Uninvited Guest -2-

"Hoo...."

Hanna blew on her steaming cup of green tea. She caressed the hot cup with her cold hands and took a sip, shivering faintly. She gave an awkward smile, her face full of apology.

"Sorry. Was it too sudden? I just have to eat what I want right when I want it...."

A retort sprang to mind, but I held it back. She looked pitiful, soaked from the rain. And seeing her come all this way just for my lousy tea tugged at my heartstrings.

"Since the young lady has such picky tastes, I learned how to brew tea from the East seven years ago. I think it's because this technique really brings out the flavor."

"Haha... Is that so? It did taste better somehow."

"I'm glad you like it."

Lies. Truth be told, whether it was from the East or not, as long as it steeped green, I served it to the young lady. With her cheap palate, she preferred cocoa over fancy teas anyway.

I lied to spare her embarrassment. I watched Hanna closely. Her swollen eyes, the red-rimmed lids like she'd been bawling—they weighed heavy on my tongue. Instead of asking why she was here, she looked like she needed comforting, an "are you okay?"

I hesitated for a moment. Honestly, I never imagined she'd show up here. Common sense said no one would brave a downpour to visit a rundown wreck like this mansion. We barely got visitors as it was—I half-thought she was a ghost.

It was 7 p.m. now, sunset time. The sky ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠outside hung low and gray, and the rain still poured in sheets. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. A noble young lady dropping by unannounced in the early evening, in this weather, just for bad tea? No way.

Hanna had run away from home.

Scritch. Her nails ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scraped the chipped teacup. She bit her lip, lost in thought. The awkward silence was getting to her.

"It's really pouring out there...."

"Yeah."

"My laundry won't dry at this rate. What a mess."

Our eyes met. I just gave a small, wordless smile.

If I asked what was wrong, would she answer? Probably not. What she needed now wasn't prying questions—it was quiet time to think. I'd needed that when I ran from the orphanage. Back then, I'd hung out with the homeless uncles at the subway station, but this world had no Seoul Station plaza. So she'd come here.

This place must be her subway station: a quiet hideout from the rain. Seeing echoes of my past self in her didn't feel bad. Made me want to treat her right.

I sipped my tea and gazed out the window.

"Rainy days call for green tea, huh."

"It calms the mind."

"More?"

Hanna shook her head firmly. "I'm good."

Figures. Our tea must taste like crap. If I had premium leaves, I could blow her mind—but I'd sold the good stuff secondhand already. Shame.

"I'll treat you to better stuff next time."

"This is plenty good."

She flinched, shivering again. Her lips were pale—she looked freezing. I'd given her an outer coat, but it wasn't enough. After her bath, I'd planned to offer a change of clothes, but maybe now was the time. Her underwear showed through faintly, too. She might catch a cold.

Worried, I glanced at the window. As time dragged, worry lines etched deeper into Hanna's face. Her troubles weren't sorting themselves out. I'd hoped time would help, but it seemed she needed to talk.

The day grew colder. Temperature dropping. Her complexion worsening. As we finished our tea, she started wiping the rain puddles off the floor, getting ready to leave. Squatting there, she looked so small and shabby. A musty smell rose from the warped boards.

I couldn't stand it. I reached to take the rag from her.

"Huh?"

Our hands overlapped by accident. In the surprise, we'd ended up holding hands—her and me. Mortifying. I'd only meant to take over the chore for my guest.

Heart racing, maybe. Hanna... just gripped the rag tight, no reaction.

Hiding my fluster, I spoke calmly. "Just rest."

"No, I'm heading home right away."

"You trying to make me unemployed?"

Even for a runaway teen, stealing a butler's job was unforgivable. Dishes for a guest? Fine. But mopping floors? That's low-tier butler work. And I didn't want to assign this to a runaway kid.

"Sit."

"But I made the mess. I should clean it."

"It's fine."

Hanna clutched the rag harder, dead set on not letting go. I waited patiently. Until she relaxed her grip. Her head hung low. After a brief silence, as my palm's warmth seeped into her cold hand—

Drop. A hot sensation on the back of my hand. A small droplet. Not from her rain-wet hair—this was heavier, laden with emotion.

"Hey, butler."

In the echoing quiet of the mansion, her damp voice rang low.

"Yes."

I answered softly.

"You know what? It's my birthday today."

"Oh... Happy birthday."

"But why can't I get any celebration?"

She stared at the floor. I didn't need to see her face to know the expression.

Birthdays. Nothing grand, but a day you want off, full of well-wishes. I always made sure the young lady's was perfect. Even in my past life, swamped with work, I'd grab cake after shift on my birthday. Friends' gift icons weren't much, but they meant the world.

In my memories, birthdays were the happiest days—yet weirdly the loneliest.

Hanna said, "You're the first to say happy birthday today."

"What an... honor."

"Right?"

She shook her head. Whatever it was, she couldn't find answers.

"Hey, butler. What did I do so wrong?"

She gripped the rag tighter. "I just wanted Dad's praise, to be a sister my siblings could brag about."

Hot tears spilled onto my hand.

"Is having no talent a crime?"

Her faint mutter echoed through the mansion. The warmth of her tears on my skin choked me up.

"Today, I told Dad I'd beat Senior Mikhail."

She pressed her forehead to the back of my hand.

"Know what he said? 'Don't get ahead of yourself.' You think so too? No, right? You don't."

She buried her face deeper. "Couldn't a dad at least cheer me on, even if it's empty words?"

I'd never had parents, so who knows. But normal ones don't act like that. That's how I'd dreamed of mine: cheering, praising, on my side.

I wasn't great at comfort. Never given much, never gotten much—might even hurt her. But right now, I felt like I had to say something.

I knew little about Hanna from our two weeks together. But I'd say what I had learned.

"Hanna, I don't invest in lost causes."

"..."

"Pretty materialistic guy. I calculate—if no payoff, I quit."

"..."

"Sorry to say it, but if I thought you had no talent, I wouldn't have even suggested that bet."

Hanna spoke cautiously. "I have talent?"

"Yes. I swear on the goddess."

"But I'm less talented than my brother, uglier than my sister...?"

"What do they know?"

She looked up at me, incredulous. But my firm words must've hit home.

She gazed up at me. Her calmer expression eased my mind. After seeing her cry, this was a relief.

"I'm selfish."

"I know."

"Saying that makes me sound like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠total jerk."

"Pfft... You are."

"True enough. So beat Mikhail quick and stuff ten gold in my wallet."

"..."

"I'll make it possible."

I took the rag from her hand and patted her head.

"Lucky for you, I'm a baking pro. Have some birthday cake before you go."

Hanna stared at me. Her damp, dazed eyes held a strangely alluring glint. I caught a glimpse of her see-through underwear and whipped my head away.

"I... have plans."

"Cancel 'em."

Her plans weren't my business. Probably heading to the Adventurer's Guild Popo. Nothing clears stray thoughts like swinging a sword. Today might've been the original Hanna's last day. Desperate enough for a gamble.

Either way, I'd have her stay here tonight. Bonus: make a friend for the young lady.

"Sleep over."