* * *
Ranshel blinked several times, staring at the message.
The number didn’t make sense.
“Fifteen percent…”
Had there ever been a jump that big in one go?
Ranshel was so confused he couldn’t even process the situation properly.
He had set the rules clearly.
To raise Contribution, he had to stir up betrayal—and for that, he needed Zavad’s trust and affection first.
He thought they were close enough now, maybe on par with Petro.
But after today… that didn’t seem to be the case.
Who treats someone they care about like this?
Shouldn’t you be kinder to the people you cherish?
And yet, the fact that his Contribution had gone up like this…
As he replayed the increased stats and current events in his head, suddenly he heard his name.
“…Ranshel.”
Ranshel tore his eyes away from the system window and met Zavad’s gaze.
His eyes were steady, carrying a certain resolve.
“I’ve decided to become Lady Vershel’s lover.”
“…”
“So give up. Don’t waste your feelings on someone who belongs to someone else.”
‘Lover.’
Ranshel found that word strange—foreign.
An engagement was just a step in the middle of the game.
Right now, Frey and Zavad were only proceeding with a contractual arrangement, using each other to achieve their own goals.
Marriage was even further off.
At least while Ranshel was alive, Zavad wouldn’t get married.
Only when the target character’s personal story concluded could the heroine reach an ending with him.
In otome games, marriage is the final stage.
A villain who dies halfway through would never witness it.
So engagements, marriages—they were all just processes, outcomes.
Inevitable, expected parts of the plot. What was there to be bothered by?
But the thought of Zavad actually dating Frey—it made him feel… strange.
Ranshel couldn’t understand his own feelings.
‘They’ve already gotten that far?’
Had Zavad completely fallen for Frey?
Not just interest or curiosity, but enough to picture a real future with her?
Is that why, when some lowly commoner dared to look at his lover, he couldn’t tolerate it?
Ranshel lowered his head.
It felt like all the energy drained from his body.
He hadn’t expected things to move so fast.
Everything was happening far too quickly.
It was like the game itself was pushing him forward, urging him on.
Telling him to do his part properly.
To deliver a devastating betrayal and face a brutal death.
Even as he reaffirmed his resolve daily, every day he wavered again.
“Are you crying?”
“…No.”
Why would he ask that?
He wasn’t crying.
The situation was just hard to deal with.
Zavad didn’t seem to believe him.
Soft fingertips touched Ranshel’s cheeks, lifting his face gently, almost hesitantly.
“…You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m not.”
Zavad’s fingers brushed against his cheeks, delicate enough to tickle, as if wiping away nonexistent tears.
Ranshel blinked slowly.
Zavad’s hand was warm, probably from how tightly he had been clenching his fists.
Ranshel felt weak, exhausted, upset.
He just wanted to sit still, but his body moved on its own again.
He grabbed Zavad’s wrist and pulled it away from his face, staring quietly at the swollen, bruised hand.
A hand so pale and delicate, as if it had never touched anything rough or harsh… now looked like this.
A sadness incomparable to before welled up inside him.
Moments ago, he was just drained, but now, if he stayed like this, he really might cry.
Ranshel quickly rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, fumbling through his clothes for the Merck ointment.
He crushed the rounded medicine in his fingertips, gently applying it to Zavad’s bruised hand with painstaking care.
His fingers trembled with nerves, trying not to cause any more pain.
“….”
A sigh escaped his lips.
There were plenty of good pharmacists and skilled doctors around, so why did he always reach out first?
It’s just… seeing this boy in pain, even for a second, was unbearable.
Like a goldfish forgetting over and over, he kept making mistakes.
No matter how many times he steeled himself, his resolve crumbled again.
Ranshel wished someone could tell him how.
How to betray this boy.
What he had to do to hurt him without hesitation, to turn away without a second thought.
If only someone could hand him the answer.
Zavad stayed strangely quiet and still.
Only after Ranshel let go of his hand did he finally speak.
“…I don’t know what to do with you.”
The hand Ranshel had just treated reached for his face.
Slim, graceful fingers gently brushed over his reddened skin.
They kept lingering, grazing the spots he had roughly rubbed with his sleeve.
It wasn’t like he had actually cried, only gotten flustered—but Zavad touched him like wiping away invisible tears.
“…Fine, do whatever you want.”
A sigh laced his words.
“Just… do what you want. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Ranshel couldn’t understand what Zavad was saying, but after Zavad had stroked his face for quite a while, he could at least guess what that lingering touch meant.
It probably wasn’t so different from when he had tended to Zavad’s wounds earlier.
The contribution points that went up earlier… this touch now.
“Young Master,” Ranshel called.
“What?” Zavad replied curtly.
“Do you… care about me?”
Zavad tilted his head slightly, almost lazily.
“What do you mean by care?”
“Uh, like… you want to treat me well? Treasure me… or something?”
“…Not really? I don’t feel like doing that.”
Oh.
Ranshel wondered if he had misunderstood something again.
Zavad dropped his gaze for a moment, looking as though he was thinking deeply, then spoke again.
“I just want to completely own you, that’s all.”
“…What?”
Ranshel flinched, raising his head, only to be met with Zavad’s completely calm expression.
Zavad spoke without hesitation.
“I’m going to buy you off your employer and keep you under me for life. Be ready to work until you die.”
…What the hell.
His heart had suddenly raced but now returned to its normal rhythm.
All Zavad meant was that he’d work him like a ruthless boss—Ranshel had almost misunderstood.
But still… if Zavad wanted to use him for life, did that mean he had that much value?
At least for now, Ranshel was sure he was the most useful person to Zavad.
Well, besides Frey.
‘Maybe Doter wasn’t entirely wrong…’
A faint, pathetic laugh escaped him.
Meanwhile, Zavad took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the medicine off Ranshel’s hand.
Ranshel stared at him and casually muttered:
“Young Master, you really like me, huh.”
“…What the hell are you saying? Are you crazy?”
Zavad threw the handkerchief to the floor.
Ranshel blinked innocently.
“Why are you getting mad? I was just joking…”
“Stop spouting nonsense. Who likes who, exactly?”
“I know. I was teasing. You like Lady Frey, don’t you?”
“…Hah.”
Zavad let out a dry laugh.
He furrowed his brows tightly, glanced around, then slowly nodded.
“Yeah. That’s better. Let’s go with that.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s say… I like Lady Berschal.”
If you like someone, you like them.
What’s with ‘let’s go with that’?
Ranshel tilted his head in confusion.
‘Is it because he doesn’t want to admit it?’
Well, he’s at that confusing age.
And Zavad’s pride is sky-high.
Ranshel decided to chalk it up to Zavad’s adolescent rebellion.
After all, Ranshel was good enough to be kept by his side for life.
* * *
