The room was silent, yet Kros’s heartbeat thundered like a drum.
The small vial containing the Dream Demon Fluid had been tucked in her clothing pocket all day, and she had lost count of how many times her hands had warmed it.
When she went to buy dessert, when she brought drinks to Rita, when Rita was intently watching the stage play… countless times Kros had wanted to pull out that little vial and mix the fluid inside.
But each time, she abandoned the thought just as many times.
It wasn’t out of pity for Rita, but because she truly dared not act recklessly.
Though Rita seemed a little foolish, she was after all the Fourth Princess’s kin, a future Holy Knight, with strength and sharpness not to be underestimated.
Kros had once investigated the black market, had looked into the pleasure houses, and today she had almost been exposed because of a question from Rita.
She herself didn’t even know what Rita, just a wall away, was thinking at this moment.
In fact, Rita’s thoughts were surprisingly simple.
Living in a place like this, Kros must be so pitiful.
But this is a girl’s room—it’s so impressive.
After much thought, Kros came to a conclusion: it really wouldn’t do.
This was far too dangerous.
Still, she wasn’t completely without options.
Even if she didn’t have the Dream Demon Fluid given to her, she would find a way to make Rita reveal a weakness.
Not long after, Kros carried a table full of food into the bedroom.
“Lady Rita, thank you for waiting.”
Along with it came a bottle of wine that looked quite expensive.
“Would you like some wine? I secretly brought this out from the store—it’s definitely good wine. Some older stock no one checks on, so we can sneak it out to sell for extra household funds. But Lady Rita is my benefactor, so I thought it best to use it to treat you.”
Deliberately showing a less polished side made her seem more like an ordinary person struggling against the tides of the times, which was more believable than simply playing the innocent girl.
With a mix of anticipation and shyness in Kros’s eyes, Rita nodded.
Kros’s bedroom had no chairs, so she could only sit beside Rita on the bed—though that was part of her plan.
Intentionally closing the distance between them was the most basic technique; she had used it the first time Rita visited the pleasure house and it had become a frequent tactic in their subsequent meetings.
Kros poured wine into the pre-prepared glasses—one for Rita, one for herself—and they began their dinner.
On the table was a herb-, mustard-, and garlic-crusted roasted lamb chop, a small bowl of blueberries mixed with sweet cream, mashed turnips blended with butter and cheese, and a salad made of corn and turnip leaves.
Rita had to admit, this meal was hardly luxurious—the dishes, aside from the lamb chop, would never be served at the Lord’s manor—but it gave her a taste of home.
Of course, without her here, perhaps there wouldn’t be such a fancy dinner.
Kros was a good cook, and as they ate and chatted, the dishes were quickly cleared.
Kros got up to clear the plates, but the bottle of wine remained on the table.
Less than half a minute later, Kros returned to the room, probably having already washed the dishes.
She sat back down on the bed and refilled Rita’s glass, then clinked glasses with her.
After another drink, a flush had spread across Kros’s cheeks, yet she was still talkative—actually, even more so than before.
In truth, Kros wasn’t drunk.
To entertain various guests, as an employee she was never allowed to get intoxicated.
The store provided an Alchemical Potion that sped up blood circulation, allowing alcohol to be expelled faster from the body.
Because of the accelerated circulation, the drinker’s face flushed deeply, providing the perfect disguise for pretending to be drunk.
Every employee’s mandatory training was to learn how to fake drunkenness using this potion.
After all, a tipsy, flirtatious staff member made the slightly drunk guests more willing to part with their coins.
Only, Kros’s target was not Rita’s money—it was Rita’s head.
The wine was carefully selected by Kros: expensive, easy to drink, but with a frighteningly high alcohol content that could blur someone’s mind without them noticing, often used to deal with those who boasted about their tolerance.
A few drinks down, Rita was probably quite drunk by now.
But no rush—not yet time to gloat.
Taking advantage of the lingering alcohol buzz, Kros rested her head on Rita’s shoulder, speaking in her expertly mastered half-dream, half-awake tone, telling her story while coaxing.
“If only I had a place to go, that would be the best. The Store Manager is really fierce, always tormenting me. The glamorous image we present is all from who knows how much training… how many beatings endured. If I could choose, I really don’t want to learn this stuff—I want to be like a normal girl, to learn, to learn ordinary skills.”
Rita held her glass and took another sip, exhaling a warm breath through her nose.
Though Rita said nothing, inside she felt a surge of sympathy for the girl before her.
Before, she had only seen such stories in fiction, but now a girl forced to live like this stood right in front of her—it was impossible not to feel for her.
Empathy is seeing your own reflection in another’s story.
If not for that hateful Game Author, she would still be enjoying air conditioning, sipping milk tea, and playing games—not endlessly hiding her identity in this game world, terrified of being discovered.
Sometimes Rita felt she hid too much.
Occasionally making a move would do no harm, but she felt it would arouse suspicion and drag her into an abyss without escape.
She had countless ways to solve problems, but none could afford the consequences of exposure.
Forget it—might as well just be timid.
Kros continued, “I don’t have control over my situation either. Did you see the marks at the door? Those were made by the Debt Collectors. If the debt isn’t paid, they might do worse things.”
Rita knew well what Debt Collectors were like; she had seen two of them beating someone in the black market before.
She was no less powerless—joining the assessment on a whim, only to be taken under Cecilia’s wing and forced to stay by her side.
“I thought about ending it all, but I can’t even find the courage for that. I want to run, but I can’t. Running would only bring worse consequences. I can only muddle through like this.”
Rita had never considered death to solve her problems, but she couldn’t escape Cecilia’s shadow either.
She could only drift day by day, avoiding thoughts about how she would survive tomorrow.
Perhaps she just didn’t dare to make a change.
Time passed quietly as Rita listened to the drunken Kros’s confessions until she noticed the sky outside had darkened completely.
Only then did she rise from the bed.
“Kros, it’s late. I should go.”
“Lady Rita.”
Kros grabbed the hem of Rita’s clothes, her face flushed and disheveled from the wine, one side of her garment silently slipping off her shoulder, looking at Rita with pitiful, pleading eyes:
“Stay with me a little longer, please?”