Chapter 3

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 3

Chapter Title: The Count's Impossible Master (3)

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Isabella approached the window and drew back the curtains, allowing beams of light to flood into the room. She opened the window fully, letting in a rush of cool air that finally eased the stifling atmosphere.

Across from the window, in a dark corner untouched by the light, sat a bed. On top of it, the sheets bulged in a rounded shape. I spotted an arm protruding from beneath them and realized there was a person inside.

Isabella drew closer to the bed. The sheets twitched, then slowly retreated. But there was nowhere for it to escape.

"Are you awake, Master?"

"......Get out."

A hoarse voice laced with anger leaked out. Isabella clasped her hands politely and replied.

"It's time for dinner. I've prepared something easy to eat, so please have it all for the sake of your health."

"Get out!"

The rounded lump moved swiftly, grabbing a vase from the nightstand and hurling it. Isabella tilted her head slightly, and the vase whistled past her ear before shattering against the floor.

I gaped in shock at the outrageous scene, but Isabella remained utterly calm.

"I'll fetch a new vase."

"I don't need it. Don't come here."

"And I've brought the girl who will attend to you from now on."

Isabella nodded toward me. I'd been standing frozen by the door in stunned horror, but I quickly schooled my expression and stepped up beside her.

Up close, the figure on the bed was larger than I'd expected. A grown man, judging by his build. Though his face was completely covered, the voice I'd heard earlier and the glimpses of his form confirmed it.

"P-Pleased to meet you, Master."

"This girl will handle your needs from now on. If there's anything you require, just tell her. We'll prepare it right away."

"I look forward to serving you."

I pressed my hands together against my stomach and bowed deeply. But the only response was curt.

"Scram."

And even rougher this time.

I flinched, shoulders trembling, and glanced up at Isabella. She continued without missing a beat.

"I'll bring your dinner."

She turned toward the door. Her gait was as steady and unchanged as when we'd arrived. My heart pounded from the shock, but seeing her unflappable demeanor, I secretly admired her. Just as I hurried to follow—

A hand suddenly shot out, groping toward the knife on a plate atop the nightstand. Spotting him slowly lifting it, I whirled back in alarm.

"That's dangerous! You'll hurt yourself!"

I lunged to grab his hand. But in my haste, I didn't watch my step.

My foot caught on the sheet trailing across the floor, and I slipped. In the split second of wait, what?, my vision flipped upside down. My flailing hand snagged something.

Something crashed down on me as I fell backward. Before I could feel the impact of my head hitting the floor, a heavy weight slammed into my chest. I gasped, tongue lolling out, eyes squeezing shut.

"Master!"

Isabella's urgent cry made me realize the one pinning me was the Master—Vincent.

I snapped my eyes open in shock. His face was right there, inches from mine. Thick brows over emerald eyes, a straight nose, full lips twisted in a snarl. The kind of handsome face that could make anyone do a double-take on the street. I found myself gaping dumbly.

But something was off. Vincent, who seemed just as startled as I was, suddenly glanced around wildly. Those emerald eyes stared off into empty space.

No, on closer look, even the color of his irises was strange. They had a faint milky sheen.

His hands reached toward my face. His long fingers brushed the hair covering my cheeks, and I shoved him away in panic, scrambling backward. Only then did I realize what I'd done.

I quickly checked on Vincent. He'd fallen back too and was now groping at the floor with frantic hands.

Narrowing my eyes at the oddity, I watched as Isabella helped him up. Vincent's hands patted desperately at her as she lifted him. He hesitated, then straightened. His head still whipped this way and that.

Just like...

"His eyes..."

Someone who couldn't see.

His frantically turning face froze. Isabella shot me a sharp glare. I realized too late that I'd spoken out of turn.

Before I could stammer an apology, Vincent's expression turned ferocious. He bellowed and started hurling whatever he could grab in my direction.

Crash! Thud! Bang! I was defenseless against the barrage. I raised my arms to shield myself, but it was futile. Isabella was suddenly at my side, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. She showed no surprise, as if this were routine. I trailed after her in a fluster, heart racing.

Only once we were out and the door closed did the commotion stop. I clutched my pounding chest. My usually steady heart was in turmoil.

"He's very sensitive. Be careful from now on. Especially watch your mouth."

"......Yes."

With that, Isabella turned and left without another word. I sighed as I watched her go. I had a feeling life here wouldn't be easy.

And that day ended with the dinner we'd so carefully brought getting flipped over by Vincent. My room was right next to his. Normally, servants' quarters were on a different floor, but I was to stay adjacent in case he called for me anytime. Damn it all.

Still, I fell asleep under clean blankets on the softest bed I'd ever known. Strange noises woke me a few times, but it was satisfying all the same.

The next day, after dressing properly and bringing breakfast, I took a pillow to the face.

Vincent Bellunita.

That's the man I'd be serving from now on.

The only child of the esteemed Count and Countess Bellunita, he'd drawn attention since childhood with his striking looks and brilliant mind, earning acclaim in various fields. His parents' marriage was blissfully happy, making their family the envy of all who saw them.

Then tragedy struck. The Count and Countess perished in an unexpected accident, leaving Vincent to inherit the house at a young age. Rumors swirled that he was too inexperienced, but against all doubts, he managed the family brilliantly. Their prestige only grew day by day.

...That was the happy past.

Then one day, disaster befell him.

It was a party hosted by the royal family. The event had been going smoothly until a man charged at him with a knife, turning the scene into chaos. The assassin was one of the Bellunita household's servants. Fortunately, Vincent's guards protected him, limiting his injuries to minor wounds. But the strange powder the assassin threw into his eyes was the real problem.

At first, it was just a slight stinging. Then his vision gradually blurred, shapes becoming indistinct, until suddenly darkness swallowed all light.

He'd gone blind.

After that, Vincent Bellunita shut himself away in his room—that was the story up to now. The public knew only that Count Vincent Bellunita had been injured at the party and was recuperating.

Rumors flew that he might be involved since the assassin wore Bellunita livery, but they died down quickly. It turned out the man had just disguised himself as a servant; he wasn't one of theirs. His identity and motives remained a mystery.

In the end, Vincent was blind, a secret known only to a handful of close aides—not even the other mansion staff. That's why I alone had to attend him. And do it discreetly.

Secrecy was one of the conditions for my employment. I wasn't to breathe a word of anything that happened here. I nodded and signed the contract, implicitly agreeing to the consequences of breaking it.

It didn't matter anyway. I just planned to do my best. But serving Vincent proved far, far harder than I'd imagined.

"Take it all out!"

Crash—the twelfth plate met its end. I sighed inwardly at the shattered pieces, then knelt to clean them up. Instantly, glasses and utensils scattered across the floor.

"Get lost!"

Wrapped head to toe in his sheet, he spat the words like a bristling cat—one that dared you to try taming it.

Stray cats often hung around Uncle Mark's bakery. One grew thinner by the day, and feeling sorry for it, I'd sneak it bits of bread. It started wary, but eventually approached, ate from my hand, and even rubbed against me with a purr.

But he was no stray kitten. He was huge, a full-grown man. I gathered the shards and utensils onto a tray and looked at Vincent.

"I'll bring more."

"I don't need it. Get out."

"Tell me if there's anything you'd like. I'll ask the chef."

"Just not you."

"Then I'll leave it here."

"I said I don't need it!"

Vincent bellowed and shrank back. Without retorting, I scanned him up and down. His hair was a tangled mess, his clothes stretched and stained. The sheet beneath him was yellowed, who knew how long since it'd been changed.

"We should change the sheets too. And your clothes. A quick bath would be good. I'll prepare the water."

"Get out! I said get out!"

Aaaagh! His bellow rang in my ears. No wonder his voice was hoarse. Yet his venom never faded. If anything, it grew fiercer by the day.

I swallowed my rising frustration multiple times a day. I'd lived too softly before. Already this drained? I shook my head and took a deep breath.

I knew the spoiled tempers of the elite. Not just them—most who'd hired me acted the same. Poor, female—I'd endured every insult and humiliation. Even the household of that devil's spawn was no different.

I'd survived it all. Don't look down on a poor girl!

"I'll bring more. Please wait."

I turned and left without looking back.

The moment the door shut, something thudded against it. A pillow, probably. I sighed deeply, judging by the sound, and stomped off down the hall.