CTTT08

Chapter 3.

Arnold Sanatorium

“Did this girl not have a brain?”

The first thing Seres did upon returning to the room was, quite literally, assess the situation.

After calculating the debts owed and the money that had to be repaid immediately, Seres was overcome with a deep, simmering frustration she hadn’t felt in a long while. Heat rose to the back of her neck.

“She actually thought it was a good idea to borrow this kind of money?”

No matter how desperate things were, there were limits to the kind of loans one should take. Some money simply must never be touched.

“One hundred and thirty-five percent?”

The annual interest rate was one hundred and thirty-five percent.

All the loans Seres found, taken against the house and land, carried that same rate. The interest had already far exceeded the principal long ago.

“Was her head just for decoration—to make herself look taller, perhaps? What kind of courage—or stupidity—does it take to borrow from loan sharks?”

Even back in Greis, there had been those who did such shady moneylending. But Seres had never had anything to do with them. To her, it was always just a distant thing—“Ah, so there really are people who borrow such outrageous loans, even knowing it ruins their lives. They must have been truly desperate.”

But now—

The original owner of this body had been exactly such a person.

“She was braver than I thought… or maybe just brainless.”

How could anyone see that kind of interest rate and still agree to borrow?

“Ha…”

Unbidden, the image of the girl in the darkness came back to her—the one who had wept so pitifully, begging for help.

Could it be… she took her own life because of this crushing debt? Because she couldn’t handle it anymore?

‘Now I understand why the boy acted the way he did.’

Seres recalled how the little nephew had snapped at his aunt when she returned home, pretending concern for the children. It turned out that it was Aunt Agnes who had introduced all these loans.

She had said:

“Isn’t saving Yulia the most important thing? Borrow the money first.”

‘She wasn’t wrong about that…’

No one could simply let their sister die.

“Still…”

After carefully examining every record of the money supposedly spent on Yulia’s treatment, Seres became convinced of one thing.

“Arnold Sanatorium.”

The place Yulia was currently staying was not normal.

None of the invoices looked any different. Each was nothing more than a long list of outrageously expensive medicinal herbs.

“Is that place even a real sanatorium? Or is it just a glorified apothecary?”

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

With her permission, Antonion entered timidly. His eyes immediately fell on the mountain of documents piled on the table, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you even understand what you’re looking at?”

He wasn’t trying to be rude—it was genuine curiosity.

“More or less.”

“So… if we don’t sell the shop, Yulia won’t be able to get treatment anymore?”

Though he had boldly declared to their aunt that the shop would never be sold, Antonion knew very well that clinging to it might not be the answer—not when Yulia’s treatment was at stake.

“That shop… it was something Father and Mother cherished deeply.”

The stewhouse stood prominently on the busiest street in town. It had been built by the first Lord of House Drow.

He had been a remarkable mercenary, one who had rendered great service in the war. For his achievements, he was granted the barony—and, thanks to his business acumen, amassed great wealth as well.

Before his death, he left only a single command:

“That shop is a sanctuary for mercenaries. It must never disappear.”

The family had honored his will ever since. Seres’s parents, too, had treasured and carefully maintained the shop.

But three years ago, when her parents died in a sudden carriage accident, misfortune descended.

Not long after the funeral, four-year-old Yulia collapsed without warning.

Countless healers had tried, yet none could find the cause.

That was when their aunt suggested:

“I know a sanatorium with an excellent healer. Why don’t you send her there?”

And so Yulia was sent to Arnold Sanatorium. From that day on, astronomical medical bills poured in.

Later, Agnes whispered again:

“The only people who will lend you money now are here. If you don’t borrow, poor Yulia will die without proper treatment.”

There had been no other choice.

The girl had stamped the documents, and from that moment, the family had been buried beneath endless, multiplying interest.

Now, the only valuable asset left to House Drow was the stew shop in the heart of town.

‘In other words, this house is already on the verge of collapse.’

Seres clicked her tongue bitterly. Even now, the debt was quietly growing, little by little, every passing moment.

“Don’t you dare listen to that aunt anymore! The shop—”

“If we don’t sell it, then what? Do you have another solution?”

“Th-that’s…”

Antonion dropped his gaze, unable to answer. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t come up with a way.

‘What should I do? Really sell the shop? But that’s the place Father and Mother worked so hard to protect…’

Even if they did sell it, would that really solve anything? Maybe it would pay this month’s bill. But next month? And the one after?

Without the shop’s income, how would they even survive?

‘But then… what about Yulia?’

If they couldn’t pay this month, what would happen to her?

‘Pathetic…’

He realized how childish his earlier bravado sounded—promising his aunt he’d find a way, when in truth, he could do nothing.

“Raise your head.”

Startled by Seres’s sudden command, Antonion slowly lifted his gaze. He saw his sister frowning deeply at him.

He bit his lip hard. Surely, she thought him pathetic too—an utterly useless little brother.

Smack!

“Ah!”

Antonion clutched his forehead. Seres had struck him sharply with her palm.

“What was that for?!”

Still glaring, Seres clicked her tongue.

“You’re only twelve years old.”

“…What?”

“And yet here you are, trying to carry everything on your own. Why?”

“Are you… are you looking down on me?!”

Smack!

“Ah! That hurts!”

“The one looking down is you—at me.”

“…What?”

“I’m your sister. Five years older than you.”

Antonion blinked in shock. He rubbed his sore forehead, staring at her blankly.

Then her hand rose again.

“…!”

Thinking he was about to be smacked once more, Antonion flinched.

But instead, her hand rested gently atop his head. Her touch was careful, unexpectedly tender.

‘Tch… just how little faith did he have in his sister?’

Though Seres didn’t know all the details, she could guess. Antonion had been living like a boy carrying the weight of the world alone.

‘Running here, running there… trying to take care of everything.’

It must have been because the original girl had been so unreliable. Even the servants had disrespected her openly.

Whenever she was wronged or hurt, she hadn’t fought back—she had only cried in silence, bottling it up.

Until, at last, she even tried to take her own life.

‘And this child—what must he have thought, watching that?’

Too young, far too young, to be carrying such a heavy burden. Even his older sister had been someone he felt he needed to protect.

“From now on, leave it to me.”

“…Leave it to you?”

“That’s right. You’re just a kid. Stay out of it for now.”

“…Stop calling me a kid.”

He scowled, cheeks flushing red. But Seres only ruffled his hair roughly.

“So then, what’s your plan? Sell the shop?”

“For now…”

Her eyes turned toward the pile of documents. At the very top was one with bold letters:

Arnold Sanatorium

“First, I need to meet Yulia myself.”

“Gureu Village, is it…”

Back in her room, Seres unfolded the only map the house owned and located the sanatorium.

“Even on horseback, it’ll take at least a month.”

But her decision was firm. Before doing anything else, she had to see the child’s condition with her own eyes.

A month was simply too long.

“…Maybe I can open it?”

With a faint smile, Seres lightly waved her hand, as if testing something.