Wait, This Was a Romance Fantasy?
Wait, this place was a rofan? Smoke billowed from every direction, morphing into spears, swords, and all sorts of blades as it began closing in to crush her.
"..."
I clamped the cigar between my teeth and started scrutinizing her reaction like I was peeling back her layers.
Every hand gesture, every movement, every breath.
Swish.
"Hmm?"
Just like that, dousing my reaction like cold water, Mist spread both hands and raised them above her head.
It looked for all the world like a gesture of surrender.
Overwhelmed by the thick smoke blanketing the floor and the blades pressing in from all sides?
No, that wasn't it.
From the moment we first met until now, she'd kept that perfectly expressionless face.
Back when I was scraping by in the alleys and making a name for myself in the underworld, I'd crossed paths with plenty of people.
No matter how good someone's poker face, humans always give themselves away through their actions, not their expressions.
A tremble in the body, the rhythm of their breaths, the flicker in their eyes. Even the temple muscles twitching without them realizing.
Judging from that experience, she seemed far too composed.
"Ahahaha, sorry about that."
With those words, I retracted all the smoke weapons surrounding us as if they'd never been there.
The haze carpeting the floor slowly dissipated too, and I kept talking like the threat from moments ago had been a total bluff.
"Just seemed too suspicious, you know? You realize your story's full of holes, right?"
I played up the nonchalance, adopting a lighter tone to ease the heavy atmosphere, all while pretending to be casual.
That reaction just now confirmed it.
The woman in front of me wasn't the type to buckle under threats or pressure.
Which meant I had to switch tactics depending on the person.
In a way that might coax out a little more info.
"Cut me some slack. I grew up in the back alleys—no fancy education or anything."
I set the cigar down in the holder on the desk beside me.
That was me laying down the weapon most crucial to my ability—the one I'd just described.
"There, weapon's down too. That's my way of saying sorry."
I flashed a relaxed smile as I looked at her.
She was still holding her hands up in that surrender pose.
"So, how long you gonna keep your hands up?"
At my words, Mist cracked her expressionless mask with a soft smile.
"...Until you clear the smoke above my head."
I glanced up at the crown of her head. A wisp of smoke hovering there, subtly aimed at her skull.
Poised to shift into anything at a moment's notice—and she'd spotted it.
"Oh, whoops. Slipped my mind?"
Pretending to be flustered here would be amateur hour.
"Sorry. Sometimes when I amp up my ability, it's hard to control perfectly."
Lame excuse. Neither of us bought it, probably.
But the truth of my words didn't matter to either of us.
Just keeping the conversation going without breaking the vibe was what counted.
"There, all gone. Hands down now."
Mist lowered her hands slowly, treating me to a soft smile that didn't quite match her sharp gaze.
Trained perfection—the kind that screamed acting classes.
"First off, I admit my explanation had its uncertainties. My apologies."
She dipped her head slightly as she spoke.
"Now, allow me to explain the current situation of the Nebula Duke family."
With that, Mist slowly laid out the family's circumstances.
True to their rep as rulers of the underworld, it was a wildly dynamic mess.
All the direct heirs wiped out through infighting, betrayal, poisonings, you name it.
In a normal noble house, collaterals would step up to carry the line.
They shared the blood, after all.
But the Neblas weren't your average nobles.
They had no collaterals at all—no side branches to potentially breed internal rivals. Just the direct line.
"That's the situation with the Nebula Duke family right now."
But the Neblas weren't idiots.
Aware of their unique setup and the risk of the bloodline dying out, they'd been secretly tracking everyone carrying their blood, down to their every move.
And now, with the direct line on the brink, they were gathering kids born to those scattered bastards nationwide.
Illegitimate heirs, basically.
That's what she said.
"Hmm..."
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs as I eyed her.
Yeah, okay. That explained why they'd come knocking.
I'd always wondered why I'd awakened mana and had this talent. Turns out, Nebula blood.
"But why not just lay it all out from the start?"
"...It was a test."
"A test?"
I voiced my doubt, and she nodded readily, her eyes glinting with a sudden chill as she met my gaze.
"No matter how dire things are for the Nebula Duke family, we can't afford some lightweight."
Besides, any average joe stepping into that house would get assassinated or poisoned on day one. Obvious as hell.
So she'd dropped "family head" on purpose to gauge my reaction.
Test the waters, in street terms.
If I bit at "family head" without proper vetting, fail.
If I stayed cool and assessed the situation rationally, pass.
Something like that?
"Puhahaha!"
I couldn't help but burst out laughing at the absurdity.
Extreme. A family full of straight-up lunatics.
After laughing my ass off for a good while, I turned to her—she'd just been watching me quietly—and spoke.
"So, I passed the test, then?"
She flinched for a split second at my words.
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them with an indescribable gleam.
"Yes. If not you, then who?"
I didn't know the exact test details. But I could guess.
Those assassinations targeting me for the past year? Probably part of it.
And from her reaction just now, one thing was clear.
This woman's no ordinary girl.
Staying cool under my threats, that too-perfect smile like she'd rehearsed it.
And casually spilling the beans on how they select the next family head.
It all added up naturally.
No way they'd entrust critical shit like that to a regular maid.
Probably a secret agent raised in the shadows by the duke's house. That's what I figured.
"..."
"..."
We just stared each other down.
My look said, Got nothing else? while hers seemed to ask if I was accusing her of ordering those hits.
She just gazed back calmly, like she was innocent, brushing off my stare without a ripple.
After a tense standoff, I let out a short, heavy sigh and called off the mind games.
Not the time for petty staring contests.
"Alright, fine. So what happens to the guy who passed? You gonna tie me up, kidnap me, and drag me to the duke's estate?"
My subtext? I see your skills. Why not cut the bullshit and talk straight?
She responded with that flawless smile.
"Heavens, no. I'm just a simple maid."
Translation: I'm not revealing your identity, and as a mere maid, how could I possibly kidnap you?
I eyed her and rephrased.
"Hmm. So it all comes down to my choice, then?"
"Yes."
How to turn her down without her coming back?
Truth be told, joining the duke's house now was like chugging from a poisoned chalice.
Chaos was obvious from a mile away.
Plus, there'd be other ambitious types like me who'd passed the test and wormed their way in.
"..."
Just imagining it gave me a headache—pure hassle.
"Got a question."
But flat-out refusing wouldn't make her back off. I could tell.
"How'd the other direct heirs die?"
Random topic. Just ice-breaking.
I needed to stall.
No solid reason or excuse, and she'd cling like glue.
"Just curiosity."
I knew asking straight-up how people died was weird.
But what can you do? It was the only hook I could think of to keep talking.
She answered my question with a calm expression, slowly detailing how the direct heirs met their ends.
"To start, the eldest young master was poisoned by the fifth. A new brew mixing Night's Veil and Woman's Kiss."
Night's Veil: colorless, odorless deadly poison. Its hallmark was the long incubation—hours after ingestion, it'd slowly claim the victim. Named for striking at night after a morning dose, when everyone slept.
Woman's Kiss: instant-kill poison once slathered on lipstick for a fatal smooch.
She'd mixed those legends?
"Heh. Guess the fifth was a poison prodigy?"
"Yes. Exceptional talent for crafting deadly toxins."
She nodded and continued with the heirs' demises.
Poisonings as standard, assassinations as bonuses. Later, political pressure disguised as accidents.
A full-on slaughterfest of kill-or-be-killed.
Even in plays, folks would bail if every plot was death after death.
"Finally, the tenth successor was assassinated at Crocus Academy."
That familiar name hit my ears as I listened quietly.
Crocus Academy?
"Hold up."
"?"
"Tell me about that Crocus Academy."
She blinked wide at my abrupt interruption, then answered smoothly.
Where it was built, what they taught, even why it was founded—all of it.
"Ha..."
I rubbed my gritty eyes with one hand and sighed.
I felt Mist's gaze on my odd behavior but ignored it.
Since reincarnating into this world, I'd always wondered what it really was.
Fantasy? Or steampunk, with the trains and airships?
I'd run through endless possibilities.
But no way.
"Urgh..."
It was a rofan. This damn world.