Rupert’s blue eyes widened.
“Erna, you’re speaking…!”
“Cookie brought me home, Brother. I want to live with Cookie.”
A gasp.
The servants’ startled intakes of breath rang out loudly.
Lady Erna has finally spoken…!
And so fluently! What a miracle!
Their astonishment passed.
Erna explained to Rupert the whole journey—how she had left the mansion alone, gotten lost, met Cookie, and then parted from him.
“Bad men surrounded me, but Cookie came and drove them off. He was the smallest one there, but the bravest.”
A faint smile hovered on Erna’s face as she thought of Cookie. Her eyes shone as she continued, halting but clear.
How long had it been since Rupert had seen his sister smile?
His throat burned.
Before the surging emotion could break in his voice, Rupert smiled radiantly.
His heart was brimming with joy, gratitude, and rapture.
A dog had opened in an instant the heart that even her own brother had been unable to unlock for so long.
Still, he cautioned her for leaving the mansion without an escort.
“Erna, if you want to go out next time, you must tell the steward and take a guard with you. Don’t give your brother and the staff such a fright again. Everyone was very worried about you.”
“Okay, I understand. I was wrong…”
Erna admitted her fault with a downcast look.
Rupert gently patted her head.
I’ll have to order those who tried to kidnap her found at once.
How bored must Erna have been to slip out without a word?
He suddenly thought that if she had a companion like a friend—a dog—she might not do something so dangerous again.
And thanks to that clever dog, she had begun to speak—perhaps she might even regain her once lively self.
“We owe Cookie a great debt. Erna, where did you meet Cookie? Do you know where he lives?”
“Will you let me keep him?”
“Of course. If Erna asks, your brother will grant anything.”
Thinking of the tag Cookie wore around his neck, Erna said:
“It said his guardian is Clara, who works at Florite Atelier.”
All evening, after being hounded by her senior, Clara worked overtime. She boarded a jam-packed carriage home wearing the expression of a wilted, twisted cucumber.
She looked like a modern office worker, hollow-eyed on a rush-hour subway.
Damn you, Lindsay Loveless…
Lindsay, the senior designer who’d started before Clara, seemed determined to devour her. There wasn’t even a reason. She had said outright from the start that she disliked Clara.
But this was too much.
Today, Lindsay had even given Clara the wrong fabric type for tomorrow’s cutting, the batch meant for the seniors—so even after everyone had gone home, Clara had to rework it all from scratch.
Ever since Madame Florite began treating Clara with particular favor, Lindsay’s harassment had gotten worse.
Should I just quit?
Deeply considering resignation, Clara entered the rowhouse.
Because of the dogs, Clara’s unit was on the first floor—Apartment 102.
In 101 lived the landlord, an old man named Mariem.
Hearing Clara open the gate, the door of 101 creaked.
“Miss Boarne.”
“Hello, Grandpa Mariem.”
Though she greeted him brightly, Clara quickened her pace.
She had a fair idea of what would come out of his mouth.
“Starting next month, the rent will go up to 60 gold.”
Clara froze mid-step.
Sixty gold?
In modern terms, it was like the rent suddenly going up by a hundred thousand won.
“What? We signed a fixed contract at 50 gold from the start. Is everyone’s rent going up?”
Mariem shook his head.
“No, it applies only to you, Miss Boarne.”
“Why only me?”
“Because of how many dogs you keep. The big ones—yes, Max and Gold—could each count as a person, couldn’t they? And the other four together as one person. When I do the math, this is a losing deal. By that reckoning, I ought to charge 70 gold. I lowered it out of consideration for your circumstances.”
“What you’re saying makes even less sense. It’s unfair. Mr. Bonas in 201 keeps a cat—and that cat can even turn a doorknob by itself like a person. Then should that cat also count as one person? And Miss Corin in 303 keeps two parrots, doesn’t she? I hear those parrots have conversations with you, Grandpa Mariem. Should we count them as two people? You wrote ‘pets allowed’ in the tenancy conditions. Charging extra now makes no sense!”
Mariem was silent for a while after hearing her argument.
Clara prayed her words had gotten through.
“…You’re right, Miss Boarne. I was wrong. Thank you.”
Clara’s face lit—only for him to add:
“I’ll raise everyone’s rent.”
The worst outcome.
Clara couldn’t argue further with the absolute-power landlord and went inside, dejected.
There were few places that allowed pets. If she were kicked out, finding a new place for her and the pups would be like finding a needle in the desert.
With the rent going up, quitting the atelier was out of the question—she’d have to take on a night job, too.
“Sigh… I’m home, everyone.”
“Woof!”
“Clara!”
The five dogs came barreling over, tails wagging.
They hadn’t seen Clara for almost a whole day. They jumped up, licked her face, and smothered her with welcome.
Clara looked on the verge of happy tears.
“You kids are the reason I’m alive. Who told you to be this cute! Hm? Who is it, who? Who’s behaving this adorably?”
She stroked and hugged each one in turn.
The brown poodle Cookie, the black bulldog Beltran, the Maltese Shasha, the Yorkshire Terrier Amy, the Doberman Max, and the Labrador Retriever Gold!
Clara lay on the floor and let herself be buried under the dogs, basking in a moment of bliss.
“You all ate your meals, right?”
“Mm-hm. I gave them all out.”
Cookie scraped at his eye gunk with a forepaw as he spoke.
“Thanks, Cookie. Because of you, I can work without worry.”
“By the way, Clara, Clara. I did something good today.”
“What did you do?”
“I took a lost child home! Heehee. I did well, right?”
Cookie lifted his head proudly, brimming with self-satisfaction.
Clara burst out laughing and mussed his head.
“Well done, our Cookie. A real hero.”
“Did something happen to you, Clara? Why are you late?”
Clara briefly explained why she’d had to work overtime.
Cookie bared his teeth in outrage, and the other dogs pricked up their ears, curious. They could understand simple words, but longer sentences were tough.
Cookie translated into dog-speak, and the pack erupted in furious barks.
Let’s bite her!
I’ll poop on her face!
We’ll leave her with only three toes!
“Guys, thank you, but—shh. Shh. If you keep this up, we’ll get evicted. I really appreciate the sentiment.”
Clara pressed a finger to her lips.
“Clara, no matter what happens, we’re on your side. If she bullies you again, tell us. We’ll teach her a lesson!”
“Okay, thank you.”
Thanks to her little friends, Clara couldn’t stop smiling.
The next morning, as soon as she arrived at work, Clara brought up the previous night’s incident with Lindsay Loveless and demanded proper compensation and an apology.
Lindsay dug at her ear, barely listening.
“What are you saying? If you bring Duke Irnosie in as our client, I’ll stop picking on you. Deal?”
“Do you think that’s reasonable? His Grace has been using Madame Hudwood’s atelier since before he was even born. You know very well nobles don’t change ateliers easily!”
“That’s why I’m telling you to try. If everyone could do it, would I be asking you? You’re funny. You refuse without even trying—some apprentice you are.”
“I don’t find this funny at all. You’re only doing this because you’re fine with me telling Madame Florite everything, right?”
“Threats won’t help. Getting a little favor has gone straight to your head. In the end, you’re still just an apprentice designer. I’m the capable one who turns out a dress a day.”
“Can you call it your work if it’s made by grinding down your juniors?”
Clara sniped back.
“You little mouth, I swear—!”
Face flushed red, Lindsay raised her hand as if to slap her.
Just then—
“Senior Lindsay, what are you doing? You’re not about to hit Clara, are you?”
A hard voice.
Aileen, Clara’s cohort, opened the door and stepped in at that exact moment.
“So you two planned this. You think I was going to hit Boarne? Do you take your senior for chewing gum? Boarne, we’ll finish this later.”
Lindsay shoved past Aileen’s shoulder and stormed out.
“Thanks, Aileen. If not for you, I might’ve grabbed her by the hair.”
“No biggie. Anyway, Clara! This is what I came to tell you. It’s huge—huge! Guess who’s in the reception room?”
“Who?”
Clara answered flatly. Nobles came and went at Florite Atelier every day. Most of them no longer impressed her.
Aileen bounced with excitement.
“His Grace, Duke Rupert Irnosie, is here!”
“…Huh?”
Next ↓
