Chapter 144
Chapter 144
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 143
Chapter Title: Musician Hamel (3) - The Value of One Performance
-----------------------------------------------------------------
There are some surprisingly taboo things you shouldn't do in a bar.
Like callously rejecting a drink offered by an alluring beauty.
The kind of rejection I'm talking about here doesn't include a bit of hesitation or playful coyness. That's just part of the flirtation game.
But turning your back and walking away without a shred of hesitation—not even a promise to meet up later—is a whole different story.
It's blatantly showing her that you have zero interest in someone like her.
For the one offering the drink, there's nothing more humiliating.
In the silence that fell over the bar as everyone exchanged awkward glances, the owner of the Misty Wine Glass, Laiton, screamed inwardly.
'Hey, you bastard! You crazy fool! What am I supposed to do if you wreck the whole vibe like that?!'
Sensing the situation going south fast, Laiton's shirt grew damp with cold sweat.
His opponent was a woman presumed to have ties to a high-ranking member of the organization.
Defacing her dignity like this—how was he supposed to handle the fallout?
He didn't care if some clueless street musician sank into oblivion, but the problem was if his own bar got dragged down with him.
"Ahem. Well, now. It seems even the ability to recognize the flower right in front of him is beyond that ignorant street performer's grasp."
As everyone continued eyeing each other warily, a young man stepped forward to lighten the mood.
His clothes screamed luxury from the fine fabric, complete with a gold pocket watch.
His hair neatly styled with premium pomade, flashing pearly whites in a smile that practically shouted, "I'm a big shot."
"A truly beautiful flower blooms not in rough fields, but in noble gardens. Might I have the honor of tending to yours?"
The young man's face brimmed with confidence as he elegantly extended his hand to the woman.
He was convinced no woman could meet his gaze and not be swayed.
But the response he expected never came.
No, no response came at all.
Ever since the piper left, her gaze had been fixed solely on the spot where he had stood.
"Ahem."
Now openly ignored, the young man's face twisted into an ugly scowl.
He tried to play it off with a forced cough, but he couldn't hide the flush creeping up his cheeks or the faint tremor in his eyebrows.
"My apologies. I was so eager I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Renston Montagu."
At the name Montagu, a ripple of mild surprise spread through the drinkers in the bar.
Contrary to the common belief that the revolutionaries had executed all nobles along with the king, quite a few aristocrats had survived in the republic.
Those who stubbornly defended the monarchy and clashed with the masses were swept away by the people's fury, but plenty had lain low during the chaotic post-revolution days or quickly aligned with the new regime.
The Montagu family fell into the latter category.
They'd sold off their lands before the revolutionary government's land reforms kicked in, dodging the purges, and used the proceeds to dive into business. Now, they owned a prominent textile factory in the north.
The other young men who'd planned to step in if Renston failed clicked their tongues inwardly.
With his noble blood and vast wealth extending a hand, they figured even the haughtiest woman couldn't ignore him.
And sure enough, the woman's amber monocle eye turned to Renston for the first time.
Meeting that profoundly mysterious, melancholic gaze, Renston swallowed hard without thinking.
For all his colorful history with women, the allure she exuded was something entirely new to him.
"Sorry, I'm not feeling well tonight."
Her voice was soft yet laced with poignant sorrow.
It was so captivating that even though it was a rejection, Renston didn't immediately feel offense or anger.
Only after she turned and followed the musician's path out the door did the delayed emotions hit him.
"...What the hell does that street rat have?"
His status was far too exalted to waste jealousy on a mere busker.
So the mutter that escaped him carried more regret than envy.
At least, for now.
That same night.
"Leo, do I seem unattractive to you?"
Caught off guard by his boss's sudden question, Leo—one of the organization's three top executives and the enforcer in charge of muscle—felt utterly awkward.
In the republic's freewheeling romantic culture, a woman asking a man that might count as flirtation, but not here.
For one, Leo was married; the age gap between him and the boss was practically parent-child; and above all, they had just finished "business."
In other words, blood from the victims splattered the floor and her clothes everywhere.
No one, no matter how narcissistic, would get romantic flutters in a scene like this.
Terror, maybe, if they thought a purge was coming.
After a moment's hesitation, Leo responded much like he had to tricky questions from superiors during his military days.
"Of course not. Few beauties can match you, Boss."
Unlike the time he'd humored his musclebound squid of a squadmate bragging about his hometown popularity, Leo felt no guilt this time.
Because this compliment was well-founded.
Her looks were genuinely striking.
Without the eyepatch covering her face and that signature decadent, dangerous aura, the men around wouldn't have left her alone.
"...I see. Good to know."
She nodded as if satisfied, then lapsed back into deep thought.
Leo glanced sideways cautiously before venturing a question.
"Looks like the folks at the Misty Wine Glass whined to Blake about it. They claim the incident was just the musician acting on his own—no orders or interference from them. Was something up?"
"Nah, nothing worth fussing over. Tell them not to get scared and do anything stupid—just keep doing what they've been doing."
"Got it."
Her reply sounded like she was extracting a promise, turning Leo's suspicion into certainty.
'So that street musician really is involved.'
Fearing backlash, the Misty Wine Glass owner had spilled every detail to the organization member watching his back, and the report had quickly reached Leo.
His reaction upon hearing it was near admiration.
'He couldn't have known who she was, obviously, but word of someone standing up Hecate like that would send shockwaves.'
Of course, separate from his personal curiosity, this info could never leak out.
It could tarnish Witch Hecate's reputation—and the organization's by extension.
He'd planned to quietly bury it with apologies if she seemed upset, but she didn't look that bothered.
More like someone realizing their key didn't fit the lock and fetching a new one.
Leo sincerely hoped her key would turn the tumblers.
The woman hadn't asked her subordinates about her looks just to put them in a tough spot.
She simply wanted an objective opinion.
'I could dismiss Leo's reaction as flattery, but the other guys at the bar were all over me, so it's not like I've been deluded this whole time.'
Truly beautiful people know it better than anyone.
Unless it's someone who lived plain their whole life and suddenly glams up for a change, anyone hearing constant "handsome" or "pretty" comments while looking the same knows the score. Denying it would be pure deception.
So she'd confidently offered a drink to the piper, only to get shot down cold.
It could be seen as a major humiliation, but she didn't hold any real grudge.
If anything, his unique reaction piqued her interest even more.
Thus, this time she struck first—before he took the stage.
Behind the stage.
In the staff-only hallway, she approached him.
"Second time now. You haven't forgotten me, have you?"
"...Pardon, but who might you be?"
"......"
"Kidding. You look so shocked—it's breaking my heart."
He turned his large, clear eyes toward the stunned woman.
Like a child's eyes dreaming, she thought unconsciously.
"That was a mean joke. You really startled me."
"Hahaha, call it a little payback. I was startled too, you know."
"You? Why?"
"Well, I'm prepping for a lively evening set, and suddenly a beauty I never expected appears before me. Wouldn't anyone jump?"
The mood flowed warmly enough.
Figuring conversation would go smoothly this time, she said to the young man,
"I have a lot of questions for you. You had prior commitments last time, but how about now?"
"I'm about to go on stage."
"Don't worry about it. Skipping one song won't get you in trouble with the owner. You'll still get paid in full. Actually, separately from that, I'll compensate you."
To prove she wasn't bluffing, she pulled a wad of gold coins from her inner wallet and offered them.
Though the revolutionary government's reforms had issued paper money as the new standard, sidelining gold, it hadn't lost its value.
Plenty still preferred old kingdom coinage over paper that foreign lands might scoff at, and gold was gold regardless.
Any single coin from that bundle would be a fortune to a poor street musician.
If her looks couldn't tempt him, money would snag his attention.
That was her conclusion.
More precisely, the world's rule she'd learned living in it.
"I'm not asking for anything grand. Just talk with me."
To her earnest plea, which would tug at any man's heartstrings, the musician replied,
"I'll pass. My performance isn't that cheap."
The warmth and friendliness evaporated, replaced by a cool line in the sand.
Leaving the flustered woman behind, he strode calmly to the stage.
Joyful pipe music filled the air, followed by the guests' gasps and cheers.
Amid the revelry, the woman alone in the shadows trembled quietly.