Part-Time Job (2): Ruina Lindel
Ruina Lindel. Eldest daughter of the Lindel family from the Parun Magic Kingdom. Her family had made alchemy their trade for generations. They weren't a house with resounding fame; the Lindel Merchant Guild they operated was far more renowned. She was a third-year in the Craft Department, but not some extraordinary figure. Not top of her class or runner-up—just a solid ranker, a talented student who was good at her studies but ultimately very ordinary and common.
If you asked other third-years about her, they'd probably say, "Ah, her? Yeah, I know of her." Nothing more. She didn't stand out much. In the story, her role was as a supporter. She'd help the protagonist out of jams with her alchemy when he needed it. Early on, she came off so much like a pushover that readers dismissed her as a "tool shuttle." At least until she awakened as a world-threatening villain.
With no warning or reason, she transformed into an incarnation of destruction, seizing and wrecking the academy. It shocked everyone. And now, here she was in front of me—a woman whose league was tens of thousands of times above a third-rate villain like me.
"So? What's your name?"
"Kyle Arden."
"Second-year?"
"Knight Department."
"Got it."
Short, clipped words. It felt utterly perfunctory. Everyone had the same first impression—even the protagonist. But readers loved this side of her. She wasn't sociable or approachable, but her quirky, snappy personality had a unique charm that won people over. She even got official illustrations... only to end up killed by the protagonist. Readers were furious. From what I recalled, around ten thousand of them sent long, scathing messages—some over 5,700 characters—that crashed the site.
"Here."
She suddenly handed over a thick bundle of papers densely packed with text.
"Memorize it. You've got an hour."
"What's this?"
"Precautions."
With that, she returned to her workbench without so much as a glance, immersing herself completely in her task. That quiet diligence made her all the more appealing.
"Hmm."
I tore my eyes away and started reading through the sheets one by one. As she'd said, it was a list of precautions. But the sheer volume was insane. The content required basic alchemy knowledge to even understand, and some parts were specific to her personally.
What a hardass.
I grumbled internally. But this field was full of eccentrics anyway. In modern stories, novelists and cartoonists; in fantasy, alchemists and blacksmiths. Creators were always hypersensitive about certain things. She was no different. Especially alchemy—one tiny mistake could ruin everything, so it demanded endless caution.
Clink, clink. Bubble, bubble. The sounds of creation filled the air, helping me focus as I memorized.
About fifty minutes later, I'd committed it all to memory.
"Done."
"Already? Quick."
She held out her hand wordlessly. I caught on and passed her the papers. This kind of thing made her frustratingly opaque early in the story.
Then the questions began immediately.
"What do you need for mass-producing potions?"
"Ingredients, circuits, and bottles to hold the potions."
She nodded. Basic knowledge—easy.
"What do you have to watch out for when combining ingredients?"
"Don't move, don't use mana, don't make a sound. Except when combining herbs—that's fine."
"Mm."
She seemed satisfied.
"How much mana concentration affects an in-progress item?"
"Potions from 71 percent up; minerals, none. Ah, potions vary by ingredients, but you'll handle the adjustments, so I don't need to worry."
"Mm, right. And how do you handle that situation?"
"Put it in the box you made, and activate the mana concentration controller."
"Good memory."
She fired off twenty more questions like that. Honestly, it was a bit grueling. At this rate, it felt less like a part-time gig and more like hiring a personal assistant.
Finally, the question gauntlet ended.
"Impressive. Even third-years struggle with that."
She looked at me approvingly, then sat down across from me.
"When can you start?"
"Today, if you want."
"Times? Weekdays too?"
"Community service every day, so weekends: five hours morning or evening. Weekdays: three hours after four."
"Mm, good."
She nodded and handed me a single sheet: an employment contract. I read it carefully—and spotted something odd.
"Senior?"
"Yeah?"
"The hourly rate seems off."
It said three silver coins per hour. Three times the one coin from the request board.
"It's fine."
"No, but still..."
"No one else but you anyway."
"Ah..."
True. Anyone else would've failed the test or bolted. Ruina Lindel's requests were brutal. Fine by me—more money was always welcome.
I signed the contract and asked my new employer,
"Start now?"
"Yeah. Move that first."
I carried the box from the corner to the designated spot. As I worked,
"You'll be here too?"
"If you'll allow it, I'd like to stay until you're done."
Elraim was chatting with the employer.
"Then memorize this."
She shoved the precaution bundle at her. Elraim looked troubled.
"Do I really need to know it? I'm just here to watch the young master..."
"No. You'll ruin it. Gonna ask questions?"
"If my presence ruins your work, then yes..."
"Minimum ten gold."
Elraim froze at the price. Even with family backing, gold was steep. As a commoner, she knew its weight well.
"I-I'll wait outside."
"Smart choice."
Flustered, Elraim left the workshop and stood guard by the door.
Serves you right.
Payback for teasing me yesterday—her dejected look was satisfying.
"Now move that."
"Yes, Senior."
I grinned the whole shift because of it.
That evening, after service until eleven, I dragged my exhausted body back to the dorm and collapsed on the bed.
"Ugh! I'm dying..."
Over twelve hours of labor today—brutal. But service was getting routine, and the job would improve with time.
"By then, my body's condition will be better too."
This body was no slouch. Soon, I could work all day without tiring.
I mulled over such trifles as I rested.
"Still..."
Ruina Lindel from today lingered in my mind. I hadn't expected to run into her here. Even in the novel, the protagonist's meeting with her was pure chance. He'd picked up a magic tool at the academy, caught her eye, and that sparked their connection. Her activities weren't detailed much—just holing up in her workshop and chatting with sleepy eyes. Nothing else. Like me, almost.
No wonder I was thrown off.
"Mid-boss, huh..."
I murmured her role softly. A mid-boss wasn't on the final boss's level narratively, but in power, ability, and presence? No slouch. Personally, strip away the story beats, and they're not so different. That's what piqued my interest. Not fondness—just kinship as fellow villains. And my first face-to-face with one drew my gaze more.
Maybe because she was a villain, odd thoughts crept in.
"She'll die someday too."
Villains always met the same end: death by protagonist. Or some fall from grace. Like me, destined for the chop. As a mid-boss, she'd face the same.
It's fine...
Even as her heart pierced, blood spewing from her mouth, her calm tone.
You did well.
Smiling softly, stroking the protagonist's head one last time before closing her eyes. That was Ruina Lindel's finale. One of the novel's famed scenes—nailed so perfectly in the webtoon that it sparked rage alongside a comment section flooded with tears. So many mourned her death that when the game was announced, fans begged for a survival route. No dice, even after tens of thousands messaged the author. Side note: there was that infamous truck sent to the game company.
And as a reader who'd seen it...
"Two years till she dies."
I felt nothing. Some might curse my apathy, but oh well. She was the villain, born for that fate. Personal feelings would wreck this world. That's why I could treat her casually—no need for protagonist-level delicacy. Maybe the most comfortable character I'd met yet.
"Just... keep it chill."
Didn't mean her fate wasn't tragic. I had emotions too. So I'd chat with her till the end—as a fellow villain, the least I could do. If she'd have it.
"Yawn~"
Sleep tugged at me. An hour had slipped by. Nice to unwind like this sometimes.
"Fhew."
I snuffed the candle and closed my eyes. For tomorrow's shift.
Next morning. After sorting the new ingredients, my job was alchemy assisting.
"Circuit board."
"Here."
I placed the metal plate etched with magic circles on the workbench. She positioned the ingredients and infused mana. One potion bottle done in seconds.
"Gorun Mountain iron, mid-grade magic stone."
Laconic orders. I grabbed the iron from the metal box, the stone from beside it.
"Senior, here."
"Mm."
She took them and started smelting. Assisting basically meant fetching what she called for. Ruina Lindel was small—short limbs, slim build—couldn't handle heavy stuff alone. Or so it seemed. Truth was, she'd managed solo before, and mid-bosses weren't frail. Alchemists mastered basics like telekinesis anyway. I could see it: annoyance in those vacant eyes. But paid or not, I did as told without complaint.
I watched her alchemy from afar, inwardly impressed. Extracting specific components, drawing mana from stones. Combining them into desired structures, coating the glass vial. Smooth, swift process.
Maybe I should learn alchemy.
Fix the dorm in no time. But nah—I had no talent for it. And she was alchemy's pinnacle; that's why she pulled it off.
"Done."
"Good work."
I stored the finished product.
"Mandrake. Rootless one."
"Prepped it."
"Good boy."
She never paused. Word was, she cleared weekend quotas then.
"You know?"
"Yes."
I coated my ears with mana, steadied my flows. No disruptions from here on. I stood rigidly by her side. Time passed. Five minutes, ten, twenty... Sweat poured, but I endured.
Then, through the workshop's lone window—something.
-Chirp!
That damn familiar bird.
Why the hell is that birdbrain here...? Oh no.
Ominous premonition. Experience said it was spot-on.
Knock knock.
"Kyle in there?"
The familiar voice hit—and whoosh!!
The mandrake Ruina was working on spewed mana. The door opened.
"Ka, Ky...?"
"Ah..."
We're screwed.