The Salon Was a Hunting Ground

The carriage came to a stop.

Light poured in through the window.

More than ten carriages lined up along the approach road, and at the end of it, an entire castle stood blazing with light.

The Aska Ducal Estate Spring Social Salon. The gathering where half the continent's upper crust came together.

Half, they said. The other half, apparently, wept at home for failing to receive an invitation.

Lena adjusted her gloves and spoke.

"One rule. — Don't leave my arm."

"It's my first time being an escort."

"Don't show it. That's rule two."

"You've got a lot of rules."

"Rule three," Lena paused for a moment, "you'll figure out once we're inside."

"You could give me a heads-up so I can cram. I'm a last-minute crammer by nature."

"Rule three can't be crammed."

Lena turned her head and looked at me. With eyes like ice.

"Tonight, you're my partner. — The moment we step in there, you'll understand what that means."

The door — opened.

And I learned rule three almost immediately.

This wasn't a ballroom. It was a hunting ground.

The moment I stepped into the hall.

The music — stumbled, half a half-beat.

The violinist's bow froze in midair for an instant, then resumed as if nothing had happened.

But it was already too late.

Hundreds of eyes swung toward me all at once. From behind fans. From behind wine glasses. From over bare, exposed shoulders.

Every single one of them belonged to a woman.

Naturally. The male population was 0.8 percent.

In this entire hall, the only real man — was me.

There were hundreds of chandeliers burning overhead, yet every gaze was fixed on me alone, as if I were the most glittering object in the room.

"...Lena."

"What."

"Everyone's staring at me."

"Get used to it." Lena's voice was ice. "You're the only adult male in this hall tonight. — Think of yourself as a living gem."

"Gems don't run away."

"Which is why I've got your arm in a vice."

"Very thorough gem management."

"Of course. — Because tonight, you're mine."

...Excuse me, what was that?

Before I could even ask, Lena was already facing forward, wearing a flawless smile.

The system quietly popped up.

Forty-seven signals.

Just from walking in the door.

Holy crap. It really was a hunting ground.

The first one came at me.

A red dress. A count's daughter, apparently. She snapped her fan shut and lifted her chin with all the hauteur she could muster.

"Carrier. — I assumed you were some common delivery boy, but you're passable, I suppose."

Playing the haughty one. Her nose was aimed at the ceiling like it intended to punch through it.

I switched on the scan.

...So the gap between surface and depths could really run this deep.

"The honor is mine, my lady."

"Oh— oh my. — Well, I suppose it's only fitting."

The fan trembled. Her haughtiness collapsed in half a second.

The chin was still raised, but her eyes were already clinging to me.

Haughty vs. desperate. The elevation drop was a sheer cliff.

One step behind me, Lena let out a very small cough.

The count's daughter jolted backward.

"...Lady Lena. Forgive me — I didn't recognize you."

"You did." Lena smiled as she said it. It was a smile that wasn't a smile at all. "Enjoy yourself. Slowly."

The girl scurried away in a hurry.

"...Lena, that was kind of terrifying."

"What was."

"Chasing someone off while smiling."

"That's rule three."

Then the second and third waves crashed in.

Lena had stepped away for a moment to exchange greetings — and they'd pounced in exactly that window, like they'd been lying in wait for it.

A widowed viscountess. A merchant guild magnate. The chairwoman of a magic-tools trading house. One baroness didn't even bother with a calling card — she held out a key to her estate instead.

"My house has twelve rooms. — Would you like one?"

"I don't think I could afford the rent—"

"It's free. For life."

...For life. A word I'd heard somewhere before.

"I also have eight maids. — All of them would be assigned solely to wait on you, Carrier."

"I prefer living alone."

"Then only I will attach myself."

She didn't retreat a single step.

The merchant magnate cut in beside her.

"Our guild has branches in five cities across the continent. — Pick whichever city you like and live there. I'll cover the housing."

"W-well, I do have deliveries to make."

"Make them exclusively for our guild. Ten times the standard pay."

Ten times.

It nearly swayed me. For a very brief moment.

That was when the woman called the magic-tools trading house chairwoman drew something from her bodice.

A small jewel case. When it opened, ten rings sat gleaming in a row.

"Take your pick. Whichever one. — I've estimated your finger size by eye."

"...When exactly did you look at my hands?"

"Just now. Thirty minutes running."

Thirty minutes.

It had been exactly thirty minutes since I entered this hall.

Which meant that for that entire thirty minutes, she'd been measuring the thickness of my fingers.

What a terrifying world.

One of them, though, was cut from slightly different cloth.

A woman with silver hair swept up. An heir to some house, I was told. Unlike the others, she didn't lunge at me — instead she looked me up and down and let out a scoff.

"Hmph. — I don't see what everyone's so desperate about."

"I take it you're not desperate, my lady?"

"I don't make a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hobby of coveting objects. — It's not as though I can't live without a man."

Haughty. The haughtiest woman in this hall.

Second only to Lena.

Just one read, I told myself, and switched on the scan. It felt like firing my last bullet.

...The haughtiest one of all was the most desperate on the inside.

"My lady."

"What."

"The way you're not desperate — it's impressive."

"Th-that's right. — Naturally so. Why would it be anything else?"

Her chin lifted a fraction higher. And then — she didn't leave. She just stood there.

Kept talking. Kept finding new topics, unprompted.

It was the final ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠evolved form of haughty-vs-desperate: the type who pretends indifference while her feet refuse to carry her away.

Scan, scan, scan.

Every time I fired it off, the system grew hotter.

It was overloading.

The more I read, the blurrier the True Orders became.

...Now it was spitting static, too.

I couldn't read people endlessly. This ability had a fixed magazine. Which meant there was no way I could scan all forty-seven of them.

Every person I read made the next one blurrier.

The system drove the point home with one more line, like hammering in a nail.

...The one person who matters.

Who exactly were you talking about, huh?

I shut off the scan.

The rest of the night, I'd have to survive on instinct alone.

Reading people's hearts without a cheat ability. — Which was, admittedly, how normal human beings operated.

It felt strangely awkward all over again.

Empty-stomached, I took refuge at the banquet table.

Something glittering sat on a silver platter. Bite-sized. Even dusted with gold leaf.

The maid standing beside it whispered to me.

"Pickled dragon egg. Thirty gold coins apiece."

Thirty gold coins.

...Let's do some conversions here.

In this world, one can of cola was a low-rank knight's weekly wage. A whole chicken was a respectable household's monthly income. A pack of Shin Ramyun cost as much as a noble banquet. A bottle of soju was counted as a research grant at the Magic Tower.

By those standards, the five packs of Shin Ramyun in my backpack were worth enough to buy this entire hall outright — with change left over.

A living gem, trundling around with ramen on his back.

I picked one up and ate it.

...It tasted like salt. Just salt.

A thirty-gold-coin delicacy, and it couldn't hold a candle to convenience-store braised lotus root.

On the plate beside it sat something even more expensive — silver-colored fish roe. According to the maid, a single spoonful ran a hundred gold coins.

I took one spoonful.

...Salty fish guts.

I quietly thought longingly of the Shin Ramyun in my backpack.

Tonight, in this hall, the richest person present was me.

And not a soul knew it.

Karin stood beside a pillar.

Formal black dress — yet she still hadn't surrendered her sword. A rank-3 swordsman of the continent. Tonight, my bodyguard.

We'd signed her contract yesterday. That blunt warrior who'd shown up not to 'deliver' but to 'protect'.

"Karin. Try to enjoy the salon a little."

"On duty."

"You're so stiff. The food here costs a fortune. Have some."

"Eating dulls the sword."

"You even factor that in?"

"A swordswoman factors in everything."

Just then, a count's daughter passed by and laid a hand on my arm. The lightest brush of contact.

In that instant — Karin's scabbard gave a sharp, hard clack. Pure reflex.

She looked startled herself.

"...What is that."

Karin pressed a hand to her chest.

"My heart. — It's racing again."

"Are you sick somewhere?"

"Unknown. It only happens near you. — Some kind of illness."

It was not an illness.

I didn't say it. Not yet.

"Swordswoman, if that's a disease, it's an extremely common one."

"...Common?"

"Half the people in this hall have it."

Karin surveyed the hall. The hundreds of eyes trained on me.

Then she pressed her hand to her chest again.

"...Then I suppose I belong to that group too."

The very tip of her words wavered, just barely.

I'd never heard the stoic warrior's voice shake before.

It was Lena.

From across the hall, she was watching me.

A perfect smile. The social mask of a ducal house's next head.

Four or five noblewomen clustered around her, chattering away, and her face never showed a single crack. She nodded gracefully, laughed at precisely the right moments.

But her fingertips.

The fingertips gripping her wine glass were trembling — just barely.

The mask was flawless. Her fingertips, though, couldn't lie.

She walked over to my side and quietly looped her arm through mine again. Tighter than before.

"I think you broke rule one."

"I never left your arm."

"That count's daughter's hand was on your arm for three seconds."

"...You were counting?"

"You're my partner." Lena said it while staring straight ahead. "Tonight."

Her voice was still ice.

But there was a faint undercurrent of force behind those words, tonight.

I didn't need the scan to know.

This perfect ice princess was — jealous. Right now.

"...System, you just said that one was free."

Lena glanced at me sideways.

"What are you smiling at, all by yourself?"

"Nothing. — I was just thinking my partner for tonight is cuter than expected."

This time, Lena's fingertips definitely trembled.

"...Calling an ice princess 'cute.' A first for me."

"Don't do it twice." Lena raised the glass to her lips. "...Inside the hall."

Inside the hall.

Now I was curious about what came after.

Using "getting some air" as my excuse, I slipped away for a moment.

Down in a corner of the system, the gallery was open.

My hand stopped at that last line.

Raise a man. At home.

One row down, more comments had piled on.

...No one had ever come out.

The corridor on my way back.

Behind a pillar, two noblewomen were murmuring to each other, unaware of me.

"About the House of Marquess Feild. They've apparently picked up another one."

"Oh my. Where from this time?"

"The northern countryside. A man barely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠past twenty. — They call it a 'collection.' A collection. They put him in a display case and let no one meet him, from what I hear."

"I'm jealous. I'd like one of my own."

"Shh. There's a real one walking right over there."

"...Oh my. But that one belongs to the Duchess's daughter. Touch it and your head comes off."

"Is merely looking a crime now?"

I killed my footsteps and slipped past.

A chill settled in my chest.

A display case. Let no one meet him. — That was confinement. Straight up.

Lara's words from episode ten overlapped in my mind.

'So why can't registered National Treasures receive visitors? — Isn't that just confinement?'

It wasn't only the Management Bureau.

Somewhere inside this dazzling hall, there were people who 'collected' other human beings.

Among women who could spit out the words 'I want one of my own' that easily.

The system surfaced quietly.