After the sarcasm faded, I turned away from the sinking sun and faced Zarra.

  “Hey, Zarra.”

  “Hm?”

  “The day’s ending,” I said quietly. “Let’s talk about something serious.”

  She nodded once. “Yes. I enjoyed the rest, but you’re right. Then—”

  “I don’t have any proper currency.”

  Her hand instinctively moved toward her chest with faint disappointment. She had probably already decided to offer payment again.

  Did she think I was some basement-dwelling parasite?

  Maybe.

  Or maybe it was simply because I was still under her surveillance.

  Either way, it didn’t matter.

  I gently caught her wrist before she could finish the gesture.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She blinked.

  “I can’t accept debt.”

  In my previous world, debts vanished when someone died. Laws erased them as if they had never existed. Yet the feeling never disappeared with them. It always lingered somewhere in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment to twist my stomach.

  That’s the kind of person I was.

  And still am.

  I gestured toward the kunai and shuriken that had finally been returned to me.

  “Do you think I could sell these?”

  Zarra studied them carefully, turning one of the blades between her fingers. Her expression shifted from curiosity to professional assessment.

  “Hm… I believe so,” she said slowly. “I’ve never seen weapons like these before. You would need to visit a weapons merchant and demonstrate their use.”

  She paused, thinking.

  “You could likely receive four gold coins. Possibly more.”

  Good. She understood what I was really asking.

  “Thank yo—”

  Wait.

  Why is the pavement so close?

  Thump.

  Ah.

  Right.

  Despite being stable, I was still extremely damaged.

  Which meant I had just fallen face-first into the ground.

  Great.

  Now I was definitely going to owe these people even more.

  Apparently I fainted.

  That’s what Zarra told me when I opened my eyes.

  The first thing I saw was a tall building looming above me: her home.

  This little incident had completely derailed my original plan of registering at an inn. And, as expected, it had increased my debt to the knight.

  Naturally.

  And the way I first entered that house?

  Princess-carried by the lady knight.

  Again.

  My protests did manage to accomplish something this time, however. After some arguing, alongside some extra of body stability, I managed to pursue her into simply lending me her shoulder for support..

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Now, some details about this girl... She is super wealthy, based not only on her house, but personnel too.

  As soon as we arrived, steel gates taller than a house opened slowly before us with a long, echoing creak. I made a mental note to get some rust oil and deal with the doors myself.

  Cannot live in a world with dramatic horror-movie gate sounds.

  The estate beyond was… large. Not palace large, but undeniably noble. Before I could process it fully, a man stepped forward to greet us.

  Tall.

  Perfect posture.

  White hair.

  White mustache.

  White eyebrows.

  Pitch-black, eagle's eyes.

  He bowed to us — me included — and presented himself. Apparently all novel authors have a thing for the faithful 'Sebastian' stereotype...

  What I did not expect… were his stats. Most were blocked, just like Zarra’s.

  Except two.

  Level.

  And Speed.

  Level: 88

  My soul almost ascended on the spot.

  Why would a butler be level eighty-eight!?

  Whatever, brushing past that and moving onto his next available stat. The only time I had ever seen "Speed: N/A” was when the status window could not calculate my speed due to being half-dead and incapable of moving.

  Meaning this man either possessed absurd mobility skills or used to be something far more dangerous than a butler.

  Former assassin?

  Retired executioner?

  Living natural disaster disguised as household staff?

  Haaaah... Sure why not. Probably survivable... I say probably because the rate kept going down every time I met someone new.

  The gardener, Alfred — Level 57.

  The pretty maids?

  Thirty-five to forty-five.

  Every single servant here was stronger than Zarra’s patrol troops.

  I didn’t even question it for long and came to peace with my soon-to-be death.

  (?? ? ???)

  No, but seriously now, if I had their kind of power, I’d also choose a peaceful coexistence with guaranteed employee benefits and zero spiders.

  However, despite that self-reassurance, my mind kept rolling and rolling and rolling. One wrong move, one suspicious answer or one accidental skill reveal, and I was dead meat.

  Balancing secrecy and honesty suddenly felt like walking across a tightrope over a pit full of very polite executioners.

  And the worst part?

  I already knew my weakness.

  One encounter with that spider had taught me everything I needed to know about my pain tolerance.

  If I were to wake up strapped vertically to an interrogation table and presented a sirynge…

  I’d confess my entire reincarnation résumé within a minute.

  No heroism.

  No resistance.

  Just immediate surrender.

  ???????????????????

  From the meeting point to the main entrance of the miniature castle—

  oh, sorry.

  House.

  —we walked barely five meters along a perfectly symmetrical grass path.

  And when I say perfect, I mean terrifyingly perfect.

  The lawn looked like it had been measured with military precision. Not a single blade of grass dared grow out of formation. The surroundings were adorned with carefully positioned tree, their crowns trimmed into elegant cone shapes, flowers blooming from maintained openings like christmas ornaments.

  Yeah.

  That gardener was absolutely cracked.

  Birds fluttered away from a marble fountain positioned beside a small picnic table and garden chairs. Water shimmered under the evening light, turning the entire courtyard into something straight out of a noble painting.

  Sweet place. I would’ve designed it exactly like this.

  We climbed a short set of stairs and reached another door. Unlike the gates, this one was dark, nearly black, and very shiny.

  'Zarra' was carved directly into its wood.

  This was it. I took a deep breath blaming my lust for allowing me to be dragged into, possibly, enemy territory. My imagination was displaying in 1080p full HD all the methods they'd be using to force answers out of me.

  Guided by the butler-from-hell and the beautiful knight responsible for my permanent [Under Surveillance] debuff, I mentally prepared myself for interrogation equipment, restraints, maybe ominous chains—

  The door opened.

  Pink.

  ...

  Pink!?

  The room was light pink.

  “…Haaa?” escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

  Not aggressively pink. Not childish.

  Just… soft.

  Warm.

  Comfortable.

  A giant window filled the far wall, long curtains framing the fading dusk. A massive bed stretched from the right wall straight into the center of the room, covered in neatly arranged pillows.

  And on the floor beside it lay a gigantic chestnut-colored teddy bear. Dust marks revealed that it had fallen off the bed recently.

  Zarra froze, her cheeks turned red.

  Without a word, she hurried forward, grabbed the bear, and awkwardly shoved it on top of the wardrobe as if attempting to erase evidence of its existence.

  Too late.

  Evidence recorded permanently.

  The wardrobe was on the left side of the room, stretching so much it covered that wall completely. It stood open, revealing rows of clothing — surprisingly modern designs mixed with elegant dresses.

  And at the end of all'dat… armor.

  Three full sets.

  Shining neatly like formal outfits.

  One crimson.

  One gray.

  One black.

  I blinked.

  “I… have questions,” I whispered internally.

  Between the wardrobe and the window sat a wooden chest filled with blades.

  Not polished weapons. Old ones. Dulled edges. Scratched metal. Used up and retired.

  But clearly treasured.

  Also, each one was unique. No same blade appeared twice.

  That explained why she was holding that bastard blade at the weapon shop earlier.

  She hadn't found her battlefield partner yet.

  Okay, cool room, but why show it to me?

  Zarra turned toward me, regaining her composure.

  “We will share this room,” she said calmly. “The manor currently has no unoccupied guest rooms.”

  Ah, there it is.

  ═══════════════

  Currently active debuffs:

  - Under Surveillance

  ═══════════════

  “It will also allow me to keep an eye on you for the time being.”

  She smiled gently.

  Which somehow made it sound more threatening.

  Then she added casually,

  “Don't worry, my family does not require much sleep. We are blessed with the Owling skill.”

  My appraisal reacted to her words, a new notification flickered within her status window.

  ════════════════

  SIK3-N783Y

  ════════════════

  "…I've seen that somewhere before."

  I whispered the thought aloud, earning a raised eyebrow from Sebastian.