And without turning around or giving any reply, Reiko left the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
What did I do to deserve all of this? she thought as she walked down the hallway, the papers clutched tightly against her chest.
There was no anger left—only a deep, resigned, and exhausted sense of amazement at the absurd direction her life had taken.
Reiko looked down at the sheets she was holding, feeling the weight of duty even before she had begun.
I guess I should hurry and finish this list as soon as possible, she thought, though deep down she already suspected what she would find written on those pages.
As she read more carefully, her fear was confirmed.
Task after task was marked as pending, half-finished, or simply ignored.
A familiar knot of stress began to form in her stomach, but she took a deep breath and held it back.She wasn't completely alone in this.
In a rare moment of practical sensibility, Marchioness Dahlia had assigned her an assistant: a maid named Bell.
She was peculiar, messy, and at times downright incomprehensible in her logic.
But she was efficient—in a crude, stubborn way that Reiko had learned to appreciate over time.
"REIKO!"
Bell's voice sliced through the hallway like a poorly sharpened knife—too sharp, too cheerful for a space heavy with luxury and costly tapestries.
Speak of the devil, Reiko thought, and at that exact moment she felt the impact.
Bell lunged onto her back with the contained force of an overexcited puppy.
Reiko lost her balance and hit the floor with a dull thud, immediately followed by the light but enthusiastic weight of the maid, who was laughing shamelessly.
"Oops, sorry, boss!" Bell said, though her apology sounded more like a formality than genuine remorse.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah … could you get off me?" Reiko replied, trying to keep her composure as the maid settled on top of her like a living cushion.
"Okaaay!" Bell answered, springing off Reiko with a nimble hop.
Reiko stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her clothes before fixing her gaze on her assistant.
As always, the first things that caught her attention were the small black horns peeking through Bell's dark, messy hair, and the thin tail swaying constantly behind her, moving with an energy that never seemed to fade.
"So, boss, what work do we have today?" Bell asked, leaning in so close that her warm breath brushed against the papers Reiko was holding.
"A lot of work, so get ready—because today there will be no breaks," Reiko said, rolling up the sheets and giving Bell a light tap on the head with them.
"At your service, boss!" the maid replied, snapping into a mock military stance, tail straight up and eyes shining with a determination so intense it was almost comical.
Reiko couldn't help a small, nearly imperceptible smile from forming on her lips.
Bell was loud, physical, unpredictable … but she got things done.
Every task Reiko assigned her, no matter how tedious or complicated, was carried out with a stubbornness that always produced results.
It wasn't exactly affection that Reiko felt toward her, but it was a deep professional respect.
Bell never asked why things had to be done.
She never complained about how.
She simply did them.
There was another, more personal reason Reiko felt strangely relieved in her presence: Bell was a pure demon, and as such, she possessed no skills.
That meant the anxious reflex Mara had planted in her—the automatic scanning, the compulsive need to check that no one else had suddenly acquired a new Skill—remained inactive around her.
With Bell, Reiko could lower her guard.
She could breathe without her mind constantly on alert, scanning the air for floating letters and abilities that shouldn't exist.
"All right, let's get this done," Reiko said, resuming her walk down the hallway with renewed determination.
"OkeyDokey!" Bell replied, skipping along after her, her steps bouncy, almost like an excited child's.
These are going to be very long days, Reiko thought, but for the first time since setting foot in the mansion, the idea didn't fill her with deep discouragement.
She had a list, an assistant who—against all odds—worked, and the quiet certainty that, at least for a few hours, she wouldn't have to face the ghosts Mara had left haunting her mind.
It was just work.
Just duty.
And she even had an overly energetic demon for company.
It could be worse.