‘Fuck…
No telling how much they’ve siphoned off all this time.’ But whatever, it’s fine.
Soon enough, I’ll make them puke it all back up under the name of “debt.” We were looping through the market when lunchtime rolled around.
Even for my dedicated maid trailing me like this, I’d decided to play the “nice master” now.
After cracking the whip, time for the carrot.
“Karen.
Thanks for putting up with my whims and following me.
This skewer’s on me, so eat up.” “P-Pardon?
Ah…
Yes.
Thank you….” Karen took the skewer and stood there blankly for a while.
Morning: the Young Master slapping his own face and threatening her.
Market: buying beast-hunting gear.
Now: grinning warmly and buying her a skewer.
Her face screamed she couldn’t follow the script.
But deep down, watching me stuff my face in the middle of the market, cheeks smeared with grease and grinning like an idiot, she probably concluded: Still just a brat.
A kid who perks right up the moment you stuff something in his mouth.
‘No matter what you’re scheming, I’ll drag you right back in the end.’ …Or so she thought, pretending to play along as she took a bite.
And— That was the opening shot of my plan.
Wobble.
“…Uh…
Hmm?” “Whoa, Karen, you okay?
You look kinda unsteady.” “Ah, yes…
Must be the heat…
I’m a bit tired….” “Then let’s wrap up shopping here and rest at that teahouse nearby.
I could use a drink anyway.” “Ah…
Should we…?
Yeah…
Let’s do that….” Trailing behind me, Karen’s steps were off by a full beat, like she’d knocked back a drink—anyone could see it.
I propped her up like I was just keeping her from falling and headed to a quiet, out-of-the-way teahouse on the market’s edge.
The door opened to a faint herbal aroma.
“Hello.
Got a private room?
My companion looks beat.” “Yes?
Oh, sure…
We do.
Right this way to an upstairs room.” “And orders too.
Cromian Mocha for our room, one Purple Hytry as well.” “…Understood.” Propped against me, Karen staggered up the stairs.
And the moment the room door opened— “Sleepy…
I’m gonna crash…
Don’t go anywhere, Young Master….” Thud.
She face-planted onto the bed and passed out cold.
Her breathing was already fully relaxed.
I confirmed she was out, then quietly gripped the door handle and stepped out.
The second the door shut.
“Hello?” “…Who the hell are you?” The man from the counter—who’d handed us the room key earlier and clashed hard with the teahouse vibe—waited outside, arms crossed.
A long scar trailing from one eye.
But wearing a floral apron.
The mismatch only made him more menacing.
“How’d a brat like you know our ‘code’ and order it?” “Code?
I just ordered two drinks.” “Don’t play dumb.” The manager stepped forward with a low growl.
“No teahouse serves Cromian Mocha and Purple Hytry.
That’s the combo for a ‘sleep poison recipe’—knocks out even the fiercest beast in seconds flat.” I chuckled inwardly.
Bingo.
Spot on.
The skewer I’d fed Karen earlier was laced thin with Cromian and Purple Hytry—the herbs beast hunters slather on arrowheads.
Each causes strong paralysis on its own.
Popular as a go-to knockout for hunters to stun and butcher prey on the spot.
But it kicks in so fast, the target knows they got hit the instant it lands.
Useless for “assassination.” Just an obvious paralytic that gives itself away on people.
But who knew?
Mix those two paralytics in a precise ratio, and you get the exact opposite.
No sudden shutdown—instead, strength fades gradually, like dozing off in the sun.
A perfect sleeping pill.
Indistinguishable from fatigue or heat to anyone watching.
So Karen was out cold, face buried in the bed.
The catch?
That recipe was a secret combo known only to one shadowy group.
“How does a kid like you know and use our organization’s internal code recipe?” The floral-aproned manager stared down at me, eyes unyielding.
No mercy in that face.
Pure killing machine.
His presence gripped my throat before his words could.
One wrong word, and he’d make me vanish right here—no one would bat an eye.
‘Damn…
Slack off even a little, and I’d puke from the tension.’ Even me, who’d scrapped in back alleys and manual labor in my past life, felt my knees buckle.
His killing intent was another level.
But— Hesitate here, and I’d be the “eul” forever.
My status as the Argent bastard already gave them plenty of reason to look down.
Fold now, and Lucas would never lift his head again.
So I tilted my chin up instead.
Like a madman.
Like a guy hanging on by sheer pride.
Grin.
“…You laughing?” The manager’s face twitched for the first time.
Meanwhile, I played it cool—guts hollow, but rattling loud on the outside like a flashy empty cart—and shot back casually.
“Why should I tell some underling?” “…What?” The air twisted cold in that instant.
But I decided to shake the cart harder.
“I’ll deliver that message to Her Highness the Princess myself.” “?!
You little—!” “So shut up and guide me to the secret base hidden under this teahouse.”