Chapter 2
Chapter 2
They scrambled to their feet to tail “her”—they didn’t even dare say her name out loud properly. The table wobbled, sending the photos dancing near the edge.
“Grab everything!”
Even as they frantically scooped up the pictures, they didn’t forget to lift the Polaroid camera and snap one more shot of Milana’s profile as she said her goodbyes.
They tucked the morning’s most important work back into their coats and hurried out of the shop with quick but discreet movements. They could already see her small figure in the distance.
“She’s tiny but damn, she walks fast.”
“She’s always in a hurry, that one.”
Admirable, really.
The more you watched her, the more you saw it—Milana Ven was a kind, sweet, and tough student. She darted around like a squirrel, giving her all to everything she did.
Even when exhaustion was written all over her small face, she still tried to smile, making an effort not to dump her own negative feelings onto anyone else.
And from what the scarred man had observed over the years… acting the way she did, given her circumstances, was far from easy.
‘A bleak, downright miserable situation…’
Truth be told, he was certain his little boss and that tiny, pitiful woman could never end up together. Despite his boss’s burning, desperate obsession. Sure, passion can bridge some gaps, but… only so much. It wasn’t just their circumstances—their whole image, their personalities, were worlds apart. Heaven and earth.
Still, he never said a word to the boss. First, this job was stupidly easy compared to his old assassination days, and he loved it. Second, he’d grown unexpectedly fond of the little woman, and his boss’s presence never really harmed her.
‘He sends her anonymous donations every month, and yet she’s still struggling like that…’
Though that part was inevitable. The Magic Department she was in had always been expensive. Before a mage could establish themselves, they had to cover endless costs for reagents, materials, and astronomical tuition all on their own. Even with the scholarships Milana fought tooth and nail to keep and the hefty anonymous donations she received, it was nowhere near enough to cover tuition, supplies, living expenses, and her sisters’ care.
Right now, as she sprinted ahead without a proper lunch, she probably had a piece of leftover bread from yesterday in her mouth. Watching her pitiful back grow smaller and smaller, the scarred man clicked his tongue and raised his camera again.
Milana had already passed through the university’s main gate. The two men scrambled after her, clicking the shutter, but when she disappeared into a campus building, they finally relaxed. Going inside a building packed with students was too risky. Especially dressed like this.
“…Shouldn’t we have disguised ourselves as students?”
“Sometimes we do go in like that… but even if we had, it probably wouldn’t have worked today. Because of you.”
The scarred man’s eyes swept over his partner’s body, built like a lecture hall door, and another noisy argument erupted. Their voices were getting loud enough that students on the campus lawn were starting to glance over, when—
“Hey.”
One cold word and both of their mouths clamped shut. Their backs bent on pure reflex.
“Lord Vladimir.”
“Shut up and straighten your backs. You trying to advertise to the whole neighborhood that you’re mafia brats? Hm?”
Right on time, their little boss and direct superior appeared. The thick horn-rimmed glasses covering his small face flashed under the sunlight. The lenses were so strong that behind the endlessly swirling rings, his rice-grain-sized violet eyes, the color barely discernible, were narrowed with irritation.
“And what’s with the outfits? I told you to dress normally.”
This is normal… the big guy muttered, clueless. The scarred man jabbed him in the ribs and quickly explained.
“…There’s a big summit with the Gignori family this afternoon. If it turns into war, we could get called up as backup.”
“Ahh—”
Vladimir was someone everyone respected for his sharp, rational mind, nasty temper aside. He’d earned the family’s trust for it. In some ways, his reputation even beat out Alexander’s, the man at the very top of the Yefronsky family. As long as you met his high standards, he was surprisingly easy to work for. A stable boss, you could say. Gazing up at his superior with something like reverence, the scarred man reached into his coat.
“Here’s the morning’s work.”
The big guy watched his partner hand over his Polaroids to the boss, then shook out his own inside pocket. But maybe because it was his first day and he’d been rushing, his rough hands accidentally pulled out the torn-up photo scraps from earlier.
Flutter, flutter.
“…What’s this?”
The gaze behind the thick glasses tilted down toward the photo scraps on the ground. His voice dropped to something cold and dark.
“Oh! That’s…”
This was exactly why you never took on someone else’s castoff. A real newbie at least tried to listen to a senior and follow orders, tense and on edge from the pressure. But this guy, who’d coasted through his transfer, had taken those golden rules and chewed them up like trash. What did “tear up the photo” mean? It meant don’t let the boss see it, you idiot…
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