CHAPTER 9
✦ ✦ ✦
Locked in a tense gaze with Jehee, my face twisted into an expression of frustration as I spat out curses. In response, a menacing red status window appeared:
[Warning: Master's mood has deteriorated, resulting in a loss of -1 Beauty Points.]
[Warning: Beauty Points skill status is now negative, initiating the 'Melancholy' status effect.]
I felt a heavy weight on my shoulders, draining my energy. As I blinked, meeting his eyes, he playfully winked and seemed to dismiss the virtual status window with a sweep of his hand, followed by a sweet smile.
I was in deep trouble.
The tears that threatened to spill – were they a reaction to the ring's status effect, or were they genuine?
"Our master even manages to look beautiful while smiling," Jehee commented with a forced chuckle that soon turned into a genuine laugh, giving me a thumbs-up.
Then, suddenly...
[Master's mood has improved, awarding +1 Beauty Points.]
[Beauty Points skill status has been restored to 0, dispelling the 'Melancholy' status effect.]
"You're adapting quickly, already negating the status effect. Keep it up, but be careful with your actions." Jehee continued, his smile unwavering, while I stood speechless, a curse dying on my lips. Deep down, I knew this situation was all wrong.
My initial fear was justified. My first year was looking to be a disaster.
The reality of my predicament hit me as I returned home, feeling like a prisoner trapped in an absurd contract.
"My situation is completely hopeless," I mumbled to myself, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Despite living in this house for a month, I still couldn't navigate it properly.
After a long search, I finally found what I was looking for and grabbed it – a bottle of cooking oil.
"I know it's a long shot, but..."
The air was thick with tension as I uncapped the cooking oil, hoping against hope for a way out. I dipped my finger in the oil and twisted the ring vigorously, but it just spun in place, refusing to budge.
"Why won't this cursed ring come off!" I exclaimed in frustration.
[Master has activated the Servant Summoning skill. Summoning in 3, 2, 1.]
Panic surged through me. "No, cancel it! Cancel the skill!"
[Warning: Servant summoning cannot be revoked by the Master!]
[Warning: Servant summoning cannot be revoked by the Master!]
"Skill cancellation?" I murmured in despair.
Frozen in place, I felt a chill run down my spine as a calm voice emerged from behind. The bottle of cooking oil slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
"Curse the laws of gravity!"
With a heavy heart, I bowed my head in defeat. But before I could fully sink into despair, I sensed someone closing in from behind. In this awkward situation, I instinctively hid my hand in my sleeve.
The man behind me asked in a nonchalant tone, "What are you up to?"
"Just... nothing important," I mumbled, evasive.
"Why are you hiding your hand then?"
Suddenly, a large hand reached out, grasping my oily one and lifting it up. The oil dripped from my fingertips, staining the back of my hand and the sleeve.
The sight of the sleeve soaking up the oil was a sad sight indeed. How could anyone understand this feeling?
"I was trying to cook," I lied.
"But you said you were doing nothing."
"Cooking is... like doing nothing for me..."
How much longer would I have to spin these weak excuses? How much more could I take?
Determined, I looked up, trying to pull my hand away, but his gentle grip was surprisingly strong.
The man, with an unreadable expression, finally asked, "The watch?"
I remembered then that I had taken it off as soon as I got home.
Caught in a quandary, I weighed the consequences of revealing the truth about the watch. Would it trigger another tense episode like the one I had barely avoided earlier with my feeble excuses?
"I took it off to wash my hands," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Modern watches are usually water-resistant, especially those from that brand," he pointed out, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You seemed quite fond of it earlier. You're aware of its features, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am, you cheeky young man. But who was it that roughly grabbed my wrist earlier?"
"I couldn't help myself; it's an exceptional watch..."
"But I was hesitant to react, thinking it might be a special gift from Jehee Hunter."
Despite my efforts to remain composed, my voice betrayed a hint of agitation. Only then did he release my wrist. The grip hadn't been painful, but the sensation lingered, and I found myself rubbing my wrist, feeling unsettled.
"Be more careful next time. A watch like that deserves to be treated with care."
Was his concern really for the watch's value? If it was indeed so precious, wouldn't a simple monetary exchange have been enough?
"Yes," I replied, hiding my true feelings behind a mask of innocence.
Glancing around the transformed space, I noticed the stark change from a normal villa room to a grand living room with marble flooring. The house's overall cold, imposing atmosphere made me smirk inwardly. I decided to probe further.
"Where are we exactly?" I asked.
"What does it look like to you?" he countered.
I silently wished for a straightforward answer. Clenching my fists, I replied with a twisted smile, matching the crookedness of my words.
"It looks like your residence. Quite impressive."
"Does it?"
His reluctance to give a clear response was frustrating. Was my luck so poor that even a simple conversation had to be this challenging?
With a renewed effort, I tried again to free my hand from his light but firm grip.
The man, still with that inscrutable expression, slowly spoke again.
"The watch?"
"Oh, right..." I murmured, recalling the careful removal of the watch as soon as I had arrived home.
Anxiety bubbled within me, pondering the potential fallout of this admission. Would it trigger another confrontation, similar to the one I had narrowly dodged earlier with my desperate excuses?
"I just took it off briefly to wash my hands."
"Most modern watches are designed to be water-resistant, especially those from high-end brands," he noted, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "You seemed quite taken with it earlier, so surely you're aware of that?"
I mustered a semblance of enthusiasm, attempting to divert the conversation. "Ah, the thrill of working with Hunter Jehee! It's thanks to you that I get to visit such a magnificent home. I've always dreamt of living in a place like this."
My voice, though strained, tried to convey a sense of cheer. Just then, a welcome status update appeared before me:
[Master's mood has improved, granting +1 Beauty Points.]
[Beauty Points skill status is now balanced at 0, 'Melancholy' status effect has vanished.]
What a peculiar and exhausting situation. Was I entangled with a madman?
Feeling drained, I sighed and looked up. Jehee was still grinning, seemingly amused by my predicament. His amusement only added to my discomfort.
"Are you finding this funny?"
"It's rather intriguing," he replied.
"What's so intriguing about it?"
"Maybe it's Yeon Sunwoo's obvious annoyance with me?"
His implication that my irritation was unjustified irked me further. He clearly enjoyed toying with me.
But arguing seemed pointless; it would only worsen Jehee's mood, making my situation more unbearable.
Feeling cornered by this absurd skill, I sensed I was being manipulated, while the so-called Master appeared entirely unbothered.
"Where's the bathroom?" I asked, lifting my oil-stained hand in resignation.
Jehee, who had been standing with crossed arms, casually pointed towards a door in the corner of the living room. His nonchalant gesture only heightened my frustration.
Was I really expected to endure this for an entire year?
The oppressive weight of my situation weighed heavily on me, causing my shoulders to droop, though not from the 'Melancholy' effect.
"I'll go wash my hands," I announced, ending the conversation and making my way to the bathroom he had pointed out. Once inside, the starkness of the black tiles struck me, casting a somber ambiance over the space.
This bathroom felt more like a chamber from some gothic tale, with its dark tiles. Would adding gold trim and faucets make it even more dramatic?
With a cautious approach, I turned on the faucet, letting the cool water flow over my hands, washing away the oil. I vigorously scrubbed with hand sanitizer, hoping against hope to slide the ring off. The foam mingled with the remnants of oil, but the ring remained steadfastly in place.
"Do I need to amputate my finger or something?" I muttered to myself, half-joking, half-desperate.
In a world like this, with its healers and magic, reattaching a severed finger might not be as daunting a task as in my own world. But the thought of enduring such pain, even temporarily, was unnerving. Pain was something I had always avoided at all costs.
Lost in these thoughts, I rinsed my hands, the ring still firmly on my finger, a constant reminder of the bizarre and troubling predicament I found myself in.