Chapter 8
“W–Why aren’t you moving…?”
The guard who had grabbed my head and tried to drag me out gave a rough yank when I didn’t budge. My head jerked backward painfully.
‘I was aiming for the back of his neck…’
Giving up on that, I struck the center of his collarbone with my fist. Only then did the grip on my hair loosen.
Before his collapsing body could hit the floor with a loud thud, I caught him and laid him down. His eyes rolled back, completely white. Hopefully, he wasn’t dead.
I hurriedly dragged the unconscious guards away before anyone could see and ran down the stairs. The first one was hard—but after that, it got easier.
Or… maybe not that easy.
Enemies fell one by one like dominoes, as if I’d suddenly become invincible. It was satisfying, but the sounds—frothing mouths, bones snapping—were disturbingly ominous.
“Chloe…?”
No answer. Only the groans of the fallen guards echoed back.
I’d come down more than halfway, but there was no sign of Chloe, her escort knight, or even the slaves they had mentioned.
I kicked aside a guard who had fainted by the door and pushed it open.
Inside the dark prop room, stage costumes and various props were neatly arranged in rows.
“Did I take the wrong way?”
I was just about to turn back upstairs to check again—
—when a hand shot out from inside the room and yanked me in.
A man twisted my arm behind me and pinned me against the wall, pressing his forearm against my neck. My cheek was crushed against the wall before I even knew what was happening.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A smooth, low voice sounded right next to my ear. Beautiful, clear—almost musical—but this was no time to admire it.
“Whatever you’re planning to do, I doubt it’s a good idea.”
Instead of replying, I tensed my shoulder and swung my elbow back as hard as I could.
The man staggered, catching the blow but unable to block it fully in such a tight space. My elbow brushed against the mask covering his face.
Clang!
The mask flew off and clattered to the floor. The man’s head tilted to the side with a grunt.
“…Tch.”
Through a pale wig awkwardly perched on his head, a pair of striking golden eyes glared straight at me.
Honestly, he looked more suspicious than I did.
He was wearing an extravagant gown—something only noblewomen would dare wear—and eyeing me warily.
He reminded me of a tillandsia plant—sharp, thorny, yet strangely elegant.
That angular jawline, the refined nose, the lips pressed stubbornly together—it all fit together perfectly.
A man who looked good in a dress and heavy jewelry?
Even if someone told me this was actually Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, I might have believed it.
For a second, I was caught staring.
“Oh.”
The cross-dressing man was now holding my mask in his hand.
“My goodness, even your hands are beautiful,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, but too late—his brow furrowed in irritation.
Wow. Even that frown was sexy. He looked like an actor from a movie screen.
The man lowered his defensive stance slightly and studied me with a puzzled look.
“Why is the young lady here? Where are your attendants? Surely the Marquis of Derman didn’t send you here on purpose…”
‘Oh no.’
So he knew Roselita. Maybe they were acquaintances?
“…Well, not that it’s any of my concern,” he said flatly.
Ah. Never mind—they weren’t close.
“I didn’t know you were this strong,” he said, rubbing his wrist as if it still hurt from blocking my elbow earlier.
“Haha… I’ve always been strong since I was a kid…”
“Strong enough to make a Sword Master’s wrist ache?”
“…”
A Sword Master? Why on earth was someone like that here, in drag?
But instead of pressing the issue, he waved me off.
“You should return, young lady. How did you even get down here?”
He tossed my mask back at me, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
His tone—dripping with exasperation—reminded me of Jupiter’s endless lectures about my “terrible attitude.”
I narrowed my eyes and looked him up and down deliberately.
“Shouldn’t I be the one suspicious of you? You don’t exactly look trustworthy yourself.”
“…”
“What are you doing down here? You’re not working with those criminals, are you?”
One of his eyebrows twitched upward.
Hey, at least I was being polite about it. Apparently, that wasn’t good enough—he stayed silent for several long seconds.
“Are you really the Derman lady?”
“What kind of question is—”
“What’s my name?”
“…”
Why did he ask that like it was a threat? I cleared my throat and stood up straight, feigning confidence.
“I… recently lost my memory.”
The glare he gave me made it clear he didn’t believe a word of it, but at least he didn’t press further.
“So what’s your name, then?”
“Thomas.”
Wow. Could he sound any less enthusiastic? The name didn’t match his face at all—like mismatched socks.
“Alright then, Thomas!”
Fine, if he didn’t want to tell me his real name, I wouldn’t bother digging.
“Now my turn to ask. Why are you here? Are you helping with the slave trade?”
“I’d hope my reputation isn’t that bad,” he said coolly.
“Who knows? You’re a stranger to me.”
Thomas fell silent for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“Fair enough. And what exactly are you doing here?”
“My personal maid was kidnapped. A man named Sepak took her.”
“Your maid was kidnapped? And you came here alone to find her?”
“…”
“You should’ve gone back to the Marquis’s estate for help. The Marquis must have his hands full raising you.”
He shook his head, giving me a disappointed look that made me want to punch him.
I was about to retort when the sound of many boots thundered through the hallway.
Both of us pressed against the wall instinctively.
“Find them immediately! Whoever did this took them all down at once. When you catch them, drag them inside. The master wants to see them.”
“Yes, sir!”
Where did all these guards keep coming from? They multiplied like weeds.
Fortunately, they passed the prop room without checking inside.
“You—”
“I’m not leaving until I find Chloe.”
I cut him off first. Thomas sighed quietly but didn’t argue.
The small black stone in his left ear began to glow faintly red. Pressing it, he spoke into it.
“Nothing serious. Just… a complication. The Derman family’s maid’s been kidnapped. Search for her. Name’s Chloe. Age…”
He glanced at me. How old was Chloe again?
“Young lady?”
“Seventeen? Eighteen, maybe?” I said quickly.
“About seventeen or eighteen,” he repeated flatly.
His expression afterward made it clear he thought I was hopeless.
“You don’t even know your own maid’s age? For someone so determined to find her, you’re rather indifferent.”
“…”
Thomas put his dented mask back on and walked—not out of the prop room, but toward a wardrobe across from us.
He pushed the hanging clothes aside, revealing a hidden passage beneath.
“Follow me. And keep quiet.”
“W–Wait!”
There should be something… ah!
I hurried over to a pile of props and rummaged through a box until I found it.
A bright red toy hammer. Perfect.
Clutching it firmly, I followed after Thomas.
Nice grip. A little too soft, but the size was great.
Thomas was already far ahead.
Good looks really do make people arrogant, huh? Not a single ounce of consideration.
Aside from his face, there wasn’t much to like about him.
I grumbled under my breath as I trailed behind his perfectly round head through the narrowing corridor.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“Shh.”
Instead of answering, he pressed a finger to his lips and continued smoothly ahead.
Maybe that glowing device in his ear helped him navigate?
He moved silently—swift and sure—while my footsteps echoed embarrassingly loud.
The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing damp and musty as we descended.
It felt like a completely different world from the surface.
The underground chamber resembled a cavern. Even small sounds echoed harshly.
In the center stood a stage mechanism—an elevator platform connected by pulleys.
Dim lanterns lit the space just enough to see—and the sight was horrifying.
Every person here had a black cloth blindfolding their eyes.
“…What is this place?”
“Didn’t you know before coming here?” Thomas replied tonelessly.
Crammed into tiny cages, people were huddled together, their bodies twisted unnaturally.
Some had bloodied bandages where their legs had been cut off. Others wore torture frames designed to reshape their bodies.
“Those monsters…”
Even children—barely ten years old—were locked inside, treated worse than livestock.
Thomas inspected them one by one before touching the black stone again.
“Retreat. Nothing we’re looking for is here.”
“Retreat?”
I spun around to face him. He looked utterly calm.
“I haven’t found Chloe yet. I’m not leaving. You go.”
From above, thunderous applause erupted—probably from the audience upstairs.
Thomas glanced up and muttered irritably, “My men will come. We’re leaving.”
“And leave these people here?”
“…”
“How can you see this and still walk away?”
It was absurd.
Not a single hero I’d ever admired would turn a blind eye to such injustice—
not in a musical about love, not in a play about loyalty,
not even in a drama from another world.
And how could I trust Thomas with Chloe’s life if he could see this and do nothing?
