Chapter 5
At that moment, a pitiful voice cut through my reverie.
“Spare me.”
“…….”
“I failed my mission and even botched my suicide, so I’m a fugitive from now on. If you just let me go like this, I swear I’ll never show up in front of you again. I won’t breathe a word about you to anyone. If you need it, I’ll even swear an oath of obedience.”
Yeah, no thanks.
I struck the back of the assassin’s neck, knocking him out.
After he passed out, I agonized over it. What should I do with this guy?
‘Kill him?’
Something held me back from jumping straight to that. There were more than one or two qualms nagging at me.
The client had already sent assassins at least three times. If I killed this one, another would undoubtedly come sniffing around. Just more hassle.
So for now, I’d keep this one locked up.
I thought about leaving him in the room but scrapped the idea immediately. If the head maid caught wind of it by some fluke, I could get booted from the mansion.
Getting kicked out of here would leave me without anywhere to go, so I had to stay in the head maid’s good graces no matter what.
As I racked my brain for a hiding spot.
The view of the house across the street caught my eye through the window.
More precisely, the second-floor window that was ajar.
“Hmm.”
They’d just moved in this afternoon, so it’d take the new owners at least a few days to settle in, right?
I slung the intruder over my shoulder and leaped out the mansion window.
Then I vaulted the fence of the opposite mansion, scaled the wall, and slipped inside through the second-floor window.
I yanked off the white sheet covering the bed and bound the intruder to it like they were fused together. After sealing his mouth perfectly, I shut the window and headed back to my bedroom.
“Haah.”
Is this mansion cursed?
I brushed the dust off my hands and flopped onto the bed, a faint question stirring in my mind.
Why on earth was the client having Viscount Weatherwoods watched?
The next day brought clear skies.
My wonderful workplace, Weatherwoods Mansion, featured a perfect schedule: a brief breakfast at 9 a.m., followed by leisurely sips of black tea.
Thanks to that, I got a short break of repose after a meal so delicious (it belonged in the afterlife).
Until I spotted the unexpected scene unfolding outside the window.
No way, that couldn’t be.
“…Moving in?”
I pointed out the window, and the head maid—deep in her newspaper—turned her head.
“Hmm? Oh, you mean the Eschla Mansion across the way? The Eschla family cleared out yesterday, so it hardly deserves the name anymore. But a new family moving in after just one day? Must’ve been a pretty sudden sale.”
Exactly. The mansion across, which should’ve been vacant after the move, was swarming with people hauling in furniture.
People moving in after just one day? When the previous owners’ stuff had left yesterday? Impossible.
“I was careless.”
“What was that? Stop muttering to yourself, Miss Daisy. It’s not a good habit for a servant.”
Habit or no habit, there was an intruder I’d stashed away at midnight, trussed up in that very mansion.
I drained my tea in one gulp and bolted to my bedroom. Too many people around to storm in and drag him out right now. I needed to scope things out first.
My bedroom sat in the corner of the second floor, ideally positioned to survey the opposite mansion. I pressed right up to the window and peered across.
Servants hustling in and out of the entrance.
A flower bed arranged quite neatly, unlike some noble miss’s haphazard garden.
An unknown man at the round table smack in the middle, savoring tea and a book.
I barely had time to gape at his enigmatic blue hair before I spotted the intruder kneeling gracefully at his side.
‘What the hell? Why is that guy over there?’ The instant the thought crossed my mind.
My eyes locked with the blue-haired man’s.
No mistake about it.
He wasn’t gazing at the fine spring sky or the Weatherwoods Mansion vista—he was staring straight at me.
Those golden eyes, as strikingly vivid and otherworldly as his clear blue hair, pinned right on me.
His sharp-tipped nose and deeply hooded gaze exuded a strangely melancholic nobility.
I could feel his eyes raking over mine, my expression, my every feature—blatant and unapologetic.
The smirk tugging at his lips sparked the illusion that he was mocking my maid uniform.
A wave of displeasure hit me, and I stepped back from the window.
In that same moment, a fresh realization dawned. It had been ages since a first encounter with a stranger stirred such a raw, personal emotion as this displeasure.
“…As expected.”
This mansion is cursed.
I’d once borne the title of Sword Saint, rising to heights where I could clash blades on equal footing with the man himself. For someone like me to be hit with such an intense, negative presence…
‘Means he’s damn suspicious.’
No choice now.
I’d abandon any thought of reclaiming the intruder. Act like nothing ever happened. Wipe yesterday clean from my mind.
I sauntered back to the kitchen as if it were the most natural thing and poured fresh black tea into the cup.
“Miss Daisy? You rushed off so suddenly. Where’d you go?”
“To pee.”
“Please choose your words more delicately.”
Perfect. Just keep acting like a natural Weatherwoods Mansion maid, and I’d be fine.
Not long after I steeled myself with that resolve, the mansion’s doorbell rang.
“…The doorbell? Hasn’t it been broken for over a year?”
The head maid rose with a puzzled look and headed for the entrance. As a dutiful Weatherwoods Mansion maid, I followed right behind.
Beyond the front gate loomed a figure of overwhelming stature. Even his silhouette alone set off alarm bells. A definitely bad vibe.
“Who might you be? By coincidence, Viscount Weatherwoods isn’t at the mansion. Please make an appointment and return another…”
Clank. The iron gate swung open, and radiant beauty spilled forth like sunlight.
The head maid’s resolute words cut off mid-sentence. There stood the blue-haired man, dressed to perfection like a city gentleman.
He smiled.
“It’s me. The gardener and cook, starting today.”
His gaze fixed on me, not the head maid.
That was my first meeting with “Lu.”
Suspicious.
Not just suspicious. Insanely suspicious.
My senses—sharpened from rolling in the dirt of battlefields—were blaring deafening warnings at this elegantly named, uniquely striking man called Lu.
Look at him from front, back, sides—no angle made him seem ordinary. Beware, they screamed.
I wholeheartedly agreed with my instincts.
For starters, Lu was suspicious from head to toe in appearance alone.
The instant we faced each other directly, the head maid wasn’t the only one reeling; even I, a good five or six paces away, took a solid mental hit.
It might sound ridiculous, but Lu wielded a beauty so vicious it could upend body and soul alike in anyone who beheld it.
Yes. No exaggeration—just cold fact. That bizarrely blue hair draped over his features like a flawless flourish, nothing superfluous.
And his facial harmony, etched in dark, refined lines? His eyes, rippling gold like the sunlit sea? That languid, almost sunken gaze?
I cut my thoughts short before I spent the day in rapturous admiration.
“You’re the…”
“Lu, hired through the labor office. You’re not the chambermaid… how should I address you?”
“Head Maid will do. So you’re the…”
“Yes. The cook. Cook and gardener.”
“Sorry, I keep repeating myself…”
“I get it. A beauty as blinding as me becoming a cook or gardener in a crumbling ruin like this? Unbelievable, right?”
“…….”
“But facts are facts—accept it. I’m Lu, starting today. Nice to work with you, Head Maid.”
With a graceful smile, the man turned to me.
Just like that moment our eyes met across from the Eschla Mansion window to my spot at the Weatherwoods second-floor sill. Utterly casual, as if nothing were amiss.
“And who’s this?”
I didn’t like it one bit—his demeanor. Pure instinct, backed by hard-earned experience, recoiling.
So even though it clearly sounded like he was asking for an introduction, I dodged.
“A maid.”
“Her name’s Maid? How original. Looking forward to it, Miss Maid the Maid.”
This jerk. His personality matched his looks—not remotely ordinary. Total scumbag potential.
“Haah.”
The head maid blinked vacantly before scrubbing her face with dry hands—a sight I’d never seen from her—which suggested he wasn’t your average brazen type.
He strode inside the gate like he owned the place, then took in the backyard garden—a total disaster zone—with a long sweep.
“Hmm. One question: Is the garden concept a landfill?”
The head maid snapped to and shook her head slowly.
“If it were, we wouldn’t have hired you, Mr. Lu. Speaking of which, no luggage? Don’t tell me you showed up with just the clothes on your back?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness. We’ve got some servant uniforms left, but with your height, Mr. Lu? No way they’d fit. Shall we head up? I’ll show you your room first.”
“Appreciate the offer, but I’ll work here without bunking down, Head Maid.”
“What do you mean?”
The man flashed a grin and raised his right hand, pointing beyond the iron gate.
“I moved into that house today.”
The spot he indicated was the mansion everyone called the one across the street.
“So I’ll commute. What time should I show up?”
The head maid went speechless for a beat.
Then she shot back at Lu in utter disbelief.
“You’re the one who bought Eschla Mansion? I can’t fathom why someone that wealthy would play at being a servant.”
“Does work need a reason?”
“Usually no, but yours begs the question.”
Stroking his chin, Lu tossed out a half-hearted reply.
“Let’s call it a hobby.”
