Chapter 7
“Wait.”
It was as they were walking down the corridor, heading back to their room.
From a distance, Theodore spotted the head butler, Vender, and stopped Claire, who was pushing his wheelchair.
Vender had clearly noticed him, yet he made no move to approach. Theodore glared at him and gestured curtly with his hand.
“Cough.”
Vender suppressed his discomfort and walked over, bowing slightly to Theodore.
“Long time no see, young master.”
“Heh. Yes, it has been a while.”
A brief silence settled between them. Vender was the first to break it.
“What do you need me for?”
The look in his wrinkled eyes was unmistakably annoyed. Claire was dumbfounded.
‘If there weren’t witnesses, I’d have kicked him already.’
She seriously considered where it would hurt the most.
Ignoring Claire’s dark thoughts, Theodore spoke in a cold voice.
“You assigned my maid to garden work? Until dawn?”
“Ah, did that maid tell you that?”
Vender’s eyes sharpened as he shot a glare at Claire, but she merely snorted.
‘What are you looking at? You look like a slug.’
“Answer my question.”
“Yes, I did. She didn’t seem to have much work, so I assigned her some.”
That shameless answer made a vein bulge on Theodore’s forehead.
“Do you not understand what ‘personal attendant’ means? I find it highly offensive that you would assign my maid to such menial labor.”
“But she is still a servant of this household. As head butler, I am responsible for managing all staff—”
“Heh.”
Theodore let out a sharp laugh and abruptly pushed himself up from the wheelchair.
For a moment, Claire wondered if his madness had flared up again—his gait and eyes were so sharp and volatile.
“You really don’t understand, do you? Vender Rofferson. I am speaking in the name of Voltier.”
The pressure in his voice forced Vender to step back. In the next instant, Theodore grabbed him by the collar.
“Say that again. ‘Manage’? You should remember who your master is.”
Vender’s face flushed red with anger and humiliation, but there was nothing he could say in front of the legitimate heir.
Only after seeing the old butler’s eyes bloodshot with rage did Theodore release him as if throwing him away.
“This better not happen again.”
He returned to his wheelchair and lightly tapped the handle.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Claire gave Vender a satisfied glance as he trembled with rage, then casually pushed the wheelchair forward.
She was in a good mood.
‘So he can make that kind of face too. Not bad.’
Like a tiny raccoon puffing up its fur to protect itself and hissing—quite touching.
Her relaxed smile slowly curled upward.
Theodore, half-turned, glanced at her expression before facing forward again.
“You have a suspicious expression.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The flowerbeds were well maintained.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they disappeared down the corridor, a single flower petal drifted down on the wind.
A week passed since the raccoon’s small rebellion had restored a semblance of peace.
Just when Claire thought the petty harassment had finally ended, it returned in a different form.
“Huh?”
The meals had become noticeably worse.
Claire stared down at her tray with a cold expression.
A few beans floating in watery soup with no real ingredients. The bread was dry and burnt on one side, leaving a bitter taste.
“Oh dear, maybe you should’ve come faster during mealtime.”
One of the lower-ranked cooks gave a smirk full of thinly veiled malice.
‘Seriously.’
Claire was speechless.
Ever since the incident with the head butler, the quality of food had sharply declined. The intent was obvious—such petty pressure was almost laughable.
Ignoring the mocking gaze, Claire calmly continued eating while thinking.
‘Well, I don’t really mind eating like this for a while.’
Her body, trained through long, intense conditioning, wouldn’t collapse just from a poor diet.
But Theodore was different.
This absurd household had quietly reduced even his meals.
“Isn’t this too little?”
The sandwich had been cut in half. And the filling was barely present.
“He barely finishes his food anyway. It’s more efficient than wasting it.”
The cook shrugged and lightly pushed Claire’s shoulder, clearly signaling her to take it and leave.
“Still, this is too little.”
Claire repeated firmly.
“The young master’s condition has improved recently, and his appetite has increased. He needs more nutritious food.”
Thanks to increased walks and sleep, the “nervous raccoon” had started putting on a bit of weight.
Claire’s job was to serve the young master. She actually liked her first assignment, and idiots interfering with it irritated her.
“Who do you think you are to talk back? I’ve known the young master ten years longer than you. If anything, feeding him less will keep him in check. It’s better for everyone if he’s kept weak!”
“Heh.”
Reasoning was useless.
Allowing his recovering condition to deteriorate because of such fools was unacceptable.
Claire no longer hid her anger. A dense killing intent seeped into the air.
Perhaps cleaning up trash should also fall under her duties.
She glanced around. Only the cook and herself were in the corridor.
“Shut your mouth.”
“What? You little brat—do you know who backs me?! I—”
Before he could finish, Claire grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the pantry. He was thrown into a sack of flour in an instant.
“Uwaah!”
“Shh.”
She quickly covered his mouth before he could shout.
“If you want to live, learn to read the situation.”
The confined space left no room for hesitation. Claire calmly looked down at him struggling, then picked up a potato from a nearby basket.
Crack.
With just her thumb and index finger, the potato was crushed like a soft fruit, completely losing its shape.
The cook trembled as he witnessed it up close.
“Better not shout. A human throat is softer than a potato.”
A perfectly clean intimidation technique—Angela would have praised it as excellent mercenary talent.
Shaking violently, the cook nodded. Only after Claire released him did he begin to hiccup.
“Hic… w-why… hic… why are you… hic…”
“Food.”
“Pardon?”
“Make the young master’s meals properly. Nutritious and plentiful.”
‘All this over something like that?!’
Tears of injustice filled the cook’s eyes, but he had no retort. He did not wish to end up like that potato.
“I understand! Hic… I’ll do it! I’ll prepare proper meals!”
Only then did Claire nod, satisfied.
“You promised.”
She switched back to polite speech and helped him up, brushing the flour off his clothes. Then she leaned in and whispered near his ear:
“Of course, this stays secret from everyone, including the head butler. I can find you anywhere, so remember that.”
With a light step from Claire, the stone floor dented slightly under her foot.
The cook nodded frantically, and Claire left the pantry satisfied.
Shortly after, the cook rushed back into the kitchen and soon brought out proper meals.
Salmon steak, soft bread, rich stew filled with meat, and a variety of fruits.
Claire’s eyes relaxed in satisfaction.
‘Now this is proper.’
“Make sure the young master continues to receive nutritious meals.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Speak comfortably.”
“Y-yes…”
Having successfully “hunted,” Claire calmly pushed the trolley toward the room where the white raccoon waited.
Only after she had completely disappeared did the cook collapse against the wall in relief.
At dinner that evening, a table filled with lavish dishes.
Theodore could not hide his confusion.
“Did something happen in the estate today?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps the kitchen had a good day.”
Claire replied casually as she placed a fork in his hand. After his recent episode of madness, Theodore had become unusually compliant.
“This is too much.”
“You may leave it.”
As she said it calmly, Theodore inspected the food with dissatisfaction before turning to Claire.
“Then just eat with me. It seems enough for two.”
The unexpected invitation made Claire raise an eyebrow slightly.
‘Why is he suddenly suggesting that?’
After a brief pause, she seemed to understand.
“Ah. Are you worried it might be poisoned?”
“That’s not it!”
Theodore shouted, then immediately grabbed his forehead as if in pain.
“You’re the one who started yelling.”
Claire looked at him with mild disappointment. Theodore stared back, speechless.
“You…”
