RMCOM 3

Chapter 3

As soon as she entered the house, Cersinia dropped herself onto the sofa.

It was an old cabin tucked deep in a quiet forest, far from the village.

Unless you already knew the way, it was nearly impossible to find—this was Cersinia’s home.

When she lifted her head, the worn interior came into view. The entire house was made of wood.

The ceiling in particular was so old that mice had gnawed holes all over it.

When it rained, water leaked straight through those holes, and on days of heavy downpours, the inside of the house often turned into a shallow flood.

She’d planned to use the money she won at the gambling house to replace that rotten ceiling first…

But she felt heat beginning to stir inside her once more.

If they failed to pay her after a week, she’d burn it all down—she swore it to herself.

“Um…”

At a voice as small as an ant crawling, Cersinia turned her head.

Oh, right. I brought him as collateral.

The child stood awkwardly in the corner.

She’d been so caught up thinking about the gambling house that she’d completely forgotten.

“What is it?”

“W-Why did you bring me here…?”

“Because you’re collateral.”

That was the truth.

She couldn’t say she felt no sympathy—but nearly ninety percent of the reason was money.

“I see…”

The child lowered his head, shoulders drooping, as if trying to hide his disappointment.

She felt a pang of guilt at the pitiful sight, but what could she do?

She needed the money.

Cersinia slowly examined the child, who fidgeted with his fingers, picking at his nails.

His overgrown black hair was stiff and matted.

It was so poorly cared for that a single pass with a comb might snap it in two.

Below that, she saw skin so pale it looked sickly, and dark red bruises near his mouth.

…Hah.

Cersinia sighed inwardly at the signs of what looked like prolonged abuse.

In any era, beating a child was a serious crime.

She couldn’t just let it slide, so she pushed herself up from the sofa.

I should at least put some medicine on him.

If she treated him regularly while he was with her, some of the wounds should heal.

She started walking.

Every step made the rickety wooden floor creak unpleasantly, as though it might collapse at any moment.

There wasn’t a single part of the house in good condition.

I should just move.

Once she got the money, moving would be better than repairing this place.

Not a decrepit wooden shack, but a sturdy house built of gleaming marble.

When she reached the doorway, she opened a small drawer beside it.

Inside was a medical kit containing basic medicine and disinfectant she’d stocked up on recently.

Carrying the heavy box back, Cersinia sat on the edge of the bed.

The child flinched at even her smallest movement, his body trembling.

From that alone, it was easy to imagine what kind of life he’d lived.

“I’ll treat you.”

Cersinia tore off a small piece of cotton and rolled it into shape.

“I-I’m fine…”

Ignoring the young voice that trembled like an aftershock, she tapped the spot beside her.

“Here.”

But the child froze like a statue, not moving an inch.

Stubborn, more than she’d expected.

“Come over here before I count to three.”

At her firm tone, the color drained from his face.

She paid it no mind and began counting.

“One.”

He fidgeted, rubbing his hands together as if unsure what to do.

“Two.”

His hands rose to his mouth.

He bit down on his thumbnail, clearly anxious.

“Three.”

The final number fell mercilessly from her lips.

Scurry.

As soon as she finished counting, he hurried over.

Like someone about to be punished, he clasped his hands neatly in front of him.

She didn’t like that at all, and her expression darkened.

She wasn’t trying to scold him—his instinctive fear irritated her.

“Sit next to me.”

“Th-This is fine…”

“Sit.”

“…Yes.”

At her lowered voice, he quickly perched on the edge of the bed.

He sat so precariously that a light shove might’ve knocked him off, but she pretended not to notice.

She didn’t want to see him flinch at every word.

Cersinia poured disinfectant onto the cotton.

The child’s eyes darted nervously to the side.

Without a word, she dabbed the cotton over his face, touching each wound lightly.

He winced at the sting.

But that was all.

He didn’t cry out—not even a small groan.

As if he believed he wasn’t allowed to make noise, he squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, and held his breath.

Feeling sorry for him, she sped up her movements.

At least his legs and body only had faint bruises—no serious wounds—so she didn’t need to apply any ointment there.

“Th-Thank you…”

He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and spoke.

“For what.”

She organized the disinfectant and medicine.

As she returned the box to its place, a question came from behind her.

“What should I call you…?”

She turned and looked at him.

“Cersinia.”

“Cersinia…?”

“That’s right. What’s your name?”

At her question, the child’s shoulders slumped, his posture visibly deflated.

What?

Cersinia tried to think about what she might’ve said wrong.

No matter how much she turned it over in her head, nothing came to mind.

Why is he reacting like that?

He stayed silent, wiggling his toes.

Just as irritation was about to surface, a calm, subdued voice struck a chord in her chest.

“I don’t have one. A name…”

“…Ah.”

She’d messed up.

The unexpected answer left Cersinia flustered.

Guilt welled up—she wondered if she shouldn’t have asked.

At the same time, she couldn’t help but question what kind of character in the novel had no name.

Was he just a nameless extra, created solely to explain the “slave” setting?

After all, the novel began with the female lead nearly being sold into slavery by her gambling-addicted father.

It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.

Looking at him with pity, Cersinia spoke again.

“How old are you?”

Her voice trembled slightly—she was half afraid of another unexpected answer.

“Nineteen.”

“You? Ah—sorry…”

What she’d meant to think slipped right out of her mouth.

She immediately apologized and shut her lips.

But really—he looked, at most, sixteen.

He only came up to her shoulder, and his thin arms and legs looked like they might snap if struck.

And most importantly—his voice.

That unbroken, youthful tone.

How could he possibly be nineteen?

There wasn’t even the faintest hint of stubble on his chin—it was smooth as porcelain.

“Yes… I’m nineteen.”

“…Wow.”

She let out a short groan.

Only one year younger than her.

It was shocking.

Her stunned disbelief quickly turned into pity.

Just how badly has he been fed…?

It felt like seeing one of those impoverished families she’d only ever watched on television.

She wanted to help him somehow.

Even if only while they were together, she wanted to put a bit of flesh back on that body that was nothing but skin and bone.

She suddenly remembered the soup she’d made that morning.

Giving him that much would at least ease her conscience.

“You’re hungry, right?”

He shook his head vigorously.

Grrrrr.

The quiet room was filled with the perfectly timed growl of his stomach.

“Ah, um—th-that’s just—”

Embarrassed, he began stammering, his cheeks flushing red like apples.

Cersinia let out a small laugh.

“There’s leftover soup. Let’s eat that.”

She turned toward the kitchen.

With no money on hand, she had to make do with what little food remained.

Still, she had enough supplies to last about a week—if there was any silver lining, that was it.

“R-Really, I’m fine!”

He rushed in front of her and spread his arms wide, blocking her path.

“I’m really not hungry. Really!”

“If we don’t eat it today, the soup will spoil. Help me out.”

She said it flatly.

Of course, it was a lie.

If she didn’t say it like this, he’d stubbornly refuse to eat to the very end.

Cersinia gently pushed him aside.

His body, light as paper, slid easily out of the way.

Since he didn’t protest dramatically, it seemed he’d finally given in.

She opened the cover of the brazier in the corner of the kitchen.

The firewood she’d put in that morning had burned down to gray ash.

She placed a few new logs into the brazier.

She added some dry twigs she’d kept on hand as well.

It’s just a little trick. That should be fine, right?

Naturally, Cersinia’s house had no matches.

She could control fire, after all.

Whenever she needed it, she’d always used magic.

Still, she felt a little uneasy—it was her first time using magic in front of someone else.

But it’s just a small flame. It’ll be fine.

She condensed heat at her fingertips and reached into the brazier.

Since it hadn’t been long since she’d transmigrated, she was still a bit clumsy at creating fire.

Fortunately, today it worked on the first try.

Whoosh.

The flame sparked to life in her hand and flew into the brazier, instantly igniting the kindling.

A few seconds later, the logs caught as well, sharing the fire until the brazier was filled with heat.

Crackle, crackle.

Leaving behind the calming sound of burning wood, she closed the brazier’s lid.

Cersinia straightened up.

When she did, she saw him staring at her with his mouth wide open, eyes sparkling.

“Wow… are you a mage?”

“Something like that.”

She replied coolly, as if it were nothing special.

Inside, however, she was flustered and didn’t know where to put herself.

It was her first time using magic in front of someone—it made her a little shy.

Clearing her throat to cover the awkwardness, Cersinia took a seat on a chair.

It would take a little time for the pot above the brazier to start boiling.

“That’s amazing! I’ve never seen a mage before.”

He trotted over and stopped at her side.

When she’d told him to come earlier, he’d stubbornly refused—now look at him.

His eyes were brimming with curiosity.

“Yeah. I’m the only one in this empire. So don’t spread it around.”

“Yes, of course. I don’t even have anyone to tell…”

Cersinia nodded and looked out the window.

Leaves were falling in clusters from trees swaying in the wind.

The breeze that had once been cool now carried a noticeable warmth.

Summer was approaching.

“Um…”

Her gaze shifted from the window to his softly moving lips.

“If you’re alone… aren’t you lonely?”

At his question, Cersinia tilted her head slightly.