Chapter 50: Rita Stays Tonight

A Ticking Heart

The room was silent, but Kross’s heartbeat thundered like drums.

The vial of succubus essence, tucked in her pocket all day, had been warmed by her hand countless times.

Buying desserts, fetching drinks for Rita, watching her focus on the play—Kross had considered spiking something with the liquid each time.

Yet she abandoned the idea just as often.

Not out of pity for Rita, but fear of acting rashly.

Rita might seem naive, but as the Fourth Princess’s confidante and a future Holy Knight, her strength and sharpness couldn’t be underestimated.

She’d tracked leads to the black market and the brothel. Today, one question nearly exposed Kross. Even now, with just a wall between them, Kross couldn’t guess Rita’s thoughts.

Rita’s thoughts were simple.

Living in a place like this—Kross is so pitiful.

But a girl’s room? That’s amazing.

Kross concluded it was too risky to use the essence.

Still, she wasn’t helpless. Even without it, she’d find a way to make Rita drop her guard.

A Deceptive Dinner

Soon, Kross brought a spread of food to the bedroom.

“Lady Rita, sorry for the wait.”

With it came an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“Care for a drink? I snuck this from the shop—top quality. Older stock goes unnoticed, so we sell it for extra cash. But you’re my savior, so I’d rather treat you.”

Showing her immaturity made Kross seem like an ordinary girl caught in life’s chaos, more believable than a perfect saint.

Under Kross’s hopeful yet shy gaze, Rita nodded.

With no chairs, Kross sat beside Rita on the bed—part of her plan.

Subtly closing the distance was a basic tactic. She’d used it when Rita first visited the brothel and throughout their date.

Pouring wine into prepared glasses, Kross filled one for Rita and herself, starting dinner.

The table held herb-, mustard-, and garlic-crusted lamb chops, a bowl of cream-mixed blueberries, butter-and-cheese mashed turnips, and a corn-and-turnip-leaf salad.

Rita admitted it wasn’t lavish—save for the lamb chops, these dishes wouldn’t grace the city lord’s table. Yet it had a homely warmth.

Without her presence, Kross might not have such a feast.

Kross’s cooking was good. Chatting as they ate, they cleared the plates quickly.

Kross cleared the dishes, leaving the wine bottle behind.

In under half a minute, she returned, likely having washed everything.

Sitting back on the bed, she refilled Rita’s glass, clinking hers against it.

Another glass down, Kross’s cheeks flushed, but she grew chattier.

She wasn’t drunk. As a brothel worker, Kross couldn’t afford to be. The shop provided an alchemical potion to speed metabolism, flushing alcohol out faster.

The potion reddened the face, perfect for faking drunkenness—a mandatory skill for employees.

A tipsy, flirty worker loosened clients’ purses.

But Kross wasn’t after Rita’s coins—she wanted her head.

The wine, carefully chosen, was costly, smooth, and dangerously potent, perfect for clouding the mind of self-proclaimed heavy drinkers.

After a few glasses, Rita must be quite tipsy.

Patience—don’t get cocky yet.

Using the lingering alcohol, Kross rested her head on Rita’s shoulder, cooing in a dreamy tone, mixing stories with coyness.

“If I had somewhere to go, it’d be perfect. The manager’s so harsh, tormenting me. Our polished look comes from endless training and beatings. I don’t want to learn this stuff—I want to be a normal girl, learning normal skills.”

Rita sipped her wine, exhaling warmly through her nose.

Silent, her heart ached for Kross.

She’d only read such tales before. Now, a girl forced into this life sat before her—how could she not feel for her?

Empathy was seeing oneself in another’s story.

Without that cursed game author, Rita would be sipping milk tea, gaming in air-conditioned comfort, not hiding her identity in this game world, fearing exposure.

Sometimes, she wondered if she was too cautious. Acting out wouldn’t hurt, but she feared it’d spark suspicion, dooming her.

She had countless ways to solve problems, but none could bear the cost of revealing her identity.

Fine, better safe than sorry.

Kross continued. “I’m trapped. See the marks on the door? Debt collectors did that. If I don’t pay, they’ll do worse.”

Rita knew debt collectors—she’d seen two beating someone in the black market.

Wasn’t she trapped too? Joining the exam on a whim, she ended up under Cecilia’s wing, stuck by her side.

“I thought about ending it all, but I lack the courage. Escape? The consequences are worse. I just drift through, numb.”

Rita never considered death, but escaping Cecilia’s side wasn’t an option either. She just got by, avoiding thoughts of tomorrow.

Maybe she was too scared to change.

A Plea to Stay

Time passed as Rita listened to Kross’s drunken ramblings. When she noticed the sky was pitch-black, she stood.

“Kross, it’s late. I should go.”

“Lady Rita.”

Kross grabbed her sleeve, her flushed, drunken face half-exposed as her dress slipped off one shoulder, her pitiful eyes fixed on Rita.

“Stay a bit longer, please?”