Chapter 1

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 1

Chapter Title: The Count Household's Bratty Master (1)

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• Note

In this work, unlike their dictionary meanings,

we use the terms as follows:

‘Maid: A person who attends at one's side,

Servant: A person who handles cleaning and other menial tasks without personal attendance.’

Please keep this in mind as you enjoy the story.

Prologue

This was a place where even the creaking noises felt eerie. Every step I took echoed loudly with the sound of my shoes, making me even more cautious.

I walked neither too fast nor too slow, my back slightly hunched. I finally came to a halt with a soft tap in front of a familiar door.

Before opening it, I caught my breath. In, out, in, out—after a few short breaths, I grasped the doorknob and turned it.

Shadows from the room, darker than the corridor, rushed toward me. The pitch-black interior was so devoid of light that even stepping inside felt hesitant.

Yet I entered familiarly and flung open the long curtains. A blinding beam of light poured in, strong enough to make my eyes water.

Dazzling. Still, I pulled the curtains all the way and turned around.

At that moment, something flew swiftly past my face.

Thud! It was a desk clock that crashed against the window frame, bounced off, and rolled across the floor. I glanced at it briefly before shifting my gaze forward.

In the farthest corner from the window, where thick shadows pooled, stood the bed. On it was a round shape covered by a sheet. The only thing sticking out was a hand clutching the edge of the sheet tightly. It trembled visibly with fear.

"Get out."

A hoarse, cracked voice leaked out, thick with anger.

I ignored it completely and picked up the fallen desk clock from the floor. A nail was sticking out, and the wooden face was splintered—it was clearly broken beyond repair. I placed it on the fresh sheet I was holding and scanned the chaotic room.

Dishes lay shattered in pieces, their fragments scattered dangerously across the floor, mingled with forks and spoons. But it wasn't just the dishes; nothing in this room was intact.

I picked up the items one by one as I stepped forward. The round shape flinched with every sound of my footsteps.

"Get out."

The voice rang out again.

I ignored it once more and approached the bed. Whatever was making it so anxious writhed on top, groping the bedside table before retreating backward. With nothing left to throw, it had chosen flight. But even flight only led to the headboard. It huddled pitifully against the wall.

I scanned it from top to bottom and reached out. Sensing this, it slapped my hand away sharply.

"Don't touch me."

As if. Pretending not to hear, I swiftly yanked the sheet away. The figure beneath staggered, revealing itself.

Tousled golden hair, a startled twist of the neck, and protruding shoulder bones came into view. My gaze traveled downward. I didn't need to check to know how gaunt the body hidden beneath the clothes had become.

Lifting my eyes again, I saw sweat beading on his face up close. As I reached out once more, he slapped my hand away fiercely.

"Don't touch me!"

A thunderous shout followed.

"I told you to get out! Get out! Scram!"

With curses flying, I finally let out a deep sigh.

The man's pale face flushed red with fever. His chapped lips heaved with ragged breaths. Even so, he gripped the sheet so tightly his knuckles turned white, refusing to let go.

"Scram. Please, just scram!"

"Calm down, Master."

"Get out! Go, scram— Gah!"

As expected, the man's breathing grew labored. His flushed face paled again, and soon he clutched his chest in agony.

I quickly pulled him into my arms and took an inhaler from my pocket, placing it in his mouth. Gently stroking his back, I said,

"Slowly, breathe."

Listening to me, he struggled to regulate his breaths. Inhaling through the inhaler, in and out repeatedly, his heaving chest gradually settled. After watching for a moment, I removed the inhaler from his mouth.

"Hah, hah."

"You're alright now."

His face was drenched in sweat before I knew it. Strands of damp golden hair spilled over my clothes. I stroked his hair in praise, and his tightly shut eyelids fluttered weakly open. Emerald eyes tinged with pallor turned toward me.

In that instant, my body was shoved backward.

"Ack!"

In the blink of an eye, I tumbled off the bed with a thud.

My skirt flipped up, exposing my undergarments entirely. As my legs kicked in the air, a face suddenly popped into view above me.

His dazed gaze, fixed straight ahead, slowly drifted downward. It couldn't be, but it felt like he was staring right at me. His excessively pale, excessively handsome face filled my vision.

His moist lips parted quietly.

"Get out."

A crack ran across my face. Damn bastard, anyway.

I was the daughter of a tenant farmer, born with nothing and raised with nothing. Things got so bad we could barely afford scraps to eat.

A hand-to-mouth existence, brutal poverty—that was my entire life, just struggling within it.

The funny thing was, there were five children amid all that.

Unable to endure the crushing poverty, our mother fled alone, leaving our father to drink and rage every day.

Under his hands, the baby youngest died from beatings, the fourth from starvation, the second was sold to a brothel, and at least the third, being pretty-faced, was raised like gold and jewels. The plan was to marry her off to a noble's young master and turn our luck around.

And I, the ugly eldest, was kept around because I was good at housework.

My days consisted of cooking, laundry, cleaning, tending to the third sister, working at Uncle Mark's bakery in town by day, and taking beatings from Father by night.

A grueling life with not a moment to breathe.

My ugly face swelled even uglier from the blows, and during my growth spurt, my leg broke, stunting my height abruptly. Ugly dwarf—that's what the village kids called me.

If hell existed, I thought it was right here. I envied the third sister growing more beautiful by the day, and Father's violence was unbearable. I'd tried hanging myself several times. But bad luck always intervened—caught by Father, spotted by a passerby, or the rope snapping just before I blacked out.

This was my prison, and I was a prisoner suffering without knowing my crime. No, even a real prison might've been better.

The only reason Father hadn't sold me to a brothel was that he needed someone for housework. But half of that was a lie. I'd heard from the village gossips: when I was little, sucking my thumb innocently, he'd tried selling me cheap because I was ugly, but ended up keeping me to teach chores instead.

Mother called Father devil spawn. I followed suit. My future life would be dictated by that devil spawn.

If this wasn't tragedy, what was?

But the gods didn't abandon me entirely.

My stunted height miraculously grew a handspan, my brittle bangs covered my ugly face, and just as I became marriageable age, an Old Gentleman visited the village. Why such an impeccably refined old man came to our tiny backwater, I never knew.

As he wandered the village, he beckoned me when I happened to pass by.

"I'd like to hire your daughter."

The Old Gentleman politely offered a pouch of gold coins. Father's eyes glazed over at the gold; he swallowed hard as his vile mind raced between the old man and the pouch on the table.

Father restrained his twitching hand, itching to snatch it, and composed his face.

"Sir, it's an honor that my lowly daughter has caught your eye, but she's only good for begging and such—very inexperienced. If she ever displeases you later..."

"No need to worry. Even if she doesn't meet my standards, I won't ask for this back."

The Old Gentleman slid the pouch toward Father and replied calmly. Father forced down his rising smirk and turned to me beside him. His gaze mimicked a loving father, sending chills down my spine.

"Child, Father respects your wishes. Money's nice, but not more important than you. Speak your mind freely."

With that, his large hand gripped my skinny wrist with bone-crushing force. Outwardly the concerned father, but his eyes gleamed savagely at the gold.

The Old Gentleman quietly awaited my response too. Refusing here would send him seeking another girl, and Father would beat his stubborn daughter to death as punishment.

"I'll go."

"My girl."

Father pulled me into a tearful embrace, his voice thick with feigned emotion. I suppressed the urge to shove away as his hand leisurely stroked my back.

I packed swiftly and followed the Old Gentleman. My belongings fit in one bag—no extra clothes or items. The only difference from usual was swapping my dirt-caked rags for a pretty dress embroidered with flowers.

"Farewell. Be careful."

At the door, Father patted my shoulder—a silent command to please the gentleman.

Alicia, the third sister standing beside him, glanced at me and smirked.

"Bye, sis. Stay gone forever."

She mouthed the last part. Seeing no reaction from me, she wiped her smile and pouted sulkily.

I shot back at her with one line.

"Take good care of that pretty face. It's all you've got."

"What?!"

Leaving the fuming Alicia behind, I turned away.

The Old Gentleman led me to a grand mansion that left my eyes wide. Far larger and more imposing than the wealthiest lord's estate in my village. Wow. I let out a pure gasp of awe and followed him inside.

"You've arrived."

A neatly dressed middle-aged woman greeted the Old Gentleman. He nodded once and removed his bowler hat.

Spotting me behind him, the woman asked,

"And this child?"

"She's to attend the Master from now on."

Master? As I puzzled over it and looked at the Old Gentleman, he gestured for me to step forward. Hesitating, I did, and the woman eyed me up and down appraisingly. Tense, I swallowed and waited obediently.

"I see."

Whether it was approval or not, she nodded and turned. The Old Gentleman turned the opposite way too. I glanced between the parting pair and followed the woman.