Chapter 21: Reform

An hour had passed since the last patron left, and the Midnight Inn officially closed for the night.

After cleaning up the ground floor, the girls climbed the stairs in pairs, silence trailing behind their footsteps as they filed into the office.

I sat alone in the old creaking chair David once claimed, leaning forward slightly, hands clasped beneath my chin. The desk between us felt like a wall.

Wrench stood to my left. Dalia stood to my right.

The girls stood in a loose cluster before me. Most avoided eye contact. Some stiffened under the presence of the two guards, while others watched me with wary, guarded eyes.

I scanned them quietly. Nana hovered behind Mana, clutching her sister's sleeve like a lifeline. Her gaze flicked up to meet mine every few seconds, wide-eyed, uncertain.

Kana stood with her arms crossed, wearing her usual scowl—but her eyes kept flicking toward the enforcers flanking me. Boarrat leaned against the back wall, arms folded, expression unreadable.

"...I assume you all have questions." My voice cut through the room like a needle. "I'll answer what I can. So ask."

Silence.

A few glances. Shifting feet. No one spoke.

Nana looked like she wanted to—but her fingers only gripped tighter against her sister's shoulder.

Eventually, Lena stepped forward.

"Kayle..." Her voice was calm, but under it was something else. Something I couldn't quite place.

"...What happened to David?"

Her blue eyes were shaded, her skin pale. There was sorrow there—but I wasn't sure for who.

"He's dead," I said simply. "Suicide."

The words fell heavy, a cold thud in the quiet room.

Mana stiffened along with Nana behind her. Boarrat remained still while the others showed varying emotions. I even caught Kana muttering under her breath.

"Serves him right…"

Lena, however, didn't flinch. She exhaled softly, sadness curling in the corners of her mouth like a memory she didn't want.

"...Why?" she asked again.

"Who knows?" I leaned back, speaking cryptically. "Maybe he didn't want to face the consequences of what he'd done."

"...."

The room fell into another lull, eventually being broken by Kana.

"...The people from earlier. Who the hell were they?"

Her voice was cold as she glared at Wrench and Dalia, who tensed slightly.

From the corner of my eyes I saw Dalia's fingers drift toward the blade on her hip, causing me to instantly become alert.

"Stand down," I said evenly, hopeful that she'll listen before turning back to face Kana. "They're our employers. Or rather—David's. The ones who actually own this inn."

Kana's expression instantly shifted. Less hostility and a rare moment of thought appeared on her face before she huffed and stepped back.

"So... what does that make you?"

It was Nana this time, stepping out a little, her voice small but clear.

I glanced at her and smiled faintly.

"I'm the new manager. Or to put it plainly: David's replacement."

Nana's expression shifted; she stepped back behind her sister, hiding her face from view. She looked pale and frightened.

'Is she scared of me?'

I couldn't help but feel a subtle pain in my chest when the thought occurred.

"Then you're the one looking after us?" Lena asked. Her expression had changed. Blank. Watchful. No warmth now. Just assessment.

Again, my heart ached seeing no trace of her usually motherly warmth.

"...Yes." I met her eyes. "Everything that happens at this inn from now on goes through me."

That drew a stir. Not panic, not yet—but the shift in the air was palpable.

And just like that... the weight of it all pressed in.

I was no longer just the errand boy.

And they were no longer just victims of circumstance.

They were... mine to protect. And to manage.

Just then, a soft, elegant voice rose from the back.

"...How do you plan to run the inn?"

I turned, a bit surprised. Yana, who rarely spoke unless necessary, stood with arms folded and her gaze fixed on me.

It caught me off guard.

"...Good question," I said. "First, some changes."

I leaned forward again, voice calm but clear.

"All of you will begin receiving a regular salary."

"..!"

Their reactions were instant—shocked, wide-eyed. Nana's lips parted. Lena blinked. Mana even looked at me as if I'd just spoken a foreign language.

"You're serious?" Lena asked, tone careful.

"Very. It won't be much at first. Just enough to live. But it'll rise with time and success."

Even Wrench raised an eyebrow behind me.

They weren't used to this. Not from a kid. Not from a brothel boss.

And certainly not from David's replacement.

A beat of silence passed before another voice cut in.

"...How much?"

It was Hannah this time, stepping slightly forward. Her face was impassive, but her eyes held a sharp, cold gleam.

"Enough to not worry about food," I answered honestly. "More, eventually."

She nodded. Then, slowly, she bowed at the waist—not deeply, but enough to make her point.

"Then thank you for the raise, Boss."

Some of the girls gave her strange looks from her tone, but it was quickly undermined.

"That's only the first change. What about the others?" Yana's gaze sharpened as she accurately pointed out.

"Indeed," I said, raising my voice slightly. "I still have a lot more planned."

They turned to face me again.

"I intend to renovate the inn," I said, slowly, letting my words weigh the air. "The furniture, the rooms, the ambiance—everything. We're going to become something new."

There was no applause. No excitement. Just a shift—like a coin flipping mid-air but never landing. Some murmurs rippled across the room, doubt painted into every raised brow. I could already imagine what they were thinking:

'Why? What's the point?'

'New wood doesn't change rotten walls.'

"And I intend to draw in bigger clients—nobles, merchants, sponsors. Wealthy people looking to spend."

That landed worse.

I watched the unease spread like frost on glass.

Yana's brows drew together, her lips thinning into a line. Lena's gaze dropped, shoulders stiffening. Even sweet, timid Nana shrank a little behind Mana again, her hand gripping the back of her sister's shirt like a child lost in a crowd.

I could feel it—the fear. Not of what I was proposing, but of what it implied. To them, it probably sounded like polishing the same trap. Making it more elegant. More expensive. But still a trap. One that forced them to be prey to more hungry men.

They thought I was just David in a red waistcoat instead of black.

"Let me be clear," I said, and my voice came out harder than I intended, slicing through the room like a blade. "I will never ask—or allow—any of you to sell yourselves again. Not now. Not ever."

That stopped everything.

Even Dalia, who hadn't flinched once since she arrived, blinked like she'd been hit in the head.

"...You're serious?" Kana's voice cut in. Blunt. Suspicious.

I turned toward her slowly, meeting her gaze without hesitation.

"I don't say things I don't mean."

It wasn't a performance. It was a fact. And somehow, that landed more than any speech could have.

A silence followed—not oppressive like before, but quieter. Curious. I saw it in their eyes: a crack in the stone. Something they couldn't name but instinctively wanted to believe in.

"I know it doesn't make sense yet," I continued, softening my tone slightly, "but let me explain the final piece."

I stood then—not abruptly, but with purpose. A subtle shift in posture that made the desk feel more like a relic than a shield. I didn't need to hide behind it anymore.

I was no longer just a survivor in this place. I was the one reshaping it.

"We're no longer a brothel," I said.

Letting the words breathe.

I could see them trying to process what that meant. Their gazes flicked between each other, then back to me. Suspicion. Hope. Confusion.

I raised my voice slightly, only enough to echo.

"We're becoming a hostess club."

The words hung there, strange and foreign in this world.

"...A what?" Nana asked, soft and genuine, like a student unsure if they heard the teacher correctly.

Wrench gave a small snort behind me. Dalia didn't even hide her incredulous look. I could practically hear her thinking, 'What the hell is this brat talking about?'

But I didn't mind. Because the people who mattered most were still listening.

I smiled—not a wide grin, not a smug smirk. Just something small. Measured.

"Think of it like this," I began, choosing each word with care, "You entertain. You charm. You make people feel like they matter. They pay for the drinks. The food. The atmosphere. The illusion. Not the body."

Their confusion didn't vanish—but it wavered. Became softer. Less about fear, more about... curiosity.

"This isn't a brothel pretending to be clean," I continued. "It's a business built on performance, not submission."

I saw Lena's eyes flicker, her expression unsteady for a moment. Mana's fingers loosened from the hem of her skirt. Even Yana, stoic and icy, tilted her head slightly, interest blooming like frost melting on glass.

"And it won't be easy," I said. "You'll need to learn new skills. Play new roles. Talk, laugh, smile when you need to. But you'll never have to endure what David made you endure."

I looked at them one by one.

Nana, wide-eyed but trying to understand. Mana, steady but suspicious. Kana, arms crossed, scowling—but listening. Lena, quietly thoughtful. Yana, watching me like I was a book that had just opened. Hannah, unreadable, but there. Present. Even Boarrat didn't look away.

"You deserve better," I said finally. "And this place can be more."

A pause.

No one clapped. No one cheered.

But no one left, either.

They didn't say anything, but they didn't have to.

They were listening.

And for now... that was enough.

'It's small, but its a start in defining our new relationship.'

****

The next morning, I stood alone in the office, surrounded by open ledgers and scattered papers, the smell of ink and dust hanging in the air.

I was buried in numbers. David's numbers.

Despite how much I loathed the man, I had to give him credit—he kept meticulous records. Every transaction, every purchase, every payout (or lack thereof) had been organized with a precision that was honestly... unnerving.

Still, the truth behind the ink was unmistakable.

"It's worse than I thought…"

I muttered, leaning back slightly as my eyes scanned the recent monthly summaries.

David had cut corners wherever he could. Employee meals were reduced to scraps, wages were nonexistent, and he purchased goods at the lowest possible quality. And still... even with all that?

The inn barely broke even.

In fact, across the last three months, it had slipped into the red eleven separate times.

The profits that did exist? Meager. Fragile. Barely enough to call sustainable. But what was odd—what was truly strange—was the absence of waste.

He hadn't squandered it.

He'd saved it.

My eyes shifted toward the corner of the room, landing on the squat, battered safe sitting under the cabinet.

A crude, copper-toned thing, its paint chipped, and the combination lock rusting from age and disuse.

'That's where it all went, isn't it, David?'

I'd been at it all morning.

Brute force wasn't an option—I wasn't exactly built like a thug. I'd bruised my hand earlier trying to wrench the thing open and got nothing but a sore wrist for my trouble.

Which meant I had to rely on the old-fashioned way: manipulation.

Fortunately, the safe was cheaply made, and even more fortunately—I wasn't just anyone.

My hearing was sharp. Sharper than most.

A holdover, perhaps, from my time bedridden in my past life. I remembered how every creak in the hallway, every nurse's footstep, every beep of machinery had formed a kind of symphony I'd grown accustomed to parsing.

Now, it served me in ways I never imagined.

I pressed my ear gently to the cold metal and began to rotate the dial.

I'd already managed the first two digits an hour ago. The clicks they made—softer, almost like the tumblers were sighing into place—gave them away.

The third, though, had taken far longer.

Sweat clung to my neck. My eyes stung from concentration.

Time was slipping. It had to be nearing midday, but I ignored the hunger building in my stomach. My mind was locked on the tumblers, my fingers moving with maddening slowness.

Then—

Click.

The sound was unmistakable. Firmer than before. Heavier.

'There. That was the third.'

Now, just one more.

My hands were starting to shake from tension, but I refused to stop. Not when I was this close.

I turned the dial again.

Fifty-eight… Sixty-two… Sixty-six—

Click.

The loudest yet.

I froze. Then slowly, gently, I reached for the handle.

It turned.

Unlocked.

"...Finally."

I pulled open the door with a soft creak, metal grinding on metal—and the moment I saw what lay inside, my breath caught.

"This is…"

Gold glinted in the low light, stacked in small, organized rows. Paper slips and sealed ledgers nestled between them, labeled in David's thin, looping script.

Crowns.

Dozens of pouches of them. Maybe more.

My mind reeled.

No... That can't be right.

I'd gone through the ledgers already. Factored in expenses, deducted what he likely took with him during his attempted escape. By my most optimistic estimates, he should have left behind maybe two, three thousand crowns—barely enough to get a few renovations started.

But this?

This was at least triple that.

Maybe more.