Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Romance Fantasy...? (2)
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"What the hell are you...?"
The man, who had looked like a total gambler just moments ago, now seemed utterly defeated.
He'd lost every single bet against me until all the matches ended, half out of his mind by the end.
I shrugged, figuring I'd done my part in steering this gambling addict back onto the straight and narrow.
The man, on the other hand, stared at me in utter disbelief, his eyes flicking to the pile of fruit wine bottles stacked up beside me.
Tch, no need to stare at what someone else already drank—embarrassing.
"The streets are full of terrifying experts, so watch yourself out there."
"......"
"I'm the type who only takes half of someone else's winnings, so next time, invest in some bonds instead."
I decided to get up first, escaping that monstrous glare he was giving me.
The arena only had sore losers hanging around now—no one else was just sitting there chatting idly like us.
The sun had dipped just enough to let in a pleasant ray of light, so...
I figured I'd grab some motion sickness meds for Aster, who must still be suffering, and maybe a little something extra as a gesture.
In one hand, tucked behind my back, half the money the guy had handed over earlier.
Plus the pile of silver coins I'd won with my own bets.
I strolled along, head bobbing, until I slipped into a quiet alley with hardly a soul around.
But someone had been tailing me for a while now.
"Wait a second. I still have questions."
Sure enough, the guy from before approached, determined to talk.
His shoulders fully shrouded in a purple cloak, he asked in a voice thick with suspicion.
"Who the hell are you, anyway? Where are you from... and how do you have eyes like that...?"
"Enough."
I had zero interest in this guy's prying.
His gambler's eyes seemed mostly fixed now—I just hoped he'd live straight from here on out.
I didn't have a hobby of chatting up dudes who looked like they belonged in some gay bar, anyway.
"I just have a few questions."
But he blocked my path, looking desperate to figure me out.
So I stopped walking and gave him a warning tone.
"I'll take one question—the most important one."
My brain was starting to melt from the hangover; I wanted to wrap this up quick.
For a moment, flames seemed to spark in the guy's eyes as he stared at me.
I didn't know what his deal was, but he looked like this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot.
His desperation bored me, so I clicked my tongue and turned to leave.
If someone hadn't shown up.
"So, uh..."
"Hm, looks like we have a customer."
While he agonized over his words, I spotted the other guys who'd followed his footsteps.
The alley, bathed in just the right sunlight, now darkened with the shadows of burly men.
"What's this? Some drunk asshole too?"
"Hold up. I saw that guy win my money. Looked like he was scamming."
"Well, guess we got one more hand to break."
This was a scene I knew all too well.
Anyone with cash had to watch out—win big, walk out someone else's door, and tails like these latch on.
The purple-cloaked guy, experiencing this for the first time, tried talking his way out with a dumbstruck look.
"What business do you have surrounding us like this?"
"From the look of you, some noble brat from a fancy house? Can't go wandering into strange alleys without guards. You'd get stabbed dead."
"Well said."
"Yeah, that guy too...... Huh?"
I nodded along to the big brute's spot-on words. The wisdom I'd picked up in life was common knowledge anyway.
But he took what could've been a laugh-off moment and nitpicked it, shooting me a glare.
"You dare butt in on my words?"
Tch... They say physiognomy's a science. Guess the bastard really was ill-tempered.
"Physiognomy...? What's that?"
A guy with a narrow forehead, tiny eyes, and protruding cheekbones? Total hothead with weird pride issues.
I'd even agreed with him, but he got pissed anyway, so I scratched my neck casually.
"...You can read personalities too?"
I ignored the weird misunderstanding from the guy next to me.
No point wasting time on his bizarre thoughts.
As the glares kept piling on me, the prideful prick finally spoke up.
"Ugh... I don't care what kind of bastard you are—just hand over the money and scram."
They wanted the cash I'd made watching suckers sweat it out at the bets?
Obvious scum who didn't deserve the words, but those weren't the eyes of killers.
So instead of tensing up, I just cracked my neck a few times.
They had some other motive, clearly.
"Hey, fancy pants, stick around and chat with us."
Of course, they were still thugs trying to rob me blind.
I debated giving one a nice lump on the head with my scabbard.
"They look like they’re from the arena."
Whispering in my ear from beside me as he eyed the bow-legged one.
My take was a bit different, but whatever—arena goons or street trash, same difference.
Misreading my silence, the purple-eyed guy drew his sword with a gleam in his eye.
"I'll take the lead here."
For his pretty-boy face, he struck a stance, clearly aiming to get us out of this.
It looked half-assed to me, but I had to respect the guts.
'Don't cause trouble,' she said.
Aster's words echoed as I planned to slip away without a fight if possible.
So I just stood there blankly, no stance, staring them down. These punks weren't killers anyway.
"Noble trash... you dare take a stance?!"
Surrounded front and back. I watched the fight kick off up front while minding the rear.
The prideful guy seemed like their leader— the ones behind snickered and spectated.
I spotted one with a liquor bottle at his belt and headed his way.
"Here."
".....? What the hell are you doing?"
"Gonna watch the show. Sell me some booze."
The scrawny-looking guy burst out laughing at the silver coin I offered.
"This guy's a riot."
"Properly wasted, eh? Fine, fine—one silver gets you the whole bottle."
I figured if they jumped me, I could get drunk for free.
But these guys had surprising patience, looks be damned.
Clang! Clang!
I tuned it out and settled in to watch the brawl.
The booze went down smooth as hell—nothing beat spectating a fight.
I relaxed my eyes and sized it up.
'Raw power's on the thugs' side overall.'
"Haaap!!"
One step, two steps.
Born with strong legs—solid lower body, no mere merc; probably ex-soldier.
He swung that massive greatsword like he was smashing the ground itself, turning the area into chaos.
Boom! Boom!
'But technique? Pretty boy's way better.'
Matching his tall frame with a longsword, deflecting that greatsword was a sight to behold.
One glance told me it was noble fencing—high-class stuff for the elite.
They teach the fancy ones for a reason.
The prideful thug was getting toyed with—deflected blows, perfect rhythm control, exquisite feints leaving him helpless.
Slipping into gaps smoothly, stabbing calmly without fuss, then pulling back.
Just a tad green on experience; his thrusts lacked power. That's why no finish.
The thug's scratches were piling up visibly.
"...What the fuck."
The onlookers beside me sensed the tide turning too.
They started edging forward.
'He could handle all these clowns easy.'
No need for me to jump in—I just plopped down right there.
Occasional glares like 'Why aren't you helping?' from the fighter? Ignored.
You can handle it, so I'm chilling. Lions toss cubs off cliffs, right?
Not my cub, but watching mid-tier swordplay grow was entertaining enough.
"Damn it... Boss is coming soon."
The fight neared its end, and the scrubs geared up to swarm.
But that scrawny one's words grated on me.
Boss? Call him captain or something—not "hyungnim." Total wannabe street rat vibe.
In my head, I pegged this "boss" as petty, praise-hungry, small-minded type.
Guys who "bro" their way into others' wallets were always like that.
Anyway, fight's over—why're they still scrapping?
"Huff... huff..."
'Never tangled with numbers before, huh.'
I tsked at the pretty boy tensing up more.
Good experience for sure, but that nerves would lead to dumb mistakes.
Pitying his weird glances my way...
I started to rise just a bit.
Then a rather elegant presence hit my ears.
"B-Boss!"
"Boss!!"
From the alley's sunlit entrance, a small-framed figure approached.
I tilted my head at the redheaded "boss."
Uncannily pretty-boy parasite vibes, but not quite.
Androgynous, but makeup-light, so he read male.
Red hair, green eyes. Heterochromia—one sapphire blue.
Rare combo. For some reason, it rang a bell—I racked my brain.
'Where the hell have I seen that... seriously.'
Even I, who trashed post-booze memories, wouldn't forget those features.
But the one I knew was 2D, from a book. A novel, even.
A sheltered young lady who never dirtied her hands?
Couldn't hide the curiosity and dizziness—I had to ask.
"Hold up. What's your name?"
"M-Me?"
"Nah, not you. The 'boss' over there."
Ignoring the pretty boy disentangling from the fight and sticking close.
I asked the redhead who'd been glaring daggers at me.
The thugs gawked back and forth between me and the boss, freaked.
Brief silence.
Then the answer hit like a truck.
"Sylvia Magnid."
For some reason...
The name of the heroine from that romance fantasy novel I'd read popped out.
......What the actual fuck was going on here?