Chapter 9
The man with gentle, drooping eyes looked nothing like the loud one beside him, though their hair color was strikingly similar. Since he had called the other “brother,” they must have been siblings. Calliope understood enough and gave a slight nod.
“I know it’s the most expensive room in this town. It’s mine this time, but I’ll wish you the best of luck next time—may you be quick enough to book it first.”
“Well, much obliged.”
“No need to thank me. Hope your day moves quickly.”
With that, Calliope turned on her heel and headed down the stairs. The two men stayed where they were, exchanging silent glances as they watched her walk away.
Down in the dining hall, Calliope looked around in search of Jack. She spotted him soon enough, speaking with one of the restaurant staff. As she approached, she overheard their conversation—it was about tonight’s menu.
“Ah, my lady, you’re down earlier than I expected.”
“I was hungry.”
“I was just negotiating with the kitchen about the quality of the ingredients. If you wait just a moment, they’ll bring the food out soon.”
“We’re only staying the night and leaving in the morning. Don’t overthink it.”
Calliope casually hopped onto a chair near the window and swung her legs lightly as she took in the scene. One table held three large, burly men. Another was occupied by a couple dining and chatting together. A third had a group of well-dressed travelers gathered around. The room was filled with people from all walks of life enjoying their meals.
In the past, she would’ve eaten in her room—she hadn’t wanted to be around others, likely due to how strange and unfamiliar the world had felt to her then.
A short distance away, Jack finally finished negotiating with the staff and walked over. Pulling out the chair across from her, he sighed in complaint.
“This was supposed to be the best inn in town, but I can’t say I’m impressed.”
“Well, it’s still outside the capital, after all. Just because we’re near it doesn’t mean we’re in it. Lower your expectations—it’s not the Marquis’ estate.”
“You’re confusing, my lady. One moment you sound like a noble, the next like a carefree commoner.”
“What a flattering way to say I have no taste,” Calliope replied dryly. “Anyway, I was a commoner until just a few days ago. You think I’m suddenly going to act like a noble?”
She hopped off her chair and took the seat across from him. Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. At first, he had assumed she’d be utterly lacking in refinement—just a girl who had lived like a peasant. A child.
“Your food, sir and madam.”
But the way she naturally picked up the proper utensils and cut her meat without making a sound—that was unmistakably noble.
Was it something her mother, Ithiel, had taught her?
He stared without meaning to, until Calliope chewed and swallowed a piece of meat and gave him a sharp look.
“It’s rude to stare while someone’s eating, you know.”
“Ah, apologies. I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just eat.”
Jack picked up his utensils and began to eat quietly. The table between them was silent—no words, only the clinking of cutlery. Jack felt like he was eating with his superior all over again and made sure to chew thoroughly so he wouldn’t upset his stomach.
Just as he was enduring the quiet, Calliope, who had set down her knife and picked up her glass, suddenly remembered something.
“Sir Beckham, you’re a Viscount, aren’t you?”
Had he ever told her that?
Rather than try to recall, Jack simply responded truthfully, like the good servant he was.
“Yes. My father is a Count, but since I’m the second son, I won’t inherit the family title. That’s why I entered the Marquis’ service, and thanks to my work, I was granted the honorary title of Viscount.”
“Well, you’ll become a Baron soon enough. But the reason I’m bringing it up is because I don’t think it makes much sense for me to keep speaking formally with you.”
Calliope took a sip of water and gently set the glass down.
“Once we’re in the capital, I’m dropping the honorifics. I’ve been using formal speech out of courtesy, since you’ve worked hard bringing me here. But it’s probably best you get used to me speaking casually.”
“I don’t mind that at all. Though… I don’t expect to be granted the title of Baron anytime soon.”
She didn’t act like a commoner. She didn’t even act like a child. Still, in moments like this, Jack could see hints of youth—like assuming that Viscount meant Baron ship was inevitable.
Calliope didn’t reply. She simply smiled.
Jack didn’t yet understand what that smile meant.
The food, as expected, wasn’t up to noble standards—but it wasn’t terrible either. After eating most of her meal, Calliope waited for Jack to finish his, planning to head back to her room together.
That is, until—
“Get the chef out here!!”
The shout pierced through the dining hall like a blade, loud and sharp enough to make everyone turn their heads.
One of the large men stood up, holding a plate, and started shouting at the top of his lungs. With broad shoulders, scarred arms, and a thick waist, he looked every bit like an experienced mercenary.
Calliope tilted her head. This inn was fairly expensive—for both lodging and meals—so it wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect mercenaries to frequent. Of course, if you had money, anyone could stay here, but still…
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
A server rushed out in a panic. The big man shoved his plate in the young employee’s face.
“Look at this! There’s a hair in my food! I paid good money to eat here, and this is what I get?!”
If it were a cheap inn, maybe you’d expect something like that. But this place was decent, and finding hair in your food would naturally make anyone upset. The server—his light brown hair tied back neatly—bowed over and over in apology.
“I’m so sorry, sir! I’ll have the kitchen remake your dish right away.”
“No. I’ve lost my appetite. I want a full refund!”
Calliope glanced at his table. Besides the dish he was complaining about, he had already ordered five other plates and four drinks. His companions, clearly part of the same group, just sat there silently sipping their drinks, pretending not to notice.
The young server, who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, looked like he was about to cry. Still, he tried to explain carefully.
“S-sir, I’m very sorry… but we can only refund the dish that had the issue. We’ll remake it as well.”
“What? And how do I know the rest of the food is clean?!”
“I-I understand, but… those are the rules…”
“Forget it! What’s a waiter going to do? Get the owner out here!”
From demanding a new plate to shouting for the owner, the man’s dramatic behavior was crossing the line. Calliope frowned. It was one thing to be upset about a mistake—but this was just bullying.
The poor server looked completely overwhelmed, his face crumpling as if he might cry any second. He had done everything he could: apologized, offered a new dish, even a refund. But it wasn’t enough.
The man, seeing the hesitation, raised his voice even more.
“That’s enough.”
A calm voice cut through the noise.
Everyone turned. It was Calliope—white-haired, wearing a wrinkled, plain dress—standing with quiet authority.
“You’re making a scene over a plate of food. Is it really worth all this? Seems to me like you’re just trying to avoid paying.”
Her voice was calm, but clear. Coming from someone who looked even younger than the staff member, it should’ve sounded ridiculous—but no one laughed.
“Mind your own business, kid.”
“I’m only saying what everyone’s already thinking.”
Jack, who had been quietly chewing on his food until now, turned his eyes toward the large man.
“Can we see the plate?”
At Calliope’s small gesture, the staff member, without thinking, walked over and handed her the dish.
Only a few scraps of meat remained, and in the sauce sat a single dark brown hair.
Calliope looked at it for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
“The server’s hair is a much lighter brown than this.”
She used her fork to carefully move the hair to the clean edge of the plate.
“This looks more like your hair.”
“You think I can’t tell my own hair? If it’s not the waiters, then bring out the chef!”
“No need.”
Her tone danced between polite and teasing, just enough to irritate him. She dropped her fork on the plate with a clink and let out a deep sigh.
Brown hair was the most common hair color in the kingdom, after all.
The man’s face turned red, then purple, his anger building by the second. The young server looked back at Calliope, visibly worried.
To others, she probably looked like a kid trying to act tough. But she wasn’t acting. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“You ate the food. Now pay for it.”
“You little brat! What do you even know?!”
The man finally snapped. He rushed toward her, raising a fist the size of her head.
But before he could swing—
Thud.
A heavy sound cut through the tension.
The large man was knocked sideways and hit the floor with a groan. Calliope blinked and turned to see what happened.
Standing there was the auburn-haired man she’d seen earlier in the hallway, holding the sheath of his sword.
“No matter how angry you are, hitting a kid? That’s crossing a line.”
It looked like he had struck the man with the sheath. The mercenary staggered, trying to get up, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. He looked up, ready to fight—until he realized the man standing over him was taller, broader, and clearly stronger.
He hesitated.
“W-who the hell are you to get involved?!”
“Me? Just another customer. One who came here to eat in peace,” the man said coolly. “You made a scene, tried to hit a kid. Any decent adult would’ve stepped in.”
“I was just making a fair complaint!”
“Then you should’ve accepted the refund when it was offered.”
After calmly finishing his scolding, the man turned to Calliope.
“I get that you were trying to help, but that was reckless.”
“Is that so?” Calliope replied with a small tilt of her head.
