Surviving as a Counselor (1)
“That's it. Get out of this house.”
Father.
Or more precisely, the father of this body, Duke Sinclair, placed thirty silver coins on the table.
Cold, dry eyes.
There wasn't the slightest hint of reluctance toward his son in his expression.
Well, yeah, figures.
I don't know what 'Isaac Sinclair' did before I possessed him, but if he was getting kicked out of the family, it must've been something pretty bad over a long time.
Thirty silver coins.
Honestly, I have no idea how much that's worth. I don't know the prices in this world.
But I could tell it was paltry. The moment I checked the amount, a snort leaked out from beside the duke.
It was Veronica Sinclair, the family's eldest daughter and my sister.
“Thirty silvers for a concubine's brat. Be grateful.”
Annoying, but I ignored her for now and bowed to the duke.
“Thank you, Father.”
Then, before he could say something like 'that's the end of it,' I quickly added,
“...But as independence funds, it's woefully insufficient.”
The duke's eyebrow twitched, and Veronica's face shifted to one of amused curiosity.
“Bargaining for money when you're being exiled?”
Open mockery.
She seemed like someone fairly important in the family, standing next to the duke... but honestly, I had no clue what her role was in the original story.
The protagonist? Nah.
The villainess? Her personality seemed rotten enough.
I'd never properly read the original, so I had no way of knowing.
So I ignored her again and focused on the duke.
“If I leave with this amount, won't rumors spread that the Sinclair family 'exiled' their son? If you increase it just a bit, no one would say that about me 'going independent.'”
A shameless demand.
But the duke's eyes narrowed as he heard me out.
“...How much do you need?”
“A hundred silvers would suffice.”
“Fifty.”
“Around seventy, then.”
“Fifty.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Secured twenty extra silvers.
Veronica let out a disbelieving scoff, but I had no reason to care.
I gathered the silver coins from the table, bowed once more, and left the Sinclair residence.
Now that I'd been kicked out, it was time to figure out how to make a living.
But...
“What the hell do I do now?”
Honestly, nothing came to mind.
Adapting to this romance fantasy world as a modern guy from just a while ago? Impossible.
Couldn't wield a sword, couldn't use magic, had some starting capital but no clue on prices or common sense—prime scam bait.
“Guess it's down to this.”
With a sigh, I pulled up that familiar window I'd seen since possessing this body.
Relaxes the target's tension and induces light sleep.
Effects amplified on physical contact.
Limits: 3 times per day / 15 minutes per use
As written on the translucent window before my eyes, I could use hypnosis.
But the effects were exactly as stated.
'Relaxes the target's tension and induces light sleep.'
Tension relaxation, light sleep.
“In simple terms, sweet dreams.”
For just 15 minutes, at that.
I'd tested it a bit before getting kicked out of the family.
But people who didn't want to listen would just say, “Young master, I'm busy,” and leave. (That confirmed this body's original owner was the family disgrace.)
And those who did listen would snore for 15 minutes, then wake up saying,
“Oh, young master. I feel refreshed!” and head out.
Of course. Who wouldn't feel refreshed after a sweet nap?
That'd be the real problem.
Anyway, with such a limited ability, the only job that came to mind was counseling.
I couldn't hold a sword, couldn't cast spells, knew nothing of this world's common sense—so this was the one thing I could use to survive.
Pretend to counsel, use the ability to knock 'em out for a sweet nap, wake 'em up. They'd feel refreshed and think it was the counseling effect... something like that.
Looking back, it was a ridiculously half-baked idea.
After wandering for days, I found a suitable building.
The end of a shabby alley.
A worn, small two-story wooden structure.
The stairs creaked, corners full of grime and dust, but
“Gotta settle for this.”
I could've gotten something better with fifty silvers.
But I couldn't blow my entire fortune just to make the house nicer.
Instead, I put some effort into the interior of the first floor for the counseling office.
Leaving me with thirty silvers.
Rent eight per month, plus living expenses...
“If I don't earn in two months, I might literally starve.”
A chill ran down my spine as I opened the counseling office door.
Praying the boldly hung sign would draw customers.
[Isaac Psychology Counseling Office]
Day one of opening the counseling office.
No customers.
Day two.
No customers.
Day three.
Still none.
Honestly, things felt off from the start.
The worker who hung the sign even said,
“So, what's a 'psychology counseling office' anyway?”
“......”
Come to think of it, does this world even have the concept of psychological counseling?
If no one gets what [Isaac Psychology Counseling Office] means, this is all for nothing.
And even if they do, nobles won't come due to pride, commoners are too busy surviving...
“Am I screwed?”
Day four.
Before it was officially doomed, I went out to hawk on the streets.
“Anyone want psychological counseling!”
Passersby's faces varied: confusion, suspicion, disdain, annoyance.
An old lady passing by even tsked and said,
“These days even quack doctors are hawking like this, aigoo...”
Day five.
Got enlightenment from the quack doctor remark.
“Counseling for worries! Headache cures! Guaranteed refreshment! Shoulder stiffness treatment!”
I threw it out there.
Before getting kicked out, the family maids always looked tired with stiff shoulders.
Hm, or maybe our family was just that shitty?
Day six.
Hawking with the same pitch, ran into guards cracking down on street vendors.
Told not to.
Yes, sir.
And so, afternoon of day seven.
Should I change hawking spots?
Look for another job now?
I was sitting on the first-floor sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Ding-a-ling—
The bell on the door rang.
My gaze snapped over reflexively.
Through the half-open door peeked a woman's face.
“Um... is this the counseling place?”
Light silver-brown hair. Hesitant demeanor. Maid uniform.
She looked like a maid from somewhere, glancing around anxiously.
I flashed the most natural smile possible.
Hoping she wouldn't notice this suspicious shop had zero customers in a week.
“Yes, it is. Come on in.”
Her name was Marie.
Twenty years old.
She said she was a maid from a baron's house, standing there fidgeting with her fingers.
She avoided eye contact—not just nerves, but like being alone with a man was a first.
After some hesitation, she opened her mouth.
“So, this is the place that does worry counseling... right?”
“Of course.”
“And headache treatment...”
“Of course.”
“Shoulder stiffness too...”
“Y-Yes, of course.”
“And it's guaranteed to refresh you, first session free, compensation if no effect...”
My natural smile nearly cracked hearing her recite it.
Probably because no customers came, I got desperate and blabbed too much.
“...Yes, that's right. I guarantee results.”
Couldn't say no now, so I affirmed it.
She eyed my endless affirmatives suspiciously, then sighed softly and sat on the sofa.
The real counseling begins.
Or so, but obviously I had no clue how to counsel. Instead, I'd listen.
“First, tell me. What worries do you have?”
The little troubles she couldn't tell anyone.
“...Well...”
Once she started, Marie poured out her woes in a flood.
Up at five a.m., bed at eleven p.m.
Laundry, cleaning, garden care, meal prep, guest service.
Lady of the house nagging. If not her, then the head maid.
And a day off once a month.
“My shoulders feel like rocks, my head throbs constantly, and even sleep doesn't feel like sleep.”
Her complaints spilled out.
I nodded, listening intently.
Slipping in “I see” and “That must be tough” at the right moments, her expression softened bit by bit.
Tension easing. Fidgeting fingers stilled, stiff shoulders dropped slightly.
Probably the first time she'd vented to anyone.
No point telling fellow maids—they were in the same boat.
About time.
“Miss Marie, could you close your eyes for a bit?”
“Pardon?”
“It's part of the counseling. I'll help you relax.”
Half-doubting, she followed my words.
Cautiously, I touched the back of her hand with my fingertips.
Marie's breathing slowed.
Inhale, exhale.
After a few repeats, her rigidly tense head slowly tilted sideways.
Snoooore—
Light relaxation and sleep guaranteed.
Effects amplified on contact with target.
Target: Marie
Success.
But now what?
15 minutes. She'd wake after 15.
Just let her sleep?
Nah, she'd wake refreshed from the nap and say “Feels good,” same as in the family.
That wasn't enough.
This was business.
Had to show solid results for the price to get repeat visits.
Watching her ponder, even in sleep her shoulders stayed tense.
'Shoulders stiff, huh? Loosen the muscles?'
Self-massage skills from my past life solo living.
Homebrew, but pressing knots usually brought relief.
Decided, I carefully placed my hands on her shoulders.
The ability's effect amplified—I felt it clearly, even if others couldn't.
Was that what 'effects amplified on contact' meant?
As if to prove it, her sleep deepened.
Snoooore—
Seemed she wouldn't wake from normal prodding.
Her tension fully released upper body slumped onto the sofa, making the ample curves under her neat maid uniform stand out clearly.
Steady breathing snores. Heavy breasts rising and falling with it.
'Bigger than they look.'
I caught my hand before it wandered. Even in this state, that'd be a crime.
Deep breath. I slowly pressed my thumb into the knotted spot on her shoulder.
Press.
“Mm...”
Her brow furrowed, then relaxed.
Pinching between thumb and finger, twisting to loosen, a thin sound leaked from her lips.
“Mm...”
No consciousness in sleep.
But her body reacted.
From shoulders to nape, nape to under ears, kneading along the line.
Hard muscles softening under my fingertips.
“Mmm...”
Her head tilted unconsciously.
As if asking for more.
Honest body, even asleep.
Thumbs pressing the knots made her shoulders quiver.
“Haa...”
Deep sigh escaped.
Ears flushed red.
For the full 15 minutes, I focused on shoulders, neck, upper back.
Time's up.
“Miss Marie.”
Soft call.
“Mmm...”
“Miss Marie, counseling's over.”
Her eyelids fluttered, eyes slowly opening.
Dazed pupils.
Blank look like she forgot where she was, then she straightened up as awareness returned.
“Ah, yes. Thank you...”
She stopped mid-sentence.
Tilted her head.
Right hand rose to touch her shoulder.
Press press.
Rotate.
Even twisting it.
Marie's eyes widened.
“...Huh?”
She pressed harder, rotated again, checked the other side.
“......Huhhh?”
No wonder—shoulders that felt like rocks were now soft.
Marie shot up.
“S-Sir, it's exactly as you said!”
Hm?
“Relax the tension, and the body follows! It was true!”
I never said that.
Excited, Marie alternated rolling her shoulders in awe.
Eyes wide—she was genuinely shocked.
I kept smiling while analyzing inwardly.
Curiously, Marie remembered 'receiving counseling' the whole time.
Her brain filled the blank unconscious period with 'counseling.'
'A side effect of hypnosis?'
Not in the perk description.
But the perfect result.
No memory of massage, only counseling.
Yet body clearly improved.
In other words,
'Perceived as perfect counseling.'
...This might actually work?
“Sir, thank you so much! I've never felt this refreshed!”
Marie jumped up, bowing repeatedly.
Flushed cheeks. Sparkling eyes.
No trace of earlier hesitation.
“Glad it helped.”
“Helped? This is a miracle!”
Miracle? Just a shoulder rub.
Marie bent to rummage her bag, placed coins on the table.
“This is...?”
“Gratitude! Gotta pay this much!”
Originally free first session, but not only did she not leave empty-handed, she gave more than my set fee.
Touching first earnings with misty eyes, Marie stood at the door with light steps.
Then, beaming, she said,
“Honestly, I came 'cause of the 'compensation if no effect' thing.”
“......”
“Hehe.”
Sheesh.
“Can I come again? Yeah?”
“Of course.”
“I'll recommend to friends! Thank you again, sir!”
Ding-a-ling—
With that, Marie left.
Quiet counseling office.
I looked at the coins on the table.
Generous tip, but still not much. Maid's wallet situation.
But it was a start.
“Hypnotize to sleep, massage to loosen up.”
Memory bias turns it into perfect counseling.
Not bad, right?
Scam? Maybe, but no victims.
No qualms.
Like an unadvertised secret service.
Marie was the last customer that day.
A few coins.
And my first likely repeat visitor.
Not a bad day.
Lying down, I hoped inwardly: if Marie tells a friend, that friend tells another.
Eventually, it'd roll into something livable.
But I didn't know then.
How fast rumors spread.
Or how far once they did.