# 4
4. The Wretched Master of the Count's House (4)
Serving a blind master was no easy task. First of all, Vincent was far too guarded. I heard that since he shut himself in his room, I was the tenth person hired. Initially they were manservants, then midway they switched to maids, but most couldn't work for long and either quit or suddenly disappeared.
Setting aside the sudden disappearances, I could well understand why no one lasted long. Perhaps because he couldn't see, he was sensitive to every sound in the world, and just as sharp.
And he never moved from the bed. Except for brief moments when necessary, he stayed holed up in bed. Especially when someone entered, he would swiftly pull the sheet over himself.
On top of that, his temper was foul—everything brought to him was overturned without exception, causing chaos. And if he sensed even the slightest movement from me, he would curl his sheet-wrapped body tightly, hiding himself.
Quite the little cat, isn't he.
The only time Vincent showed any composure was when the butler came. The butler was the old gentleman who had brought me here. He visited Vincent's room once a day, and during that time, the two seemed to have rather serious conversations. On those occasions, Vincent didn't cover himself with the sheet and showed a surprisingly earnest attitude. Whenever I stole a glance, I thought that this must be the kind of grave and passionate person he originally was.
So what. Look at him now.
The plate that flew past my face crashed against the wall with a shatter. I was too tired to even turn around and check anymore.
"Get out."
I let out a deep sigh and squeezed my eyes shut. At the sound, Vincent shrank back but his gaze was fierce.
"It seems I'm not to your liking."
"That's right. I don't like you at all. So get out."
"What is it that displeases you? Tell me and I shall correct it."
"Everything from one to ten. Absolutely everything."
That's a problem then.
"I will strive to be to your liking."
"No need, just disappear from my sight."
Ah, I want to hit him just once.
A disobedient child needs a knock on the head to come to their senses. I glanced at his skull. Just... one hit, would that be too much?
"What are you thinking."
"...."
"Don't even think about doing anything. I'll kill you."
Sensitive about that, aren't we. I shrugged my shoulders and turned to clean up the shattered plate.
What a waste. If sold at the market, it would have fetched a good price. Smacking my lips at the loss, I gathered the broken pieces. Right, meals can wait—let's sort out the bedsheets first.
"Master, the bedsheets need to be changed."
"Don't come near."
"If you would just move aside for a moment..."
It was the moment I approached him to pull off the bedsheets. Something flew and struck my forehead. The intense impact made me lose consciousness briefly. When I steadied my swaying body, I saw what had hit my forehead and fallen—a desk clock.
I picked up the clock and checked it; the hour hand had stopped, broken. I was dumbfounded.
"If you didn't want to, you could have just said so. Why use something so dangerous..."
"What, afraid you'll die? Someone like you dying wouldn't matter to anyone anyway."
I raised my gaze from the clock and fixed it on him. Vincent was rarely showing his face. Even after dangerously hurling something at a person, his expression was calm. No—he was sneering.
"People like you are all the same. Beggars who'll do anything for money. Filthy creatures mad with greed. Would trash like that fear death? You probably came here for money too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have so easily accepted a stranger's offer you'd never met before."
"...."
"Do you know why I hired you? Because you have outstanding abilities? Because you're trustworthy? No, none of that. It's because it doesn't matter if you die. Someone who knows how to please others, is moderately useful, and if you become a nuisance later, killing you wouldn't be a problem. That's what you are."
The words he spat out pierced my chest like blade tips. The embedded points ruthlessly shredded my insides. How could he be so cruel. How could he say such terrible things. Yet no tears came, because these too were words I had heard before.
Blame is easy. Blaming others as naturally as breathing, and finding comfort in doing so—that was easy. People had done that to me. Sometimes my father, and my only sister as well. They built their dignity by blaming me. That was the value of my existence.
So I wasn't hurt. It hurt less than my father beating me.
Of course, feeling upset was a separate matter.
"You're truly awful."
"What?"
"Such a magnificent master certainly lives in a filthy manner."
At my words, Vincent's face turned beet red. The way he glared at empty air was, truly, pitiful.
He gritted his teeth and muttered.
"Watch your mouth."
"To add one more thing, you're absolutely right. I am indeed mad with greed. I love money."
"What?"
"As you said, Master, I'm someone whose death wouldn't matter, and if I disappeared suddenly, no one would look for me. If you ordered my death right now, I couldn't resist. So there's no need to be afraid. But if you still find me displeasing, then please just kill me. And if you do kill me, I'd appreciate it if you did it in one blow. That's cleaner than torture. Oh, and rest assured, even if I die, there's no one who would come to avenge me. You've truly found the right person."
"...."
He finally fell silent. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes aimed at empty air. It was a brief moment. When I approached again, he immediately showed his wariness.
"Then, Master."
He fumbled around with his hands as if looking for something to throw, but I paid no mind. There was nothing left to throw anyway. Taking advantage of his flustered state, I stopped in front of the bed.
"Excuse me."
And I grabbed the sheet and yanked it hard.
Without even a groan, he tumbled across the bed. Immediately after, with a thud! Vincent fell off the bed.
"What are you doing!"
"I'm changing the sheets, Master."
I pushed him away with my foot as he tried to say something and pulled out the remaining bedsheets. Then I put on the fresh sheets I had prepared. I pretended not to hear him screaming beside me.
Next, I sat in front of him as he groped the floor and unbuttoned his pajamas. Noticing this, Vincent reached out to stop me. I smoothly caught that hand and pinned it to the floor, pressing my knee on top of it.
"What are you doing! Don't touch me!"
"Why. Do you have some magnificent body or something?"
"What?"
Momentarily stunned, he only realized what I was doing when I unbuttoned all the pajama buttons and tried to pull it off backward—then he twisted his entire body in resistance. With unexpectedly strong force, my body lost balance and tilted toward the floor. Freed, one of his hands grabbed my head and pushed forcefully. But I didn't give in either. Though my head was pushed back, I held on to the pajamas without letting go. I pressed my knee harder on the hand trying to free itself, and twisting my body along with his, I tried to strip off the pajamas. The other hand pinned under my knee also twisted this way and that, making my body heave as well—it was chaotic.
In the middle of that struggle, when he momentarily let his guard down, I yanked the pajamas behind his shoulders.
He said it had been about a year since he lost his sight. And he'd been shut in his room, not even eating properly, for about half a year.
He was too thin.
The exposed body had no flesh.
It was so gaunt that his ribs were visible. He had lost a lot of muscle too. From the outside, his build looked decent enough, but stripped down, it was entirely different. Occasionally when I grabbed his arm, the thin feel had made me think there was nothing but bones, but I never imagined he was this emaciated. Moreover, there were small bruises here and there.
Come to think of it, his face seen up close was also too thin and bloodless. Probably from not sleeping properly, the area under his eyes was sunken. The cloudy emerald eyes held no focus, and his cracked, chapped lips labored with ragged breaths.
He looked like he'd break at a touch.
Even though he was clearly a grown man, such a thought crossed my mind.
How pitiful.
So without realizing, I stroked his cheek. He flinched and turned his head away from my hand. He slightly lowered his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. It was shame.
Watching him like that, I removed my hand. I lifted the knee pressing his hand and pushed his shoulders back. As his body fell limply, I simultaneously pulled off his pants. Out of conscience, I left the underwear alone.
I stood up with the dirty pajamas and fetched new ones from the wardrobe. He was curled up tightly, wrapping his bony body with both arms. His spine jutting out was ugly to see.
"If you wish to keep wearing smelly clothes, there's nothing I can do, but as someone serving you, I hope you'll understand my earnest desire to keep you clean at all times. And I would appreciate it if you'd extend your arms so I can dress you in new clothes."
"I'm going to kill you."
"Yes. Please extend your arms straight up."
I grabbed his thin arm. He resisted as if refusing to extend it, but it was feeble strength. Who knew a man's strength could be this weak. It seemed to show the life he'd lived, confined only to this room.
Instead of forcing his arm up, I slipped the new pajama sleeve over his wrist. Then he fumbled and began to put on the pajamas himself. He must be embarrassed about undressing. Pretending not to notice, I adjusted the clothes so he could dress easily.
"The pants are here. And the underwear too."
"...."
There was no reply. I hadn't expected one anyway.
I placed the remaining clothes in his hand and headed to the bed. I removed the pillowcase and replaced it with a new one, and changed the sheets too. Feeling satisfied looking at the clean bed, I turned back to Vincent. Fortunately, he had also changed into the new pants.
With a pleased expression at his tidy appearance, I approached him. Vincent was trying to stand up, using his hands against the floor. When I reached out to support him, he sharply slapped my hand away. Then he groped at empty air and stubbornly tried to walk to the bed by himself. Stubborn, isn't he.
"Master, you need to go to the right."
"Shut up."
Despite his words, he quietly turned his body to the right. I watched him from behind and picked up the discarded clothes. But why was this all? Where was the underwear?
"Master, you need to change your underwear too—"
Before I could finish, Vincent quickly lay down on the bed. Seeing him pull the new sheet over his head and squirm into the corner to curl up, I lost my words. Just in case, I approached him and took a whiff—a foul odor hit me.
Surely...?
"Did you not change your underwear?"
"Get out."
No, that's dirty. Excuse me, Master. As I leaned toward him, the sheet fluttered and something suddenly popped out from inside.
What touched my forehead was a gun.
I froze completely in shock, and he pulled the trigger—click.