TBMGW 13

Chapter 13

He says “serve only me” in a rather terrifying way.

“I’m Young Master’s personal attendant—how could I ever let my eyes wander to someone else?”

“And how do I know you won’t go behind my back and ask to be assigned under someone like Rosa Brighton?”

“It’s fine. You like me, don’t you, Young Master?”

Ian, who had been pulling away from me, stopped and raised one eyebrow.

“…What?”

It’s just one syllable, but if it sounds like ‘What kind of impudent bullshit is this?’ maybe that’s not my imagination.

“Since you care for me, Young Master, there’s no reason for me to look elsewhere.”

Put another way: ‘If you didn’t care for me, I don’t know what I’d do.’

I’ll admit it—I’d gotten pretty cheeky.

And it’s all because Ian Brighton has been unusually gentle lately.

Others might question whether that could even be called “gentle,” but at least in front of me, Ian had become remarkably mild—for Ian.

“…You rat.”

Ian suddenly muttered under his breath.

“M-me?”

Had I really gone too far? Was he offended because I was acting above my station?

While I sat there, tense, Ian didn’t even look at me. Instead, with a suddenly icy atmosphere, he sharply glanced toward the back.

His pupils dilated wide, a fishy smile spreading across his face.

My Ian Brighton had returned to being his usual self.

“What gutsy bastard is loitering near me without permission?”

Ian shouted toward the entrance of the back garden.

That was when the shadow cast at the quiet entrance flinched.

“Come out.”

A gentle voice flowed out—an intonation Ian Brighton typically used when luring someone in.

Like a flower enticing bees and butterflies, he spoke sweetly.

“Before I go fetch you myself.”

The problem was that the content was about a billion light-years away from anything sweet.

I cautiously brushed myself off and stood.

“I’ll go check, Young Master.”

“Stay put.”

Usually, when something’s bothering him, doesn’t he send his personal attendant to investigate first?

But since my direct superior told me not to move, I obediently sat back down.

Then, with the sound of hurried footsteps, the shadow that had been motionless vanished.

What nerve. Anyone coming to the back garden on this estate would at least be a servant—at most a postman or a coachman.

Whoever it was, I can only pray they never get found out by Ian for the rest of their life.

“Would you look at that?”

Though it seems likely they’ll be discovered in the not-too-distant future.

“It could’ve been a young servant. Like Hanna, the cook’s daughter. Kids panic and lose all sense when they’re scared.”

Really, I’d rather not add any more innocent corpses to the tally.

“So if you could generously forgive them, Young Master—”

“Red hair.”

“Pardon?”

“Seventeen, maybe.”

How does he already know?

Ian narrowed his eyes. With a bored, listless expression, he muttered flatly, as if he’d just observed it himself.

“A maid.”

Red hair. Seventeen. A maid.

Why does Rejeta come to mind?

No way. Haha. It can’t be her.

It was.

“Things looked cozy between you and the Young Master, huh?”

I stared at Rejeta with dead eyes.

“Why did you run away? You should’ve stayed and apologized.”

“Risk my life to become a personal attendant? As a substitute sacrifice to die in his place?”

“Listen to me, Rejeta. You crossed a line just now. You’d better stop while you still can.”

Do you know what happens to a potato-brained extra villain like you in a house with a man-eating demon?

“If you don’t… you’ll die.”

But if Rejeta were the kind of person to heed advice, she wouldn’t have been acting like a third-rate villain to begin with.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?! You’re trying to monopolize the Young Master’s personal attendant position all by yourself!”

I’ll admit it—Ian Brighton and I lying face to face under the sunlight probably did look quite affectionate.

But both he and I are only twelve. At best, it would’ve looked like childish play.

“Rejeta, can you really stay unfazed after seeing swarms of rats and insects moving in perfect unison?”

Rejeta’s face twisted for a moment.

Judging by how she set her spoon down, it wasn’t a story meant for mealtimes.

“See? You can’t even answer right away. That’s what you’ll be dealing with all the time if you become Young Master Ian’s personal attendant.”

“Are you really that determined to keep me in check?”

Ha.

“Just live your life. I’m done dealing with you.”

Conversation is only worth having with someone who understands.

Still… I don’t want her to die.

If a familiar face turned into a corpse in a ditch the very next day, it would sit badly with me for a long time.

“Are you okay, Cici?”

Another servant approached me and asked carefully.

“Rejeta’s just trapped in her own thoughts. She’s more pitiable than bothersome.”

“You’re five years younger than Rejeta, yet so much more mature.”

That was enough—people around me thought well of me.

“Oh, right. You work with Rejeta, don’t you? Managing Lady Rosa’s dress room.”

“Yeah. We’re not close. She doesn’t even speak to people she thinks are beneath her.”

“Ah… I see.”

I didn’t expect her reputation to be that bad. Even this feels like a flag—I break out in a bit of a cold sweat.

“If you don’t mind, could you put this in Rejeta’s bag? They say hawthorn branches ward off vampires.”

It’s practically superstition, but the rosary the protagonist Cecil always carries is made of hawthorn and black jade, so it should have some effect.

“Think of it as wishing that the bad feelings inside Rejeta will retreat.”

“I don’t really get it, but okay. It’s not hard.”

Let’s hope this helps Rejeta at least keep her life.

I can’t guarantee it’ll work, though.

Rejeta Arriet was a girl full of ambition.

She was sick of the old, dirty maid uniform.

She wanted to eat sweet food laid out on lavish tables.

After ten years of worry, the method Rejeta found was to become the lover of a noble’s heir.

Even if that heir at her new workplace—the Brighton ducal household—was a boy five years younger than her.

Ian Brighton had the looks of an angel.

The kind of beauty that would leave everyone who passed by staring blankly if he wandered the streets.

A demon-possessed child. The mad scientist duchess.

She’d been discouraged when she first heard those terrifying rumors, but upon meeting the young lord and the duchess in person, they were nothing more than ordinary nobles.

After more than a month at the ducal estate, Rejeta was certain.

All the rumors were lies.

There’s no way a boy that beautiful could do such horrific things.

Smiling while looking at corpses in a ditch? Nonsense!

She had to take the position of his personal attendant, no matter what.

That day, when she saw the pile of snacks stacked high in Cici’s room, desire sprouted in Rejeta’s heart.

Of course, Lady Rosa, whom she currently served, treated Rejeta kindly enough and was unusually gentle for a noble.

But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted the recognition and admiration Cici enjoyed to be hers.

But how?

How could she make Cici’s position her own?

Frame her… or get rid of her…

Just as those outrageous slanders were about to surface like a devil’s whisper—

A voice echoed by her ear for a fleeting instant.

Listen to me, Rejeta.

“Shut up!”

“What’s so loud?”

Unable to contain her anger, Rejeta flung the mop to the floor. A gentle voice reached her ears.

Startled, she turned toward the sound.

There stood a brilliant, dazzling boy, bathed head to toe in the glow of the sunset.

Wearing a soft smile. Blood-red eyes glittering.

Spellbound, Rejeta gazed at his face.

“Hm? Answer me. What’s so loud?”

Her face flushing red, Rejeta belatedly lowered her gaze.

Hands folded together, her posture was nothing but meek and shy.

“It’s nothing, Young Master…”

Rejeta thought to herself.

Maybe this is my chance.

Be sweet.

Smile prettily and win the Young Master’s favor.

If little Cici could do it, there’s no reason she couldn’t.

“Was it my footsteps that were loud?”

“N-no! I didn’t even realize you were coming!”

“Of course not. The loudest thing right now is your voice.”

For a moment, Rejeta doubted her ears.

It felt like she’d heard something that didn’t match the gentle tone at all.

“You know how to speak just fine, so why did you keep your mouth shut and run away back then?”

“Th-that’s…”

He was referring to what happened in the back garden. Rejeta stiffened and stared at the floor.

She hadn’t realized it would come back to haunt her.

Suddenly, she felt something strange about the shadow cast by the sunlight streaming in through the window.

More precisely, Ian’s shadow.

Something was writhing, flickering.

Ian was more than a handspan shorter than Rejeta—only natural, given the age difference.

Then why was the shadow bigger than her?

No—it was growing.

It swelled in volume, covering the wall. This isn’t an illusion, Rejeta thought blankly. It’s not an illusion.

“Hey.”

One entire wall of the corridor was swallowed by the enormous shadow.

She needed to look away—but she couldn’t.

From within the abyss-black shadow poured hundreds, thousands of whispers.

Rejeta, you idiot. Rejeta! Rejeta! Rejeta!

“Stop…”

Third rule: At sunset, never meet the gaze of Ian Brighton’s shadow.

When she came to, everything around her was pitch-black.

Rejeta frantically tried to turn and run. She would have succeeded—if the shadow at her feet hadn’t seized her ankle.

Ian whispered gently toward her.

“Go on. Try to run.”

She had to beg for her life. Weren’t dozens of mouths in the shadow drooling for her?

But Rejeta couldn’t say a word.

The next day, Rejeta Arriet left the ducal household.