The Irresistible Contract
There are originals like that sometimes. When making a troublesome request, just pay up.
Stories from other genres that hit it big as games or anime because their settings were just that intriguing.
For example, it's pretty well-known that the original work for a game summoning historical greats from around the world was an adult game.
That's how I figured out this world was a romance fantasy.
I don't remember the original's name.
What was it? Something like [Saintess, But @@@ and @@@ Obsess Over My Home]—super rofan-sounding title, that's all I recall.
I wasn't the kind of guy who read romance fantasies to begin with.
So how did I know about this world?
Crocus Academy.
A game based on a rofan original came out, and surprisingly playable, it spread by word of mouth and sold pretty well.
This academy was the main stage.
True to its rofan roots, it was packed with pretty characters, but what hooked me more was the mana and Awakened settings.
Open-world with flashy action and great graphics—made you wonder how much cash they dumped into it.
I played it a ton, so the name stuck with me.
"Haa..."
I felt Mist's gaze sizing me up weirdly.
Keeping my guard up, I sighed at this headache of a situation.
"Something wrong?"
"Ah, no..."
To her question, I just waved it off.
I'd been trying to think of a way to shut down her offer politely, but out of nowhere, I'd uncovered this world's true nature.
But in that moment, I missed something.
The time I spent gearing up to refuse? It gave her plenty to craft an offer I couldn't refuse.
"Would you at least hear my proposal first?"
"Proposal?"
"Call it a proposal, yes. For someone like you, Master Abel, 'contract' might feel more natural."
My head was spinning from realizing this was a rofan world.
And her voice slipped past my defenses, burrowing right in.
"My contract has just one term: Join me in the Nebla Duke family estate and spend about a year there."
"A year?"
Like the serpent tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Such a seductive offer.
"Yes. One year living at the Nebla Duke family estate. A very simple job, no?"
Simple? Sure, simple. But all the hassles I'd face once inside?
"The pay."
She'd said "contract."
So she must have the compensation lined up.
Sunlight streamed through the one window in my place that actually opened.
With it behind her, her shadow loomed over me like it was swallowing me whole.
"You seem to like cigars."
At her words, I rolled my eyes to the stacks of cigar boxes beside me.
All the legit and shady cash I'd scraped together, poured into those.
"But personal purchases are limited, right? So first up in compensation: a rare cigar."
I flinched without meaning to.
Cigars were luxury smokes to begin with.
One stick burns for 30 minutes short, an hour long. Who in the slums, scraping by, has time to puff away leisurely?
That high-end strategy meant some cigars required verified status to even buy.
"And the rest?"
Asking that proved her pitch was working.
But damn, it was tempting. What could I do?
She continued at my reaction.
"The rest is 500 million dinars in cash."
"What...?"
500 million dinars.
By the prices I'd gauged in this world, that was roughly 5 billion won.
Enough to live off forever without lifting a finger.
"Completely legal, no strings, spend it freely."
Such a massive sum, totally clean and ready to use?
Even in this Victorian-era world, laws existed.
And big sudden transfers between individuals? They trigger inspections—banks or whatever passed for a financial watchdog here.
But no hassles at all? Truly free money?
"Finally."
Her voice cut through my stunned daze.
"While living at the estate for that year, a Loyalty Contract letting you issue me any command."
"What?"
"It's only a year, but how's that? Not a bad deal."
Loyalty Contract.
Simply put, once signed, she couldn't defy my orders.
Back-alley talk called it a slave contract.
"That's my full proposal. Your choice now."
"..."
I started weighing it in my head.
Rare cigars galore, 5 billion payoff.
Her year of loyalty? Table that for now.
Against it: headaches from joining the family.
Illegit kid like me catching flak, or political pressure from the clan.
But a year?
"One question."
I'd mostly decided.
But one snag held me back.
"You know Loyalty Contracts aren't just verbal handshakes, right? And setting a time limit? I'm no scholar, but is that even possible?"
The cash part? Probably legit.
She'd pegged my personality; lying now would reset us to enemies, and I'd deal then.
But the contract? That interfered with causality.
Casually proposing it with a deadline?
"I... I'm that noble's slave for life?! Got it!! Damn it."
That desperate scream from the dive bar where I'd blown cash on cigars echoed again.
"..."
She just stared at my question, then cleared it up simply.
"Normally, yes. But a high-level contract officiated by an archbishop of the God of Contracts can set a term. Yours sounds like a low-level one."
"...Ha, right. Makes sense."
Dead simple.
Cost.
High-level needed an archbishop of the God of Contracts—money pouring out like a waterfall.
No way the underworld shelled that out to bind people.
"All doubts cleared?"
Her voice again.
Swish.
I stood and offered my hand.
Sign of acceptance.
"Contract's on."
"Yes. Looking forward to our year together."
We both left things unsaid.
Would she turn hostile after the year?
What if I died midway, breaking it?
Plenty of loopholes in Loyalty Contracts anyway.
Third party kills me?
Creep.
But we just smiled, ignoring it all.
Taking hassle with no payoff? Pure annoyance.
Solid rewards? Game-changer.
'This'll be fun for once.'
A 21st-century guy hooked on dopamine goes listless in the past.
I wasn't immune.
That's why I hoarded cigars wall-to-wall, more than back home.
Or I'd go mad.
Troublesome? True. Boredom killer? Also true.
All real feelings.
If I lacked power, I'd have passed.
I knew my limits.
In the worst case, enough to save my skin.
Twitch.
Gripping her hand, I felt the smoke secretly guarding my vitals under my clothes and smiled coolly.
'Pass.'
Mist gazed at Abel, hands clasped, thinking that.
To the very end, he was her ideal man straight out of dreams.
Caution taken too far turns toxic.
Overconfidence poisons too.
True elites cut through their own caution and charge ahead when needed.
She knew her standards were sky-high.
'But he hits them all too perfectly.'
She hadn't planned to test this far.
He'd passed with flying colors when he threatened her.
Still, she wanted to gauge his vessel.
So she dangled juicier bait, watching his response.
Asking for time? Acceptable.
Blind yes? Mild letdown.
But Abel dodged both.
Cleared the doubt, then accepted on the spot.
That stemmed from pure confidence.
Confidence he'd survive a year in the Nebla Duke family estate.
Even if her comp exposed flaws.
Opposite his prior caution. But leaders needed that.
Ponder long when deliberating.
But slice through with decisive blade when it's time.
That was Mist's ideal master—worth serving.
'Ah, but I shouldn't...'
Abel was starting to look dangerously attractive.
Devour-him-now levels.
So as he turned to her, Mist quietly licked her moist lips.