004. Because It's More Fun. (3)

6. The midday sun blazed down into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠general cabin, drawing countless eyes toward Lancel.

Unlike the noble-exclusive rooms where one could lounge alone, the general cabins were packed so tight there wasn't even standing room.

She's somewhere in here. Marygold.

Lancel pushed his way through the crowd of puzzled onlookers.

"Hey, no room here—who's shoving?!"

"Argh! Who was that? Someone stepped on me!"

"This bastard trying to sneak by? Don't even think about touching my stuff!"

"What bullshit! When did I touch it?!"

"You punk!"

Brawls and shouts erupted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in Lancel's wake.

After scouring the first general cabin amid the chaos, he moved straight to the next. Second, third, fourth... After eight repeats, he'd reached the last car of the train in no time.

How much did they skimp to save money?

The baggage car had no windows—the cheapest seats. Noisy wheel clatter, musty mold, humid air thick with sweat and breath, and the faintly nauseating stench of booze.

Lancel stepped in, eyeing the space dubiously, wondering if she was really here.

"Where'd this damn brat come from, picking fights?!"

Then, a commotion erupted from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠afar.

"I said polish my shoes—did I say I'd pay? What a joke, this little punk."

"You said you would! One copper coin!"

"Got proof?"

"Everyone else heard it!"

"You lot really hear that?"

"He said he'd pay, old timer. Stingy over one copper and scamming a kid now?"

"What? You bastards ganging up...?"

"Heard it, right? Pay up quick!"

"Beat it, you beggar brat!"

Slap! A sharp smack echoed, followed by a tiny shadow tumbling to the floor with a yelp.

"Ungrateful punk! For one copper to shine shoes? I'd do it myself! Didn't even get that clean anyway."

Lancel spotted the girl slumped on the ground. Petite frame, golden hair tied tightly back, shabby clothes peeking from a worn cape. Her emerald eyes glistened with tears, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she clutched her reddened cheek and lunged with a fist.

The old drunk, caught off guard by the counterattack, took the blow straight to the groin.

"Gaaak...!"

"Oof."

No doubt about it.

"Money! Give it!"

That face. Grimy and hard to recognize at first, but memories surfaced.

"You flea-bitten brat, you really stepped in it now."

"Uh, uhh?!"

"That crazy old man's...!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

From the drunk's flushed, rage-twisted collar emerged a glinting blade.

The girl's face hardened.

"What, you think a body that's survived twenty years in the brothels fears spilling blood, you damn brat?!"

Just before he thrust the knife, someone grabbed his arm. Lancel.

"Who the hell—?!"

The backward swing tore Lancel's coat hem long.

"Yeah. That's why I've wasted ten years over and over."

"Wha—guhk!"

A light palm to the jaw sent the drunk crumpling.

Lancel had already snatched the man's pouch with his other hand. He pulled out a thick wad of coins.

"Silver coins!"

The guy looked broke, but he was loaded.

Lancel handed the whole bundle to the fifteen-year-old girl before him.

"Just because it's right doesn't mean you always fight for it. Sometimes you gotta let dirty stuff slide. Here, take it."

"Tha...nk you... sir..."

After glancing around, she plucked just one copper coin from the pile.

Lancel stared blankly at the coins overflowing his palm, then tucked them back into the drunk's pouch.

"What's your name?"

He met her eyes directly.

The train wheels roared. Light leaked through cracks in the splintered wooden walls, briefly sweeping over them.

In that frozen moment of silence, her lips parted slowly.

"Mary."

Marygold.

Lancel had met Marygold.

7. Lancel chatted briefly with Marygold right there. Nothing major.

"Mary. Where's home?"

"Pardon? Home is..."

"Exactly where from? Why the train? Anyone with you?"

It felt like a light background check.

Marygold's face flickered with wariness. Lancel cleared his throat softly.

Too many curiosities overrode any warm greeting.

"You look young traveling alone, so I asked."

"...I'm not that young. Fifteen this year."

Even in this world, fifteen was still a kid. And Marygold was on the shorter side for her age, making her seem younger. The game system's nutrition affecting growth.

"Follow me."

"Huh?"

"You need work, right?"

Marygold's eyes widened.

"H-how'd you know?"

"Shining boots for drunks? Anyone could tell you need a job."

"Oh."

She nodded, embarrassed but convinced.

She hurried after Lancel, blurting as she caught up.

"Wait, yeah I need work, but not anything. I don't do just anything."

Doubts swirled—could she trust this guy?

"We think alike. I wouldn't hand any job to a strange kid either. So quit yapping and follow."

"Not a kid, fifteen... ugh!"

Marygold shoved through the throng with all her might.

By the second general cabin, she was panting, exhausted.

"Huff... where the hell are we going?"

"Almost there."

They reached the first general cabin. Marygold slumped against the wall, catching her breath.

"Hah, hah... never thought you'd drag me all the way..."

"What're you doing? Still gotta go."

"Huh?"

"Follow."

Marygold, dazed, grabbed Lancel's collar suddenly.

"Wait, hold on—that's not it! That's the noble car!"

"Is it?"

"Yes! This guy's kinda..."

"Kinda what?"

Lancel chuckled dryly, reaching for the noble car door.

"Eek!"

Marygold knew well: a commoner barging into noble space meant death by guard's blade, no sympathy.

Bandits and assassins hid there sometimes.

"Who dares..."

A armored guard's glare shot through the door crack.

Marygold paled, yanking Lancel's waist to flee. Maybe mercy if they ran now.

So she thought—until the guard's glare softened.

"Sir Lancel."

"Please refrain from entering general cabins, Sir Lancel. If something happens, it's on us."

"If you're that worried, why not follow?"

"Leaving this post? Our heads would roll—what're you saying?"

"I'll be careful next time."

Marygold gawked, alternating between guard and Lancel.

"Sir Lancel, who's the kid clinging behind?"

"Picked her up."

"Pardon?"

The guard just shrugged.

Lancel approached the room next to his bedroom, where his accompanying maid stayed.

He knocked; she appeared, clothes neat.

"Need something, young master?"

"Give this one work for a bit. Use her as you like till the capital."

The maid asked nothing, nodded, and took Marygold's hand.

"Mary. Five copper coins daily from today—help out. Useless? You're gone."

Of course, no real intent to ditch. He'd cling to her instead.

But Marygold nodded vigorously, stunned. From boot-shining beggar to this windfall.

The maid smiled, patting her head.

"Lucky you. Five coppers is generous. By arrival, that's six silver coins."

Didn't say meals yet.

Planned to anyway, but the game system hyping solo felt odd. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Servants got basic ingredients on trains, probably that.

What if I say no?

Lancel pondered briefly, then let it slide. No mood for it.

8. That night, Lancel lay in bed, sleep evading him oddly.

Marygold's face—met after thirty years—lingered.

Noble till ten, then suddenly commoner—or worse—drifting here.

Is Marygold really the one to pull me from regression?

No sure answer. Only candidate besides her.

This endless loop he'd endured nearing two centuries past a hundred stemmed from her 'restart' in the game, right?

Simple fix: stop her restarting.

But how? Tell her outright? Can she even choose?

Dunno.

After long brooding, his bedroom door creaked open quietly.

A small shadow slipped in stealthily.

He knew who.

Marygold?

The Fallen Lady Marygold. Sneaking into Lancel's room.

"Why keep nagging? That yapping... I got it handled."

Chatting with something unseen.