A Suspicious Proposal -3-
Ruin hated Ricardo. From their first meeting, no less.
It all started at the academy's entrance ceremony. Even before enrollment, rumors of the "Wicked Woman's Butler" had spread among the nobles, and the master he served was indeed the wicked woman herself. Those whispers reached the ears of Ruin, disciple of the Tower Lord. The gossip painted Ricardo as an arrogant punk who wormed his way into the academy on the wicked woman's coattails.
Ruin had sized him up through colored lenses. Red hair. Sharp eyes. And a filthy personality. Just like the rumors, everyone kept their distance. Not that Ruin had room to talk—Ricardo was tall and strikingly handsome, the type who'd normally draw a crowd. But the guy stuck solely to Olivia's side, showing zero interest in academy life. Strangely enough.
The real rift between them began at the ranking tournament. Back then, Ricardo seemed utterly unremarkable. Was he hiding his aura awakening? He never stepped up, never showed enthusiasm for classes. He'd skip combat training every time. In magic lectures, he'd scribble notes diligently—or so it seemed—until Ruin discovered it was a journal titled Peaceful and Fun Butler Life. A madman, in every sense.
If it were Ruin, he'd have busted his ass to dispel the "coattails" rumors. But Ricardo? Effort wasn't in his vocabulary. Gradually, he became etched in Ruin's mind as a worthless nobody.
And then the day of the ranking tournament arrived. The freshman showdown to crown the top rank. Non-combat students were scored differently, but those in magic or weapons had to prove themselves in the arena. High ranks meant fat scholarships, premium dorms, financial security, academy perks—the works. Ruin figured Ricardo wouldn't care.
What a pain. The guy had zero passion. Sure, luck landed him in the top ten, but his performances were forgettable. Lull opponents into complacency, ambush them, trash-talk savagely. Every win drew backlash: shameless bastard.
Ruin thought, This thorn in my side—time to crush him for good.
"Fight properly, you rude fuck."
"Sure~"
"Put in some effort."
"Naw~"
The spar began. Ricardo flung sand in Ruin's eyes—or so it felt. The guy showed no competitive fire.
"Die~!"
But the instant the match started, his eyes flipped feral, and he pummeled Ruin mercilessly. Then...
"I forfeit."
Stress relieved, Ricardo wiped the sweat beading on his forehead and quit. From that day, Ruin despised him. Hated him before, but now it burned into outright loathing. No clue what went on in that head. Didn't care to know.
Ruin must feel mortified seeking him out. Among the students Ruin knew, Ricardo was the strongest—and the tightest-lipped. Ruin had sensed it mid-fight: Ricardo's skill dwarfed Mikhail's, a chasm-deep mastery. No choice but to swallow pride and come crawling. Begging Mikhail? Ego wouldn't allow. The old man? His mood was razor-sharp lately. So, Ricardo—least fallout, no friends to spread rumors.
So...
"Fuck... come on."
Fall for it, Ricardo.
*
"Hm."
I sighed at the green-topped head bowed before me, wondering if he even grasped what he was asking.
Cockatrice. A monster with a rooster's head and serpent's tail—treated as an upper-tier beast here. Solitary, but individually fierce. Lock eyes for five seconds? Petrified. Razor claws dripping venom. A hassle.
And one Ruin could never solo. Its beak would turn him into a tasty snack. Harsh assessment, but generous even.
I flashed a faint smile at Ruin, pondering how he'd pinpointed the cockatrice's lair. In the novel, its tears—Pavia's Gem—played a huge role. Beautiful, sure, but shrouded in mystery. I didn't even know its spot. How did this punk?
Intriguing. I toyed with my teacup handle. Something fishy. Like someone fed him the intel deliberately. Or else...
Ruin's face was dead serious. Aware he was begging, he held firm despite my dismissal.
Cockatrice... yeah, manageable for me. But something felt off. No appetite for it. Shady vibes. Couldn't trust the guy. Who'd help a random drop-in? Absurd.
Wished he'd pitch something constructive. My decision hinged on his offer.
I met his gaze steadily.
"What's the pay?"
"...Name your price. I'll deliver."
"How do you know what I'll ask?"
"Any amount. Keep it quiet, and I'll throw in extra. You're broke—solid deal, right?"
"Might as well buy me out with that cash."
Ruin clammed up, lips pursed, waiting for my next words. I smiled at him.
"One question. Who tipped you off on the cockatrice's location?"
He froze at that. Didn't expect penny-pinching me to probe like this.
Seizing momentum, I fired off my suspicions.
"From what I know, cockatrice habitats are notoriously hard to find. Adventurers charge a fortune just for coordinates."
"And yet... who spilled such premium intel?"
My sly grin pinned him.
"I'm dying to know."
Ruin stayed mute, gripping his teacup, head down. Awkward silence stretched.
Irritated, he muttered, "If you don't wanna, just say no. Quit the bullshit."
"Hm... yeah."
I returned his icy threat with a bland smile. A hedgehog doesn't bristle to kill—just defends. His barb was harmless; sidestep it.
I stated my theory outright. Only one source for such intel: his shady pal.
"Was it Hans?"
"...Shut up."
"Bingo."
Figured as much. Explained the sudden visit.
Grinning like I had a fun toy, I prodded.
"Tower life treating you well?"
"What?"
"Just curious."
"...It's fine."
His face paled; words garbled in panic. Amusing.
I smiled warmly.
"Get out."
No desire for prolonged chat.
*
Ruin raked his hair roughly as he trudged the dark alley.
"Fuck. Didn't work."
His trembling hands sparked noise. Slowly. Inch by inch. His face twisted. Green hair dulled to monotone black. Fierce eyes softened to model-student mildness.
"Haa..."
The man pulled black horn-rimmed glasses from his pocket, sighing.
"He caught on."
Hans. Freshly escaped the Tower, he thought bitterly of Ricardo, his jailer, with a wry smile. He'd mimicked Ruin perfectly, spun a plausible tale. Yet Ricardo's walls were taller than expected.
"Mad bastard."
A perfect trap, he'd thought. Money would lure him to the nest. Ease him in gradually. But the sharp-eyed Ricardo didn't bite.
"Grab Olivia?"
No—Desmont wouldn't sit idle. Neutral no more, their wrath would devastate the heretics. Couldn't risk the cause for personal grudge.
Regretful smile fading, Hans chanted.
"Teleport"
⟨ Teleport ⟩
*
And where Hans had vanished...
"Hm..."
A red-haired man stood smiling.
"Interesting."