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Chapter 11
At times like this, it felt unfair to be just a maid. It would’ve been nice if Annie were a mage.
Being a mage was a calling. It wasn’t something you could achieve through effort—you had to be born with innate magical power.
Those kinds of geniuses were usually snatched up by the imperial family, noble houses, or the Magic Tower. No matter where they belonged, none of them really pursued the public good.
Even if other places were like that, shouldn’t the Magic Tower be different? They claimed to pursue magic purely, without any vested interests—yet they couldn’t even invent things like washing machines or electric lights. That was just too much.
What were they doing, letting such gifted talent go to waste?
Even in the original story, the Magic Tower only engaged in political schemes, instigating wars, assassination attempts, kidnappings, and all sorts of conspiracies and crimes—before eventually being destroyed in retaliation.
By one of the male leads: the “next Tower Master.”
In The Contractor of the Spirit King, there were three male lead candidates.
Candidate 1: The Crown Prince.
A senior Serpin met at the academy. Kind, but impossible to read. He hid his identity before revealing he was the Crown Prince upon their engagement.
Candidate 2: The Duke’s son.
A friend and loyal retainer of the Crown Prince. A genius swordsman. Though from the central region, he was just as cold as a northern noble. Well… he’d probably be warm only to Serpin.
Candidate 3: The next Tower Master.
An eccentric from the same magic department as Serpin. He followed her around, wanting to study her rare talent for spirit magic. A reckless younger guy who charged ahead without thinking.
She hadn’t heard who the real male lead was. But it was probably the Crown Prince anyway.
As for the current people in the Magic Tower, they were destined to play their roles as villains and be wiped out by Candidate 3. That’s what they got for not working for the greater good.
If the protagonist changed, what would happen to the Magic Tower? Would they start targeting our young lady?
Even if her life was bound to be spectacular just by breathing, the young lady would overcome it safely. After all, she had already changed her fate.
Winning the favor of someone you couldn’t even communicate with, in the body of a newborn, wasn’t something just anyone could do—especially at your very first meeting with someone who would eventually kill you.
If it were me, I would’ve fainted the moment I met Aeon. I probably would’ve wet myself like a proper baby. Instead of “She’s smiling,” I would’ve been called “filthy” and kicked out.
Unlike an extra like me, the young lady was truly fit to be the protagonist.
So I had to leave—no matter what!
Even though I pretended to make escape plans with her, the young lady couldn’t leave Trisen. The protagonist would always be drawn back onto the stage somehow.
But I could at least escape properly!
With that firm resolve, I clicked off the last lamp on the first floor.
“Huuuu…”
A low groan echoed.
From the darkness beyond where all the lights had gone out.
I should… run away. But the ghost-prevention tips Holly had taught me were completely useless.
Was that really a ghost?
Slowly, I turned around and lifted the lamp, shining it down the dim corridor.
There was no one there.
But the sound continued.
“Ha… ngh…”
One step. Two steps.
I started walking slowly toward the sound, then quickened my pace.
“Kh… haa…”
It didn’t sound like a ghost’s curse—it sounded like someone groaning in pain.
The sound was coming from a remote passage.
From here on was a restricted area. The corridor, untouched by moonlight, stretched endlessly in square patches of darkness.
Should I ignore it?
But what if someone was in danger?
Holding out the lamp, I pushed through the darkness.
“Is someone there?”
Summoning all my courage, I called out. The sound abruptly stopped. At the very least, something was there.
I took a few more steps.
At the edge of the lamplight, there was an old wooden cleaning cabinet.
Perfect place for a ghost to jump out.
Even though that shouldn’t be possible, standing in front of it made my heart pound.
If I open this… and no one’s there… please let me faint instantly. Before I see any ghost.
I prayed to a god who had never once answered me, then pulled the handle.
Creeeak…
It made a sound straight out of a horror movie.
Inside the cabinet, a white figure was curled up.
“…Young master?”
Red eyes glared at me.
“You… ngh… why are you…”
The “ghost” that appeared every summer—who stayed in the mansion only during summer break…
“Why are you here, young master?”
The ghost’s identity was Narcissus. Why had no one made the connection? Because hardly anyone knew his voice?
It took at least forty minutes to turn off all the lights. And I had dawdled with Holly before starting, so it must’ve been around ten.
He usually prepared for bed as soon as the sun set—yet here he was, the heir of a grand duke’s house, hiding in a cleaning cabinet in a restricted area at midnight.
“What on earth are you doing here—”
But I couldn’t press further.
“Ugh…”
The tension in his wide eyes loosened, narrowing faintly. His face, pale as paper, was drenched in sweat. He bit his lips to suppress any sound, but ragged breaths leaked out. His small, curled body trembled continuously.
Even I felt the cold despite wearing a long dress and shawl—yet he was in thin sleepwear.
“Are you okay? At least put this on.”
As I took off my shawl, Narcissus muttered hoarsely,
“Don’t… bother… go away…”
Did he just tell me to get lost? For someone who always acted refined, even when being a psycho…
Honestly, I wanted to leave—but if something happened after I ignored him, I’d be the one punished.
Since a maid couldn’t touch the young master’s body, I draped the shawl over him and stood up.
“I’ll call an attendant.”
“No!”
My skirt was yanked with terrifying strength.
Narcissus pulled me down and barked,
“Don’t tell anyone! If you open your mouth carelessly…”
His hot breath brushed my collar. His pale face twisted right in front of mine.
“I’ll kill you.”
With the same lips that always smiled leisurely—
“I’ll kill you.”
He spat it out viciously.
Narcissus could kill me anytime. Even now, as he gripped my skirt. I wouldn’t be able to break free and run.
“I can’t just pretend I didn’t see you.”
But I still had to do my job.
If he didn’t want me to call someone, then fine. I wouldn’t even bother warning him before acting.
“My goodness! How long have you been like this?”
I grabbed the back of his hand—and flinched in shock.
Is he a vampire? Why is he so cold?!
“You’ll catch a cold!”
“…Be… quiet…”
“Or maybe you already have?”
Ignoring his resistance, I placed my hand on his forehead.
“No fever… yet?”
Instead, his damp hair clung to his skin. I took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped it.
“If you keep sweating like this, you’ll definitely fall sick.”
His cold hand grabbed my wrist—weakly, compared to how he had pulled my skirt.
“Stay still.”
He lowered my hand, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
“If you leave me alone… I’ll get better…”
But his furrowed brow and strained breathing still looked unstable.
“That’s a lie.”
“What…?”
He let out a faint laugh. If he weren’t in pain, he would’ve mocked me elegantly.
“No, it’s not. I’m already getting better.”
But he sounded meek.
“Where does it look like that?”
“…What do you even know?”
“I don’t know why you’re like this, but I know it’ll be bad if I leave you like this.”
I slipped my wrist free and supported his hand.
“I’ll take you back to your room.”
He stared at me with half-lidded eyes.
“As long as you don’t call anyone… right?”
“…I don’t want to.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t… want to go to my room.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to?”
Now I was beyond confused—I was getting annoyed. I couldn’t call anyone, and he didn’t want to go back either—what was I supposed to do?
“Even if you don’t want to, you have no choice. Do you want to find out how low your body temperature can drop?”
“You’re really… shameless.”
“I can’t just watch you get sick. Now come on.”
When I pulled his hand, he followed obediently—only his arm. He stretched it out but didn’t move the rest of his body.
“Young master.”
“…”
Aren’t you going to move?
I glared at him.
He turned his head away.
What is he doing?
“…Are you scared of ghosts or something?”
Do you even know how many innocent people you’ve terrified?
“If you’re scared to be alone, I’ll stay with you. Until you fall asleep.”
I provoked him from behind—and the former “ghost” finally turned back.
Hey, I was joking. Don’t stare like that.
“Um… young master?”
“…”
“Why are you… looking at me like that…?”
“…”
I said it was a joke…
Is this… a dream?
I had been doubting it for several minutes, but the warmth of the hand I was holding proved it wasn’t.
I was… holding Narcissus’s hand and escorting him to his room?
My careless provocation had worked surprisingly well.
When I blankly watched him get up from the cabinet, he returned a calm look—as if asking, “Why aren’t you going?”
Before I knew it, I was walking. Still holding his hand. Even though I was leading and he was following, it felt like I was the one being dragged.
Sometimes he would tug my hand, making me stop or change direction. Maybe he was avoiding people.
I couldn’t even complain about why we were taking such a roundabout way, and ended up cutting through side paths instead of the usual route.
That’s how we reached his room without running into anyone.
Second floor, west end of the main building.
Passing the reception room filled with unpleasant memories, I opened the bedroom door. The fireplace crackled softly.
It was my first time inside.
The rooms used by the grand duke’s family were managed by “upper-floor maids” who worked above the central staircase. They were higher-ranking, serving the direct family closely—while someone like me, who handled miscellaneous chores, was lower-ranking.
This wasn’t a place I should be entering. The tension I’d forgotten while wandering the halls suddenly resurfaced.
Maybe it was the warmth. Or maybe I was starting to sweat.
I just had to follow the instructions. Which meant…
I should tidy the bed first—it still looked like he had rushed out in a hurry.
“…”
“…”
When are we letting go of hands?
