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Chapter 9
“Done shopping?”
Chris came running over, breathless but smiling. Vendia narrowed her eyes and replied,
“Chris. Are you still going to say you’re not good-looking? Women practically swarmed just to get a glimpse of your face.”
“Th-that’s not it! They were just curious, that’s all!”
“Does that even make sense?”
“Y-you must be tired! L-let me carry your bags!”
Clearly trying to change the subject, he hastily grabbed the bags from her hands.
Shasha held out her own bags as well, but Chris pretended not to notice and stuck close to Vendia, grinning sheepishly.
“Ugh, seriously.”
“Here, give them to me.”
Seeing Shasha grumble, Vendia reached out to help—but only then did Chris quickly grab Shasha’s bags too.
He really seemed to respond only when it came to his lady.
“Let’s get out of here first.”
Worried that the women might follow them, the three of them quickly escaped the plaza.
“I-I’ll go get us a carriage!”
Chris ran off toward the entrance to flag down a paid carriage, while Vendia and Shasha waited together on the sidewalk. That’s when Vendia felt a prickling gaze from somewhere.
She turned around to find intense red hair—and locked eyes with him.
“What are you looking at?”
“Our tenant. There you are!”
Vendia greeted him with surprising warmth, a stark contrast from their first meeting.
Sitting at a café terrace about ten steps away from her was Ron.
The same second-floor tenant who had yelled at her to tear down the fireplace in the middle of summer and spoke in rude informal language.
As always, he was dressed in expensive, flashy clothes—but his face was a mess.
Yesterday, his forehead had been cut. Today, it was his lip.
Every time he left the house, he came back with more injuries. No one knew what he was doing out there.
Not that it was her business.
“Mind your own way.”
Ron scowled, his already harsh expression turning even more hostile.
Vendia resisted the urge to smack that red head of his.
Isn’t the landlord supposed to be the one in charge? That only works for property people want to rent.
In this rundown place, the tenant was the one with the upper hand.
“Dear tenant, the fireplace hasn’t given you trouble again, has it?”
“If it does again, I won’t sit still.”
“Perish the thought.”
“Hey. Are you mocking me right now?”
Quick on the uptake, this one.
“Gosh, how could I possibly mock you, dear tenant?”
“Annoying. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even acknowledge me.”
Ron turned his head with a sharp flick of the brow.
Exactly what I wanted, jackass.
Vendia, still wearing a polite smile, also dropped her expression and stared straight ahead.
“What’s his deal?”
Shasha whispered curiously, seizing the moment.
Living in a luxury mansion, always in top-quality clothes—but with no last name? It was bound to spark questions.
“A noble, probably.”
“Really? I thought he might be some nouveau riche.”
“If he were, he’d have bought a massive mansion to show off. He wouldn’t be living in this collapsing mess.”
Vendia had already suspected it the moment she saw his name signed on the lease—no last name, just “Ron.”
He was either a noble in hiding or someone deliberately concealing his identity.
She hadn’t looked into it. They weren’t close, and as long as he paid rent, she didn’t care.
She wasn’t even using her real name—Vendia was living as “Dia” now. Everyone had their story.
About five minutes passed as she and Shasha debated what to have for dinner, waiting for Chris.
“There she is!”
“Get her!”
A loud voice rang out, and a rough-looking gang charged toward them—no, toward Ron, who was just ten steps away.
Six thugs surrounded him in an instant.
“You little rat. Did you think hiding would keep us from finding you?”
“Are you blind? Does sitting at a café in broad daylight look like hiding to you?”
As Thug #1 growled, Ron slowly stood up, dragging his chair with a scrape.
Seeing that Ron didn’t reserve his sour attitude just for her gave Vendia a little sense of comfort.
It really wasn’t hiding if you were sipping coffee out in the open.
“You talk big for someone with no bite!”
Thug #1 threw a punch, clearly furious.
“…Gasp.”
Vendia and Shasha both froze in shock.
They’d thought Ron would block it or at least dodge—but he took the hit straight to the face.
And with that punch, it began. The six thugs started beating Ron mercilessly.
From the way he carried himself, she had assumed he could fight—but he wasn’t fighting back at all.
So this is why he’s always bruised and bleeding?
“Kyaaah!”
The fight caused chaos on the terrace. Customers screamed and scattered.
Vendia quickly began backing away, eyeing the situation nervously.
“Aren’t we going to help? He is your tenant, Miss Dia.”
Shasha, always sharp, grabbed her arm to stop her.
“Shasha. There’s six of them. We’re outnumbered. And we’re not exactly trained to take on street thugs.”
“That’s true, but… still, morally…”
Even as she said that, Shasha moved closer to Vendia for safety.
“He’s avoiding any critical spots.”
Huh?
At the lowered tone, Vendia turned to the voice—Chris had returned, and was mumbling with an unreadable look in his eyes.
He was watching Ron closely, his dark eyes turning serious.
Vendia followed his gaze to Ron, still getting hit.
But to her, it looked like Ron was just taking the beating without resistance.
‘Wait a second…’
Wasn’t he supposed to be playing the pitiful act?
She stared at Chris, bewildered. As if he felt her gaze, his eyes slowly met hers.
The two locked eyes.
Chris’s eyes widened and wavered instantly.
“Ah, n-no! That’s not—! I just… I’ve been hit a lot myself, so I can tell…!”
He’d just realized what he blurted out.
Chris stammered worse than usual, his face burning red.
He definitely looked suspicious—but surely, letting it go was the proper female lead move here?
“I-it’s true! I’ve just been beaten up a lot since I was a kid, that’s all…”
“Mm-hmm. Sure. Whatever you say.”
Vendia nodded as if soothing a child, all while laughing inwardly.
So my gut was right after all.
“I-I’m serious… I really am…”
“What’s going on there!”
Chris’s muttering was drowned out by the arrival of the town guards.
Thankfully, they’d seen the commotion and rushed over.
The thugs ran off—and so did Ron.
The three of them caught their hired carriage and returned to the mansion.
Later that night.
Vendia’s eyes flew open from her sleep.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Miss. Chris.”
