Chapter 33: A Familiar Feeling

“Haaah... still so good.”

Muen sat alone at the long dining table, elegantly cutting into his meal, savoring each bite.

The Duke estate’s chef hadn’t lost his touch—every dish was a symphony of flavor, an indulgence on the tongue.

“If it’s that good, Young Master, then you really shouldn’t forget to eat in the first place.”

Anne stood behind him, unable to hold back a mild scolding.

“If the Master or Madam finds out, I’ll be the one taking the blame.”

“Sorry, Anne.”

Muen smiled apologetically. “I’ll be more mindful from now on.”

“You shouldn’t just say that.”

Anne bent forward and set a crystal wine glass down beside his plate.

“Would Young Master care for a drink? This is a rare vintage gifted by Count Lock. They say his vineyard only produces a hundred bottles of this wine a year—even he barely drinks it himself. It’s going for 200,000 Aemils a bottle on the market.”

“I...”

Muen almost agreed. In his past life, he’d never once tasted anything this luxurious. Naturally, he wanted to try it.

But then he remembered what he still had to finish tonight—more reading, more mental processing—and alcohol was no friend to memory. With effort, he suppressed the urge and declined.

“Forget it. I won’t drink.”

Anne’s hand froze mid-pour.

“...Then what would Young Master like instead?”

“Coffee.”

It would keep him awake.

Sure, it didn’t go well with dinner, but he didn’t want to carry a drink into the library—those books were far too valuable to risk.

“...Coffee.”

“...Is something wrong?”

Muen noticed something was off. Anne wasn’t moving like usual. Normally, she would’ve already left the room to fetch it.

“I’m sorry, Young Master Muen,” Anne said evenly. “Due to... certain circumstances, your only options tonight are red wine or black tea.”

“...Huh?”

That line... why did it sound so familiar?

Muen didn’t dwell on it, though. He just asked instinctively:

“Why?”

“A maid was careless,” Anne explained. “The sack holding the coffee beans was chewed open by a rat. Most of the beans were eaten.”

“I don’t think you’d want to drink rat-nibbled coffee, would you?”

“...Definitely not.”

Muen nodded.

“Alright, then. Tea.”

Tea would do just as well for staying alert.

“Very good.”

Anne gave a slight bow and turned to go brew it.

“Wait.”

Muen stopped her, frowning.

“You’re going to make it yourself?”

“Hm? But Young Master, I am a maid.”

“But you’re the Head Maid now. Isn’t brewing tea a bit...”

“Even if I’ve become Head Maid, I’m still your personal maid. Making tea for Young Master is naturally my job.”

“...I see.”

Muen’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Go ahead, then.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Anne bowed again. “Please excuse me.”

“...”

Watching her leave, Muen rubbed his chin thoughtfully and muttered under his breath:

“Something about this feels... off. Like I’ve seen this before.”

But he couldn’t quite place it.

“Probably just tired.”

He chuckled to himself. “It’s not like Anne would do anything to harm me.”

****

Before long, Anne returned with the tea.

Just in time, too—Muen had finished eating and was dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“Thank you.”

He accepted the cup and prepared to take a sip.

But the moment the tea reached his lips, he paused.

He looked down at the cup. Then up at Anne’s impassive face.

“...Anne.”

“Yes, Young Master?”

“This tea... is really red.”

“Isn’t black tea supposed to be red?”

“Sure, but when I drink black tea, it’s usually a light reddish color. This looks... crimson.”

“Perhaps it’s the tea leaves,” Anne said smoothly. “Just like how oranges from North Dunel are smaller but sweeter than those from South Ciel, different regions produce different shades of tea.”

“...Then,”

Muen handed the cup back, staring into her eyes.

“You drink it first.”

“...”

Anne looked down at the cup in silence.

She didn’t flinch. Her expression didn’t change. If not for the faint floral scent that clung to her skin, Muen might’ve mistaken her for a statue.

After a moment, she took the cup.

“Does Young Master not trust me?”

“No. I just thought you’ve worked hard today. You should take a break and enjoy some tea.”

“You’re so kind, Young Master.”

Anne raised the cup slowly to her lips.

Muen watched her like a hawk, not letting a single movement go unnoticed.

He didn’t relax /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ until she brought it fully to her mouth.

But then—

“Sigh.”

Anne suddenly lowered the cup and sighed softly.

“When did you become this cautious, Young Master?”

“I knew it!”

Muen jumped back from his chair, arms crossed in defiance.

“You did drug the tea, didn’t you?! Hmph! Trying to pull this old trick on me—you think I’m that easy to fool?”

“Old trick?”

Anne tilted her head.

“Then... did you use this same move on someone else before?”

“Cough, cough—irrelevant.”

Muen cleared his throat, expression shifting to grim seriousness as he stared her down.

“The real question is: why? Why drug me? Why betray me, Anne?”

Anne... was his personal maid.

She’d served him since he was eight.

In both the original novel and this altered version of the story, she had always been the most loyal one by his side.

So why would she do this?

“I’ve never betrayed you, Young Master.”

Anne looked into the tea.

In its dark reflection, she saw her own eyes—still calm, unreadable.

But only she knew what churned beneath that surface: a flood of darkness and longing, barely contained, now spilling over.

Spilling, swelling—finally breaking free.

“I’m just putting everything back on track.”

“‘On track’?”

Muen frowned, confused.

“I don’t care what your reasons are. The fact is, you failed—so let’s—”

“Failed?”

Anne looked up and smiled.

“Why would you think that?”

“Eh?”

Muen froze.

Not just because of what she said—but because of how she looked when she said it.

For the first time, her elegant, composed face twisted into something unfamiliar—something slightly... grotesque.

She was smiling, yes.

But behind her deep black eyes... there was something alive. Something monstrous. Something staring at Muen like a dragon eyeing its treasure.

Crack.

A sharp sound pulled Muen’s attention downward.

His eyes widened.

Anne—delicate, pale, graceful Anne—whose soft hands folded his clothes and brought him tea every day...

Was crushing the teacup in her bare hand.

Not just breaking it. Pulverizing it.

Fine shards glittered like dust, mixed with tea, dripping between her fingers.

“You really left me no choice, Young Master~”

Anne took a step toward him.

Not good.

A chill shot up Muen’s spine.

What kind of maid had grip strength like this?!

But before he could even finish the thought, a sharp sound sliced through the air.

It came from behind.

Then—darkness.

Muen’s vision went black.

And everything faded.