves were just as badly marked.
Why’d you have to roll your sleeves up and make me feel softhearted?
He was a mercenary—of course he’d be covered in scars. Still, I nearly felt sorry enough to lower the price of the apples.
But sorry—my own situation came first.
At least mercenaries make good money.
If I can’t run my stall, I’ll literally starve.
Clang, clang.
Pushing past the noisy hammering of the blacksmith, I raised my voice again.
“Excuse me.”
Whether I approached or not, he kept polishing the sword in silence. It looked old—what made it so precious?
“Sir, the man polishing the sword.”
I put more force into my voice.
At this point, wasn’t he just pretending not to hear?
Crunch.
Sorry, but I stepped on his military boot. Since he’d been looking down, there was no way he didn’t notice.
“…What.”
A rough voice. He finally lifted his head.
“You remember me, right?”
Even if he didn’t, I was ready to collect.
But he gave a small nod.
“…Good. I’m glad you remember.”
He really does remember?
I was flustered—I’d expected the opposite—but I pretended everything was normal and held out my hand.
A question mark practically floated over his face.
“The money.”
“Did I owe you something?”
“You could call it a debt.”
The cost of the apples he’d ruined.
Which I’d paid for.
“So it’s not a debt.”
Oh?
Look at this guy.
“It is a debt!”
I was about to argue when he stood up.
His legs were so long that his face ended up far above my head.
“Why—why are you standing up all of a sudden?”
You think I’ll back down just because you’re bigger?
Sure, I look young, delicate, and pretty on the outside—but inside me lives a ruthless daughter‑in‑law who once made 3,000 heads of kimchi alone in the dead of winter. Don’t underestimate me!
“Why did you step on my foot?”
“Ah, sorry. You kept ignoring me, so I thought you might look this way. If you want to step on something, step on my foot.”
I slid my foot toward him.
Halara’s small build meant small hands and feet. Next to his heavy boots, my foot looked half its size.
“You’re saying I can step on it for real?”
“Yes. If you were offended.”
“It won’t survive.”
He said it seriously. Most people would let it go at that point—but he looked like he’d actually do it.
“You’re really going to step on it?!”
“You told me to.”
“I mean—! That’s just something people say! Usually you pretend to step, or laugh it off!”
“…Usually?”
“Of course.”
As I answered, slightly flustered, he tilted his head.
“And who decides what ‘usual’ is?”
“What?”
“Some people might actually want to be stepped on. There are all kinds of people in the world.”
Is he completely lacking in social skills?
…Probably.
Judging by the depth and number of his scars, he’d been a mercenary for a long time. Constant battlefields must’ve stripped him of normal social sense.
And annoyingly, that made me soften again.
“…If you don’t really want to step on it, please don’t say things like that.”
I carefully hid my foot beneath the hem of my long dress.
“More importantly, you know you owe me two silver, right?”
“Two silver?”
“Yes. The cost of the two apples you owed the vegetable shop across the street.”
“What kind of trick is this?”
He snapped sharply—clearly sensitive about money.
“You don’t remember? You ran off with the apples last time. You said the ones you grabbed were in bad condition, so I recommended better ones.”
As I described the incident in detail, realization finally dawned on his face.
“…I remember.”
“Good. Then pay up. Two silver. That’s a lot of money for the shop owner. Even after a full day of work, that much doesn’t remain as pure profit.”
“Then shouldn’t you be collecting from the merchant, not me?”
“I paid for it in your place. So you owe me.”
“You paid?”
He tilted his head. His hair slipped aside briefly, revealing slightly widened eyes before falling back into place.
“Why?”
“He makes a living day by day. And if I hadn’t mentioned the apple quality to you, you wouldn’t have crushed them in the first place.”
“…Ah.”
That was all he said.
No clue whether that meant he’d pay or not—but looking closer, his appearance was downright shabby.
“But… two silver must be a lot for you too, right?”
“……”
The silence said it all—too much pride to answer.
“Then instead of paying, work it off.”
“…Work?”
His lips twitched slightly.
I grinned.
“You’ll help me out until it’s worth two silver.”
Honestly, taking cash outright felt a little uncomfortable.
Even if he’d crushed the apples thoughtlessly.
So I decided to make use of his far superior physique instead.
“It’s easier than you think.”
I held out a basket of potatoes.
Compared to mercenary work, it was nothing.
***
While Halara was meeting the unfamiliar mercenary, the butler Carlos had been gripping the arm of Halara’s neighbor, Michel, lips moving uncertainly for several minutes.
He’d grabbed him impulsively, afraid to miss the chance—but now he had no idea how to begin. What if he tested the waters wrong and Michel refused to cooperate?
As Carlos hesitated, a tired‑of‑waiting Michel glared at him suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“J‑just a moment. One minute.”
“You said one minute earlier. It’s been ten.”
Michel yanked his arm free.
With hands hardened by chopping wood, Carlos went tumbling helplessly to the ground.
“If you’ve got nothing to say, I’m leaving.”
Carlos popped back up like a roly‑poly toy.
“I have something to ask about the person next door!”
Finally, words came out.
“The neighbor? You mean Halara?”
“Yes!”
At the loud reply, Michel crossed his arms and sized Carlos up.
Polished shoes, clothes that clearly cost money. At a glance, he looked like someone from a wealthy household—or a high‑ranking servant from a noble family.
“What do you want to know?”
“About… Halara.”
Carlos chose to use her name after some thought. Saying “that woman” or “the woman living here” felt like it would shut Michel down.
“Halara? You seem close.”
“Ah, somewhat…”
“What kind of relationship?”
“It’s… complicated.”
Unable to lie outright, Carlos scratched his head.
If Michel was close to Halara, claiming to be a distant relative could raise suspicion.
“Oh?”
Michel’s eyes narrowed, full of doubt.
So Carlos hurriedly changed the subject.
“Th‑that sign—what is it?”
Let’s ask about that first!
“Exactly what it looks like. I even added pictures so idiots like me could understand—don’t tell me you can’t?”
“No! I can read! I just meant the meaning!”
Swallowing his wounded pride, Carlos endured Michel’s attitude—he needed answers.
“I told you. Halara’s pretty—you know that. It’s a warning sign telling the men who show up every day to stop coming.”
“Then why all of a sudden?”
Carlos raised his voice, then immediately shrank back when Michel frowned.
“I—I mean, she never stopped men from coming before. Why now?”
Hmm.
Michel examined him again.
Looks like another one of Halara’s admirers.
Well‑dressed. Nervous voice. Desperate for answers despite being brushed off.
Conclusion reached.
He’s old enough—how’d he end up falling for Halara too?
Michel had seen plenty of men like this before, lurking around her house.
Normally, he would’ve ignored it—but he’d grown closer to Halara lately. It felt personal now.
She’s been feeding me nonstop. Least I can do is earn my keep.
He’d already yelled at Halara earlier—time to show results.
“Halara’s not seeing men anymore.”
“What? Why? Did she get a boyfriend?”
“Well… not exactly.”
Michel shook his head. A lie like that wouldn’t last long.
“Just know this.”
“W‑what is it?”
“Halara’s pregnant.”
He’d applied a surefire repellent instead.
