Chapter 4

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 4

Chapter Title: The Count's Bratty Master (4)

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Serving a blind master was no easy task. For starters, Vincent was far too wary. Word was, since he'd shut himself in his room, I was the tenth person they'd hired. It started out with manservants before switching to maids midway, but most hadn't lasted—they'd quit early or just vanished without a trace.

Sudden vanishings aside, I could easily guess why no one stuck around long. Being blind made him hypersensitive to every sound in the world, sharpening his senses to a razor's edge.

And he never budged from the bed. Aside from the occasional necessary movement, he stayed glued to it. Especially when someone entered the room—he'd yank the sheets over himself in a flash.

On top of that, his temper was downright vile. Everything I brought got smashed to bits in a tantrum. And the moment he sensed even the slightest movement from me, he'd huddle tighter under those sheets, hiding away.

A cat couldn't be any more skittish.

The one time Vincent ever eased up was when the butler visited. The butler was the old gentleman who'd brought me here. He stopped by Vincent's room once a day, and the two of them seemed to hold some pretty serious discussions during that time. Vincent never pulled the sheets over himself then, showing a fairly earnest side. Every time I snuck a peek, I couldn't help thinking this must be his true self—a serious, passionate man.

But so what? He was a mess right now.

A plate whistled past my face and shattered against the wall. I was too worn out to even turn and check anymore.

"Get out."

I let out a heavy sigh and squeezed my eyes shut tight. At the sound, Vincent shrank into himself, but his eyes burned fierce.

"You don't seem to like me much."

"Yeah. I don't like you at all. So get out."

"What about me doesn't sit right? Tell me, and I'll fix it."

"Everything. One to ten, all of it."

That was a problem.

"I'll work hard to win you over."

"No need. Just vanish from my sight."

Ah, I just wanted to smack him upside the head once.

Disobedient kids needed a good knuckle-knock to straighten up. I shot a glance at his noggin. Just... one little tap? Couldn't I?

"What are you thinking?"

"......"

"Don't try anything stupid. I'll kill you."

Sensitive about that, huh. I shrugged and turned to clean up the broken plate.

What a shame. Could've fetched a nice price at the market. Smacking my lips in regret, I gathered the shards. Fine, meals could wait—first, the bedsheets.

"Master, we need to change the bedsheets."

"Don't come any closer."

"Just shift aside for a sec..."

It happened the moment I approached to pull them off.

Something flew straight at my forehead. The sharp impact blacked me out for a second. Steadying my wobbling body, I saw what had hit me and clattered to the floor: the desk clock.

I picked it up and checked—the hands had frozen; it was busted. I was floored.

"If you don't want it, just say no. Why risk something dangerous like..."

"What, scared you'll die? No one would give a damn if trash like you kicked it anyway."

I lifted my eyes from the clock and pinned them on him. Vincent had bared his face for once. He'd hurled an object that could've seriously hurt someone, yet he looked utterly calm. No—smirking.

"Your kind's all the same. Beggars who'd do anything for cash. Filthy, money-crazed scum. Think lowlifes like you fear death? You came here for the money, didn't you? Why else would you take an offer from some stranger you've never met?"

"......"

"Know why I hired you? Got some amazing talent? Reliable? Nah. Because killing you wouldn't matter. You know how to kiss ass, you're useful enough, and if you turn annoying later, I can off you no problem. That's you."

His words sliced into my chest like knife blades. They stabbed deep, viciously ripping me apart inside. How could anyone be so rotten? How could he spit out something so cruel? Still, no tears came. I'd heard it all before, too many times.

Blaming others is easy. Like breathing—rip into someone and feel better about yourself. People did it to me all the time. My father sometimes, even my only sister. They built up their own dignity by tearing me down. That was my worth.

So it didn't hurt. Not like when Father beat me black and blue.

Feeling shitty was a whole other thing, though.

"You're a real nasty piece of work."

"What?"

"A grand master like you lives in such squalor."

Vincent's face went beet red at my words. Glaring at nothing, he looked downright pathetic.

He gnashed his teeth and growled.

"Watch your mouth."

"One more thing—you nailed it. I am money-grubbing. Love the stuff."

"What?"

"Just like you said, Master, I'm disposable. If I vanished tomorrow, no one would care. You could order me killed right now, and I couldn't fight back. No need to fear me. Still not to your liking? Kill me then. Do it quick and clean if you please—no torture, that's messier. Oh, and no one's coming for revenge if I die. You picked a winner."

"......"

He finally clammed up. Surprise flickered in his vacant stare for a split second. Gone in a blink. As I closed in again, wariness snapped back on.

"Right, Master."

He groped around like he was hunting for a weapon to hurl, but I ignored it. Nothing left to throw anyway. Seizing his flustered moment, I planted myself by the bed.

"Pardon the intrusion."

I seized the sheet and yanked it clean off.

He didn't even groan—just tumbled across the bed. Then thud! He hit the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Changing the sheets, Master."

I shoved him aside with my foot as he started yapping and stripped the rest of the bedding. Slapped on the fresh sheets I'd prepped. Ignored his bellowing from the sidelines.

Next, I sat before him as he pawed the floor and undid his pajama buttons. He caught on and lunged a hand to stop me. I snagged it smooth, slammed it down, kneed it in place.

"What are you doing! Don't touch me!"

"Why? Got some killer body hidden away?"

"What?"

He blanked for a beat. Only when I'd unbuttoned everything and tugged backward did he finally writhe in full resistance. His strength caught me off guard—my balance tipped, and I pitched toward the floor. His freed hand clamped my head, shoving hard. But I dug in. Head yanked back, still I clung to those pajamas. Kneecapped his prying hand tighter, twisted with his thrashing to peel them off. His pinned hand bucked wildly, jolting me every which way—total chaos.

Mid-scuffle, he slipped up for a heartbeat. I flung the pajamas right off his shoulders.

About a year since he went blind, right? Half a year of holing up without real food.

Way too skinny.

No meat on those exposed bones.

Ribs jutting plain as day. Muscles wasted away. Clothed, he looked solid enough, but stripped? Nothing like it. I'd felt the bony grip when grabbing his arms before, figured he was skin and skeleton, but this bad? Bruises dotted him too, small ones everywhere.

Up close, his face was just as hollow, bloodless. Sunken eyes from no sleep. Dulled emerald irises, unfocused. Cracked, puffy lips wheezing ragged breaths.

One poke, and he'd crumble.

Grown man or not, that's what hit me.

Pitiful.

I stroked his cheek without thinking. He flinched, twisted away. Eyes downcast, lips sealed tight. Shame, plain as day.

I pulled my hand back. Lifted my knee off his, shoved his shoulder. He toppled limp; I stripped his pants. Conscience spared the undies.

Dirty pajamas in hand, I fetched fresh ones from the wardrobe. He'd curled tight, skinny frame clutched in his arms. Spine knobs poking out—ugly sight.

"If you wanna keep stinking up the joint, can't stop you. But as your maid, I wanna keep you pristine—bear with my good intentions. Extend those arms for the new clothes, and I'll be ever so grateful."

"I'll kill you."

"Yes, sir. Arms straight up, please."

Grabbed his bony arm. He resisted like hell, but weak sauce. A man's strength this puny? Spoke volumes about room-bound life.

Instead of forcing it, I looped the sleeve on his wrist. He fumbled it onto himself. Embarrassed to be stripped, huh? Acted oblivious, smoothed it out for easy wear.

"Pants here. Undies too."

"......"

No answer. Wasn't holding my breath.

Shoved the rest in his hand, headed to the bed. Swapped pillowcase, sheets. Beamed at the spotless setup, glanced back. Good—he'd managed pants.

His cleaned-up look warmed me right up. Approached smiling. He propped on the floor, trying to rise. Reached to help—he swatted fierce. Groped air, hellbent on solo-walking to bed. Stubborn ass.

"Master, rightward ho."

"Shut it."

Said that, but turned right meek enough. I scooped the shed clothes behind him. Hang on—where's the...? Undies?

"Master, gotta change those undies too."

......He bolted to bed, yanking fresh sheets head to toe, rustling into the corner. Speechless. Sniffed close—reeking foul.

No way...?

"You skip the underwear?"

"Get out."

Gross. Hey, Master—leaning in, sheet flapped. Something jabbed out from within.

Cold metal kissed my forehead: a gun.

Frozen in shock, he squeezed the trigger.