Chapter 28
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 027
Chapter Title: Cleaning
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Crunch. Chomp.
The sound of a beast tearing into its prey reached my ears.
"......"
I propped my chin on my hand and stared down at the lump of meat on the plate in front of me.
The outside was charred, the inside undercooked and oozing blood—a mystery meat of unknown origin.
A foul, gamey stench assaulted my nose.
Too tough for pork, too rank for beef.
It was an unwritten rule in the slums not to ask about the sourcing of ingredients in cheap eateries, but this was pushing it.
If you were unlucky, it could be rat meat.
If your luck was really rotten, it might be a chunk of human thigh.
"Munch munch, gulp."
But the creature in front of me didn't seem to care about any of that.
"Hey."
"......?"
"Is that any good?"
Instead of answering, she shoved her empty plate toward me.
Her mouth was smeared with glistening grease, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.
"More."
"......"
That made five plates already.
Did this girl have a beggar spawn living in her gut or something?
I ordered another round anyway.
The old hag in the kitchen, apron filthy as ever, shot me a glance and banged her ladle against the pot.
"Pay up first! That girl's eating like a pig—don't want any excuses later!"
"Damn it, who you calling a freeloader? How much so far?!"
"18 silver!"
Hmm.
Tempting to just dine and dash.
Even in the slums, places selling this mystery meat were rare, but 3 silver a plate? Highway robbery.
"Stop stuffing your face."
"Why."
"It's expensive."
Fifteen silver coins could get you laid five times at minimum.
"Cheapskate."
"......"
"Last one. Pretty please."
I sighed and stood, handing the old hag a gold coin.
"What's this yellow thing?"
"Change."
"Don't have small coins."
"What the fuck?"
I peeked into her pocket: just over 60 silvers.
"Get change elsewhere or order more."
"You call this a business? No small change ready?"
"You little shit, go check any shop around here. Who takes gold?"
The hag didn't bat an eye, jerking her chin toward the girl.
"Look at her. Eating like a champ. Slice more meat, pop a few bottles of booze, and it'll even out."
Hard sell much? Gutsy merchant.
I opened my mouth to argue, pissed off.
"......"
Then I felt an intense stare from the side.
I turned to see her eyeing me, fork in mouth.
Her eyes sparkled like a mutt spotting a pork bone.
"That's what she said?"
"......Ha."
I waved it off in resignation.
"Fine, whatever. Stuff yourself till you burst."
In the end, I got to watch the hag humming happily back to the kitchen, and this girl's smug grin of triumph.
Irritation bubbled up fiercely.
I sat back down, took a sip from my water glass to wet my throat, and said,
"Now then. Your name."
Time to resume the background check.
This time, she didn't dodge.
"Rin."
"Single syllable?"
"......Baekrin."
"Rin first name, Baek family?"
Baekrin nodded.
Family name before given name.
To me, who'd lived my past life on the Hel-Joseon Peninsula, that order felt way more natural.
But around here—no, on this continent—it was an unusual naming convention.
"You a noble or something?"
"......?"
"Folks here treat you like nobility if you've got a surname."
She crammed fresh meat into her mouth and shook her head pityingly.
"No."
"Then?"
"Everyone in the East has one. Except slaves."
Cultural difference.
Makes sense—the far side of the continent would differ in a lot of ways.
This girl in front of me, cheeks bulging as she chewed.
By looks alone, a pretty Easterner. East Asian beauty from old Korea, China, or Japan.
If here felt medieval Western Europe,
over there might be Three Kingdoms era, samurai, or Goryeo/Joseon vibes.
Who knows. Aura, magic, monsters—world like that, a wuxia setting wouldn't be weird.
Lost in such fantasies while spectating her eat-a-thon,
she spat out around a mouthful of meat,
"You."
"......What."
"Name."
Baekrin nodded at my face.
"And that rag on your head."
"......"
"Not eating or drinking? Just watching?"
In short: you gonna order or what?
True, I'd only sipped plain water so far.
Even that, just lifting the mask slightly to wet my lips.
"Unfair."
She mumbled around a bone, displeased.
"You got me all exposed, but you're bundled up."
"Jealous? Hire me then."
I cut her off sharply.
"And you're mistaken."
I crossed my arms and looked down at her imperiously.
"We're not friends grabbing a bite. This is strict business."
"...Business?"
"I'm the boss, you're the hireling."
Baekrin narrowed her eyes.
Obvious displeasure, but with a full belly, no comeback.
"While we're at it, let's settle titles.
From now on, address this body as 'Master'."
At that, her fork froze mid-air.
She swallowed her chew, glaring at me like I was a bug.
"No."
"Why? Paymaster's call."
"Gross. Pervert."
Her expression screamed genuine contempt.
Damn, picky much.
"Then friendly-like, 'Oppa'?"
"......"
"Fits better. Has heart."
Baekrin squinted, scanning my masked face up and down.
"......How old?"
"Secret, obviously."
"Then no."
She refocused on her plate.
"You seem younger than me."
"What makes you say?"
"Voice."
......Shit.
Right.
Since disguising, I'd consciously rasped my voice everywhere,
but this nutjob distracted me into forgetting.
"Ahem! Cough!"
I cleared my throat hastily.
"Throat's hoarse. Don't get ideas."
"......Hmph."
Suspicious glance, but she shut up—probably scared I'd steal her meat if she pried.
"Tch. All no-go?"
I clicked my tongue, tapping the table.
"Fine, neutral: 'Employer'. No complaints."
"......Got it. Employer."
"With the honorific, bitch."
She ignored me, shoving the last piece in.
Nine plates demolished,
one bottle straight-downed like a pro,
"Buuuurp."
Followed by a thunderous belch. Monster of a girl.
Anyway, belly filled, pecking order set.
"Now, business."
I pulled my chair closer, lowering my voice.
Glanced around, then locked eyes with Baekrin.
"Tonight, we hunt."
Stuff she wouldn't know,
in the tone of some game's furball beast cub.
Late night.
Kaintrea Ducal Estate.
Beneath an ornate chandelier,
Derek de Kaintrea puffed his cigar, staring out the window.
The darkened garden lay silent.
But an unwelcome guest shattered the peace.
"......Aren't you curious?"
Sharl stood rigidly, having entered without knocking.
Her silver eyes were colder than usual.
"About what?"
Derek exhaled smoke, feigning indifference.
"Why I came to see you, Father."
"Does a daughter need a special reason to visit her dad?"
"For normal parent-child, maybe. But..."
Sharl stepped forward.
Click, click.
Her heels stabbed the floor sharply.
"We're not 'normal', are we?"
"Hmph."
Derek swiveled his chair, intrigued, facing her.
The wild girl from 15 years ago had grown into a woman who could stare down her father.
That arrogance, that venom—pure him.
"So, what's this about?"
"Hiding anything from me?"
"Why would I?"
Derek smiled calmly.
But Sharl's gaze didn't waver.
"Why summon Leon alone?"
As expected.
Derek tsked inwardly.
Sharp as ever, like her old man.
"You came all this way for that?"
"Yes. Very."
"Whatever that rat said to you?"
"Nothing."
Edge crept into Sharl's voice.
"He said zilch. Holed up in his room with some injury excuse."
"Figures. He wouldn't talk."
Derek shrugged.
"Just wanted to see his face. Curious how the slum rat you dragged home turned out."
"Liar."
"My words sound false?"
"Yes."
Instant reply. She added,
"You ignore what doesn't interest you. Especially slum vermin."
Sharl approached the desk, hands planted, leaning in.
Her face inches from his, she taunted,
"Do you love me?"
Out of left field.
But Derek answered steadily, no fluster.
"Of course."
"More than all those other kids?"
Derek's eyes narrowed.
He slowly ground out his cigar in the ashtray, voice low.
"Sharl. You remember, don't you?"
He gestured to a portrait on the office wall.
An elegant, beautiful woman.
His late wife, Sharl's mother.
"When your mother lived, did I ever keep another woman?"
"......No."
"Right. Only after she left..."
Bittersweet regret flickered in Derek's eyes.
To fill the void, he'd bedded anything that moved,
and years later, started sowing seeds inside.
"Five sons, six daughters... Yeah, quite a few."
He continued.
"But what's the point?
The oldest are barely twelve or thirteen—blood clots still."
No paternal affection in his tone.
Just dry tallying of stains from his debauchery. Byproducts.
"They're just concubines' spawn.
My blood, sure, but not proof of my love."
Derek reached out, stroking air near Sharl's cheek.
"The only woman I truly loved was your mother,
and her sole treasure left behind is you, Sharl."
It was sincere.
That's why he'd indulged her recklessness, her arrogance.
She was his spitting image, the sole legitimate heir his dead wife bore.
Even if her woman's body barred inheritance.
She was still his most precious child.
But Sharl didn't melt—instead, she fired back coldly.
"If you love me that much,"
"......?"
"You wouldn't steal my favorite toy, right?"
She glared with utter conviction.
"Leon is mine. Even you can't touch him, Father."
"......No idea what you mean."
Derek shook his head innocently.
"Why covet some slum rat?"
"That promise."
Sharl turned, snapping coldly.
"Keep it.
I want to stay your loving daughter."
With that near-threat farewell,
Sharl left the office without a backward glance.
Bam.
The heavy door shut, silence returned.
Derek stared at it long, then smiled bitterly.
"Favorite toy, huh..."
He opened a desk drawer, pulling a pouch of red powder.
Paradise dust. Recalled the rat he'd sent to clean up this filth.
"Sadly, your wish won't come true."
That rat wouldn't return.
Fail, and it'd die torn apart anywhere.
Succeed? Silenced regardless.
Either way, same end.
"For your sake, Sharl."
He whispered softly.
"A father's duty is to wash away the filth."
Crumble.
In his grip,
the red powder pouch crumpled limply.
....