Chapter 22: Hannah

"This is insane..."

I muttered aloud without thinking, but seriously—could you blame me?

"Were they really funding him this much?"

Staring at the neatly counted stacks of crowns on the desk, I felt my eye twitch.

"24,583 crowns... That greedy bastard really did save up a fortune."

That was enough money for the average man to live like a minor noble for at least three years—no work, no worries. And he just had it lying around in his office like it was pocket change.

And this definitely wasn't from the inn's profits. After going through the invoices and business reports, I could say that with confidence. This kind of money could've only come from one source.

The imperial family.

Which meant if anyone discovered this... it wouldn't just be the guild sniffing around. I could get dragged into something far uglier than local power games.

I sighed.

"Welp... might as well make the most out of it."

The damage was already done. The moment I cracked open the safe and counted those crowns, I'd crossed a line. Hiding it wouldn't help anyone—not anymore.

I began packing the coins back into the chest, noting the full tally.

31,043 crowns.

That was everything: the savings from David's stash, the funds I got from Derek, and the official operating capital the inn still had on paper.

It was my starting capital.

My war chest.

As I finished locking the safe, a knock came at the door.

"Someone is here to see you."Dalia's voice, cold and clipped as ever, echoed from the other side.

I dusted off my sleeves, adjusted the cuffs of my shirt, and took a seat behind the desk. Might as well look the part.

"Let them in."

The door creaked open—and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Orange-burnished hair tied back in a simple braid. Deep, glossy black eyes that looked far too calm for someone her age. She stood straight, hands folded at her waist, posture precise.

Hannah.

Of course.

"...Hannah, is something the matter?"

She was one of the quieter girls—kept to herself, worked hard, never complained. She'd been with the inn for about two years, and until now, we'd exchanged maybe a few dozen words at most.

But today, her presence was anything but quiet.

"...Boss," she said carefully. "There's something I wanted to discuss."

She said the word Boss like it didn't quite fit in her mouth. Not hostile, not mockingly—just... unfamiliar.

I smiled faintly.

"Go ahead."

She hesitated, then raised her head just enough to meet my eyes.

"First," she began, "I want to know if what you said last night... was serious."

I tilted my head. "Which part?"

"About us. About never forcing us again."

"Ah." I nodded slowly, voice firm. "Yes. I meant every word. That hasn't changed."

She opened her mouth to speak again—but paused.

"...Then," she said, and lifted her head slightly higher, "What do you think of us?"

Her gaze was intense. There was a glint in her eyes that hadn't been there before—part challenge, part something else entirely.

'...This little fox, what's she up to now?'

The way she looked at me—subtle shift in posture, eyes slightly narrowed, voice just a little softer—it didn't take a genius to spot the intention.

She was testing me.

Trying to bait a reaction. Maybe flirtation. Maybe just curiosity.

Maybe more.

To someone else my age—or hell, even some grown men—that look might've worked.

But not on me.

I'd seen too many routes like this play out before.

I slipped on a faintly confused expression and tilted my head slightly, pitching my voice just a bit higher.

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes widened.

Like I'd short-circuited her game with a single innocent blink.

"...!"

A red flush crept up her neck, blossoming across her cheeks as her gaze dropped.

"N-No, uh..." she fumbled, hands fluttering slightly. "I didn't mean it like that—I mean—what I meant was—what do you think of us girls? Now that you're the boss. Has... anything changed?"

I dropped the childlike tone and met her eyes again, this time with calm resolve.

"No. Nothing's changed. Even if I'm now the boss, my feelings for all of you remain the same."

She blinked at me, caught in the moment.

I didn't flinch.

"You're all important to me. And I won't let this new dynamic twist that."

Her ears turned red this time. Not just her cheeks.

"...I-Is that so?" she mumbled, awkwardly waving a hand to fan herself. "That's... good. I guess."

I could practically see the steam rising off her.

'Still a thousand years too early to be pulling that kind of move on me.'

I kept my smirk buried behind the same polite smile, watching as she struggled to rein in her composure.

She wasn't trying to seduce me—not really. It was more of a test, cloaked in faux bravado. Something she'd tried because she didn't know how else to probe for answers. Or trust.

Eventually, she exhaled deeply, shoulders relaxing as she regained control.

"S-Sorry about that," she said, voice steadier.

"It's fine," I replied. "Was that all you came to say?"

Her brows furrowed for just a moment, then she shook her head.

"No."

She straightened up.

"I don't want to be a hostess."

I nodded. That made sense. I already had a feeling this was coming.

"I understand. And just so you know, I had no plans to force you or anyone else into that position."

But before I could even finish the thought, she cut in.

"W-Wait! That's not all I meant!"

I blinked—and stayed quiet, giving her space.

She flinched slightly under the silence but pushed forward.

"I... I want to help manage the inn instead."

That made me raise an eyebrow.

"Manage?"

"The finances," she clarified. "The accounts. The numbers. I—I can handle those."

I studied her expression carefully. Not a hint of deceit. Her voice trembled a little, but not from fear. It was from restraint.

"...Do you know how to read and write?"

"Yes." She nodded quickly. "I was taught a long time ago. I'm also familiar with math and economic structuring. I have... some experience."

"Experience?" My voice softened, probing.

She bit her lip.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Her gaze fell to the floor as her arms folded tightly around herself, body tensing.

But it wasn't shame. Or weakness.

It was memory.

I watched the tremble in her shoulders. Not fear.

Fury.

The kind you bury when you have no power.

I sighed quietly and leaned back in my chair.

We all had our own past, and I never expected none of them to be good given where we all ended up.

"Very well. I won't pry." I paused for a moment before adding, "You can help."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"R-Really?"

I nodded. "But you'll start with a few tests. Nothing complicated. I want to see what you're capable of. Fair?"

"Yes!" she blurted out, too quickly. Then cleared her throat. "...Yes. That's fair."

Despite being four years older than me, her demeanor—nervous, grateful, and just a little proud—made it feel like I was the adult here.

Which, I suppose, wasn't entirely wrong.

I pointed toward the nearest corner, where several ledgers and sales reports had been stacked up from the previous night.

"Start by reviewing those. Let's see how far your experience goes."

***

Far from the slums—beyond the black river that split Utopia like a scar—stood a palace carved from light itself.

Its spires pierced the heavens, glinting like silver blades in the sun. The walls, impossibly white, shimmered with a pearlescent sheen that reflected soft rainbows against the cobbled paths below. It was less a building and more a divine statement: untouchable, unreachable, eternal.

To the east wing of the palace, past rose gardens and silent halls, lay a secluded compound. It was outfitted with its own armory, private dormitories, and enough guards to repel a small battalion. Within one of its tallest towers, behind thick crystal-paned windows and golden velvet drapes, the slow, deliberate scratching of a pen filled the quiet.

Scribble. Scratch. Pause. Scribble again.

The cadence was steady, almost mechanical.

Knock. Knock.

Two soft knocks broke the rhythm.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door creaked open to reveal a woman dressed in immaculate Victorian maidwear. Her posture was straight, her expression expressionless—but her lashes were long enough to cast shadows over the violet of her eyes as she crossed the threshold.

She closed the door gently behind her.

Then knelt.

"Reporting to Your Imperial Highness," she said, voice smooth as velvet. "The cleanup operation has encountered... a complication."

Scribble—

The pen halted mid-line.

A pause.

Then, for the first time, the figure behind the desk lifted her gaze.

Golden eyes met violet.

They did not shimmer. They burned.

As if they saw through fabric, flesh, and bone alike.

Silver hair cascaded down her back like moonlight incarnate, glowing faintly in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

She said one word.

"Speak."

A single syllable—yet the weight of it crushed the room.

The kneeling maid, though trained beyond most mortals' limits, felt her breath catch in her throat. Pressure settled over her like lead. As if she was being crushed beneath a gaze that had once commanded bloodlines and broken kingdoms.

She bowed lower, voice soft.

"Yes. The insider has been found dead as of this morning. It appears the target identified him... and eliminated him during the escape."

Silence.

A long, drawn pause stretched over the room like a drawn bowstring.

Then, a sigh.

A breath—not weary, but measured. Controlled.

The woman behind the desk set her pen down momentarily, brushing a silver strand from her cheek as her golden eyes drifted toward the window.

"...It will delay us. But not for long."

She picked up the pen again.

"We've gathered sufficient intelligence from the last link. Begin searching for a replacement. Quietly."

The maid bowed her head once more.

"Yes, Your Imperial Highness."

Scribble—

The scratching resumed. Faster this time. As if a decision had been finalized.

The maid stood without another word and exited silently, vanishing behind the soundless hiss of the closing door.

Left alone, the woman behind the desk didn't look up.

She merely continued writing.