19: 19.
How I Became a Maid, a Spy, a Bodyguard… and a Witness to Puppy Love Disaster 19: 19.
How I Became a Maid, a Spy, a Bodyguard… and a Witness to Puppy Love Disaster = Belle-mere’s POV = If I had to describe Mrs.
Sti’s training in one sentence, I would say that it started like a gentle breeze and then immediately escalated into a full-blown hurricane that refused to leave.
At the beginning, I genuinely believed it would not be too difficult.
The first few days were manageable, almost suspiciously so.
She had me clean the house, organize tools, prepare simple meals, and review basic etiquette that I had already learned during my time as a Marine.
It felt almost nostalgic, as if I had returned to a simpler routine, one where discipline and structure guided every action.
I even found myself thinking that perhaps I had worried too much.
That thought, in hindsight, was my first mistake.
Mrs.
Sti was not going easy on me.
She was measuring me.
Every movement I made, every mistake I committed, every hesitation I showed was carefully observed and silently recorded.
By the time I realized what she was doing, she had already created a training plan tailored perfectly to push me beyond my limits.
And then the real training began.
It was not just difficult.
It was relentless.
She did not separate skills into neat categories or allow me to focus on one thing at a time.
Instead, she combined everything into a single overwhelming routine that demanded my full attention from morning until night.
One moment I would be scrubbing floors until they reflected my face like a mirror, and the next I would be reviewing ledgers filled with numbers and trade records, trying to memorize patterns and identify inconsistencies.
Before I could even process that shift, she would throw me into combat drills, forcing me to react to sudden attacks while still holding onto whatever task I had been doing before.
“Aren’t I training to be a maid?” I groaned one afternoon, my head resting heavily on the table as I stared at a stack of documents that seemed to multiply the longer I looked at them.
“Why do I need to handle paperwork like an office worker?” Mrs.
Sti did not even look up from her own work as she replied calmly.
“Because we do not know what kind of servant they are looking for.” That answer alone would have been enough, but she continued, her tone carrying the quiet authority of someone who had seen far more than she let on.
“A servant who can only clean is replaceable.
A servant who can manage documents, understand finances, and assist in personal matters becomes indispensable.
If they trust you with important work, then you will naturally gain access to information.” I sighed, though I could not argue with her logic.
She was not training me to be a maid.
She was training me to be useful.
Dangerously useful.
And that distinction made all the difference.
The more I learned, the more I realized that every lesson had a purpose beyond what was immediately visible.
Cleaning taught precision and attention to detail.
Cooking taught timing and resource management.
Document handling taught analysis and memory.
Combat training, however, was in a league of its own.
Mrs.
Sti did not treat it as a separate subject.
She treated it as a constant.
While I cooked, she would suddenly throw a wooden spoon at my head, forcing me to dodge without dropping the knife in my hand.
While I carried water, she would trip me, expecting me to recover without spilling a single drop.
While I read documents, she would tap the table sharply, and I would have to react as if it were an incoming attack.
At some point, I stopped asking why.
I simply adapted.
Still, there were moments when I could not help but question my situation.
“Are you sure this is maid training?” I asked one day after she had just finished teaching me how to silently approach a target from behind.
“Because this feels more like you’re training me to infiltrate enemy territory.” Mrs.
Sti smiled.
“A good maid,” she said, “can go anywhere without being noticed.” I decided not to ask further.
There were some answers I was not ready to hear.
Despite the intensity of the training, there was one thing that never failed to surprise me.
Mrs.
Sti herself.
She did everything.
She trained me relentlessly, demonstrating every technique with precision and clarity, yet she also handled all the household chores without complaint.
She cooked, cleaned, and even helped our neighbors as if she had endless energy.
I, on the other hand, felt like collapsing by midday.
“You should be grateful that Garp-chan is not training you personally,” she said one evening as I lay on the floor, questioning every decision that had led me to this point.
“There are not many who can survive his training.” I turned my head slowly, too tired to even lift it properly.
“I don’t want to know,” I muttered.
She laughed softly.
“Yes, it’s better to not know something dangerous.” She often praised Garp in ways that sounded exaggerated, talking about how he would destroy mountains with his fists during training.
I chose to remain silent whenever she said things like that, not because I believed her, but because I valued my survival.
If there was even a small chance she was telling the truth, then I did not want to give her any ideas.
Life during that period became a constant cycle of training and work.
I still tended to my orange fields, though now I had help.
Nojiko and Nami worked alongside me, and Mrs.
Sti often joined us as well, turning even simple farming tasks into lessons.
She taught the girls basic self-defense, though their training was far less intense than mine.
They were children, after all.
Even she had limits.
Nojiko showed a natural talent for organization and document handling, often grasping concepts faster than I did.
Nami, on the other hand, had little interest in such things even though she also learned it faster than me.
Her eyes were always drawn to the horizon.
To the sea.
She asked questions constantly, not about chores or combat, but about maps, navigation, and distant islands.
Her curiosity was endless, and her enthusiasm was contagious.
One day, she told Mrs.
Sti her dream that she had told me before.
“I want to draw a map of the world.” Mrs.
Sti paused.
For the first time since I had known her, she looked genuinely surprised.
She did not laugh.
She did not dismiss it.
“That is a very difficult dream,” she said instead.
Nami did not hesitate.
“Then I’ll just have to become good enough to do it,” she replied confidently.
“If the sea is dangerous, I’ll learn how to cross it.
If the islands are dangerous, I’ll find people who can protect me.
And if I can’t go somewhere, I’ll just draw everything else.” I watched her as she spoke, her eyes shining with determination that felt far too big for someone her age.
Mrs.
Sti laughed softly.
“I cannot teach you navigation,” she admitted.
“But I can get you books.” That was enough.
Nami’s excitement was immediate and overwhelming, as if she had just been handed the key to her future.
Nojiko, on the other hand, had a much simpler dream.
She wanted a peaceful life.
After everything she had seen, I could not blame her.
Years passed in this rhythm of training and quiet growth, and eventually, the moment we had been waiting for arrived.
The target family began searching for a new butler.
At first, I thought we had missed our chance.
Butlers were usually men, and I had no reason to believe they would consider a woman for the role.
Mrs.
Sti disagreed.
“Try anyway,” she said.
Without telling me, she had already submitted my application.
When I arrived at the interview, I found myself surrounded by men, all of them dressed formally and carrying themselves with confidence.
I stood out immediately, the only woman among them, and for a brief moment, I felt uncertain.
Then I remembered my training.
Every test they gave us felt simple.
Cooking, cleaning, organization, etiquette, document handling, even problem-solving under pressure—I had done all of it under far harsher conditions.
Compared to Mrs.
Sti’s training, this felt almost like a break.
It also helped that the employer had a preference.
His daughter needed a personal attendant, and a female butler was considered more suitable.
That gave me an opening.
My skills secured the rest.
I was hired.
Not only that, I was offered a higher salary than expected.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, I felt something else.
Responsibility.
Before accepting, I made one request.
“My daughters want to stay near me for a while.
They….
wanted to see if my workplace is good and if my….
employer will treat me fairly,” I said hesitantly.
“I will arrange a place for them.” My new employer agreed without hesitation though.
He even giggled a little.
We moved soon after.
That was when I met him.
A boy with a long nose, standing in the yard as if he owned the place, speaking casually to the master of the house without the slightest hint of fear or restraint.
At first, I assumed he was from a wealthy family.
I was wrong.
He was simply bold.
Or foolish.
Possibly both.
Most likely both.
Still, I understood quickly why he was allowed to stay.
He had brought light into the household.
He had drawn Young Miss Kaya out of her isolation and into the world, giving her something she had lacked before.
The master appreciated that.
Even if he did not always appreciate the boy being too close to his daughter.
The usual father’s disapproval for all the boys around his daughter.
The next day, as I accompanied Young Miss Kaya through the village, we encountered him again.
And that was when I saw it.
The way Young Miss Kaya looked at him.
Soft and curious.
But unmistakably, I had seen that expression before.
I had felt it once too, long ago.
A young girl’s love.
I sighed inwardly.
No wonder the Master looked at this boy with such complicated looks.
—————————————————————- Thank you for your support.
CHAPTER 75.
Annoying The Croc CHAPTER 76.
HolyRicekun