Mara simply nodded and followed Alice, who now carried both bags—since it was obvious she was in no condition to carry even one.
I definitely want to live like this forever, Mara thought as she left the alley beside Alice.
...
...
...
"STAY AWAY."
"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER."
"Please…"
"Don't go on, I beg you."
…
The echoes of the dream faded like smoke the instant Reiko opened her eyes.
Her transition from nightmare to wakefulness was slow and heavy, like surfacing from deep, murky waters.
The first thing she focused on was the ceiling: white, pristine, covered in elaborate plaster carvings depicting vines and exotic flowers.
An expensive ceiling.
Elegant.
And lately, more and more familiar.
It was an image that should have felt comfortable, even reassuring.
Yet three weeks living in that mansion had not been enough for her to fully get used to it.
Elegance carried its own weight, and that weight sometimes felt less like luxury and more like a carefully decorated prison.
I think it's already time to get ready for another day of work, she thought, expelling the last remnants of sleep with a silent sigh.
Reiko sat up in bed, feeling the excessive softness of the silk sheets against her skin.
There was fatigue, yes—the inevitable residue of restless nights and days of constant observation.
But it wasn't physical exhaustion, the kind that breaks the body.
It was something different.
A persistent mental heaviness, like a fog that followed her everywhere.
Ignoring the feeling, Reiko simply stood up and began her daily routine of getting dressed with automatic movements.
The room, spacious and quiet, was furnished with refined taste that bordered on ostentatious: a carved wardrobe, a gold-framed mirror, velvet curtains filtering the morning light.
If I'm honest, I never thought I'd have a room like this to myself, she reflected as she buttoned the simple blouse that contrasted with the surrounding luxury.
And yet, the discomfort didn't come from the place or the situation.
It was something more subtle.
More persistent.
A constant sting at the back of her mind.
A thorny thought that hadn't left her since she left the city—or, more precisely, since she met Mara.
Since she learned what Mara was.
The image of that skill sheet returned without warning: the SSS letters, the censorship symbols, the incomplete information embedded in her memory like a splinter she couldn't remove.
It surfaced while she organized her things, while she ate … even now, as she adjusted the collar of her clothes in front of the mirror.
"Skill Assimilation…" she whispered to herself, and with those words came the memories of the brief time she had spent with Mara.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Reiko blinked, fully returning to reality.
The crisp, formal sound had yanked her abruptly out of her thoughts.
"Come in!" she called, raising her voice just enough to be heard through the heavy wooden door.
Just as she expected, it was one of the maids who entered.
The young woman stepped through the doorway and immediately offered a slight bow, a gesture as protocol-driven and automatic as the neutral expression on her face.
"Miss Reiko, Marchioness Dahlia asks if you are ready to begin today's duties," the maid reported, her tone completely flat.
"I'm almost ready… just give me a few minutes," Reiko replied, adopting the same professional neutrality.
"Understood. I will inform her. Please do not take too long," the maid answered curtly as she opened the door again.
After a second, barely perceptible bow, she left the room and closed the door carefully, without making a sound.
And then silence settled in again—but it was no longer the same.
The peace was broken.
The name of Marchioness Dahlia, the routine that was beginning, even the day itself… all of it felt insignificant compared to the persistent echo of those two words still resonating in the still air of the room.
Skill Assimilation.
However, before moving, one last thought—more practical than comforting—crossed her mind:
At least work will keep my mind away from all of that … or so I hope.
With that fragile certainty as her only consolation, Reiko headed for the door, adjusted one last fold of her clothes, and stepped out into the brightly lit hallway, ready to begin the day's duties.
As she walked down the long, ostentatious corridor, she couldn't say she found it pleasant—but she also couldn't say it was entirely unfamiliar.
She had grown up in a similar environment as a child.
Now, though, as an adult, it all felt a bit suffocating.
At least I'll only be here for a couple more days, until the "party" Marchioness Dahlia has been organizing takes place, she thought, trying to convince herself as she moved forward.
Originally, her stay hadn't been meant to last this long.
It was supposed to be temporary.
Brief. Just a couple of days.
But for reasons Reiko never fully understood, the marchioness seemed to like the way she worked.
Too much.
Her silent efficiency, her discretion, the way she knew how to move without drawing attention … all of it had worked against her.
So instead of letting her leave when she should have, Dahlia decided to keep her close.
Not only for the celebration preparations, but also for more … private administrative errands.
At least, she thought with a hint of bitterness, everything was covered.
The marchioness would handle the expenses of her stay, compensate Alice for the extra time, and send a formal notice justifying the extension.
It wasn't a bad deal.
But even so, Reiko knew it hadn't really been her choice.
And when she thought about that "party," she was well aware it wasn't a simple social event.
It was, in truth, a private orgy exclusively for women—a type of gathering where discretion wasn't a courtesy, but a requirement.
Her thoughts came to a halt when she found herself standing before the large wooden door leading to Marchioness Dahlia's study.
Sigh.
"Time to work," she whispered, opening the luxurious wooden door.