Chapter 4
Part 1. The Tutor and the Little Devil (3)
“Don’t come near me, you dummy! Idiot! Moron!”
Wow… what foul language.
“Dung beetle! Rat bug, frog—argh!”
“Darn, I almost had you.”
“Aaaargh!”
The insults Timothy spat out were childish and petty.
Agnes smiled brightly as she ran. After nearly an hour of chasing him, she was breathless and her lungs burned as if they might tear apart, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop laughing. Seeing Timothy panting and screaming just as desperately gave her energy.
‘Was I always this mean-spirited?’
She couldn’t recall clearly what she was like at twenty-two. All she remembered was being constantly busy with work.
Wiping the sweat from her temple, Agnes cornered Timothy completely. They had taken a wide lap around the garden.
Timothy had run only along paths he thought would be difficult for her to follow. He even dashed through muddy trails and past kennels with ferocious guard dogs. Even though he got dirty himself and was afraid of the dogs, he seemed determined to mess with her. At that point, she almost wanted to compliment him on his tenacity.
Agnes had kicked off her shoes to run barefoot through the mud, and the dogs were tied up, so they weren’t scary. When Timothy slipped through a small hole under a bush like a puppy, she had simply tied up her skirt and leapt over it.
“You crazy woman! Aaaagh!”
Timothy screamed every time, but to Agnes’s ears, it sounded like a cheer. Soon, they reached a dead end.
Before they knew it, the two were standing on the roof of a small outbuilding used by the servants.
“Huff… huff… huff…”
“Heh… heh… huff…”
There was a railing, but falling backward would be dangerous. Agnes stopped at a safe distance to avoid agitating Timothy.
“This is the end, isn’t it, Timothy?”
“Y-You… s-so… persistent…”
“You’ve got quite the spirit too, Timothy.”
If only he had used that tenacity for something better. Agnes muttered bitterly.
“Now then, Timothy. Let’s give up and surrender…”
“What?”
“No, I mean—let’s put your shoes on. Don’t your feet hurt?”
“I don’t need them!”
“But you like being waited on, don’t you?”
“W-Who says?!”
“It’s obvious.”
To be exact, “I can tell just by looking.” Agnes shrugged, and Timothy glared at her like she was a monster.
Agnes had watched Timothy for a full three years—not as a seven-year-old boy, but as the future Marquess Reynold and how he completely fell apart over those years.
‘He was this small back then…’
Timothy, drenched in sweat and panting, was just a child. He wasn’t like the future Marquess Reynold.
Not yet.
The future Reynold was a hopeless scoundrel.
He would party all night and barely stumble home by morning. He couldn’t even button his shirt without help by noon and would doze off until someone came to dress him.
At least when he wasn’t fully awake, he was better. Once awake, he lashed out violently even at minor mistakes and often broke things in anger. No one wanted to be near him. Agnes had wanted to confront him in tears many times, but was held back by others pleading with her.
They said there was no point.
“If the Marquess gets angry, the children will suffer for it.”
“Please, Agnes, hold it in.”
“He won’t listen no matter what. Why else would his relatives have disowned him and left him in this countryside…”
He was scary. Nothing anyone said made a difference. And no one had the heart or loyalty to risk their life to speak truth to him. In the end, Marquess Reynold had no one on his side. Even his guardian, Duke Battenberg, abandoned him. Thrown out of the capital with his illegitimate twins, he was locked away in the marquessate.
And there, he crumbled alone.
“Don’t come closer. If you take even one step, I’ll—I’ll…”
“What will you do?”
Agnes blinked, returning from her thoughts.
“I’ll fire you!”
“I wasn’t hired by you, Timothy. I’m employed by the Battenberg family.”
As Timothy stomped his foot and yelled, the railing behind him wobbled.
Oh no. Agnes clicked her tongue.
The servant quarters looked old and unused, poorly maintained. The railing seemed barely able to hold even a seven-year-old’s weight. Agnes quickly regained her composure. Now wasn’t the time to push him further.
His safety came first.
“I-I said I don’t like you! You ugly—!”
“Alright, Timothy. Come over here.”
“Ugly pig!”
“Okay, I won’t come. Should I step back a little? Then will you come over?”
“Like I’d listen to you? You hideous owl! Stay away!”
“Yes, yes. I’m ugly, a pig, and an owl. Look, I won’t even hold your shoes. Should I toss them?”
Agnes flung one of the shoes she was holding and showed her empty hands—no intention to harm, and no means to. Timothy, eyeing his shoe on the floor, looked slightly less tense.
‘How much must he hate bugs…’
And still—how badly did he want to torment others? Agnes found herself oddly impressed by Timothy’s spite overriding his fear.
“Come now, Timothy. Come here.”
“Go away! Leave me alone!”
It was like a scene from a movie—someone about to jump, and another trying to stop them. Clinging to the swaying railing, Timothy glared and then hesitated. He finally realized the danger.
For a moment, his face paled. But as soon as their eyes met, he raised his chin again, pretending to be bold.
“Hmph!”
But it was obvious he was scared.
‘This won’t work. I need to disappear first.’
For Timothy, pride outweighed fear.
“Timothy, I’ll go down now. Come down slowly and safely, okay?”
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“It’s dangerous if you fall.”
“Hmph. That’s only dangerous for idiots like you.”
Agnes sighed. If he could hide his pale face, trembling eyes, and dry lips with bravado, she might’ve played along. Timothy seemed to take her sigh as a sign of defeat and shouted triumphantly:
“Don’t act like you’re so great! Who do you think you are to lecture me—!”
“Timothy, don’t stomp your feet.”
“Stop ordering me! There’s nothing I could learn from an ugly thing like you! Teacher, ha!”
“…”
“Who do you think—you’re—teaching—”
Agnes fell silent. Timothy was no longer looking at her. His blazing blue fury wasn’t directed at Agnes, but someone else.
He’d only met her an hour ago. Even if he didn’t like her looks, he wouldn’t have this kind of deep-seated anger.
Then… who was he really mad at?
Agnes knew the future Marquess Reynold but didn’t know much about the current Timothy. All she knew was that he was orphaned and entrusted to his uncle. What he had experienced and how he felt—she didn’t know.
She decided to retreat for now. Agnes took a step back. Just as she turned to leave, Timothy’s face twisted oddly.
CREEEEAK!
“…Ah.”
As the metallic screech reached her ears, Agnes lunged forward. At the same moment she turned and reached out, the railing Timothy leaned on gave way and he tumbled backward.
“Timothy!”
As he fell, he looked back at her—finally just a scared little boy. Timothy couldn’t even scream, his lips parted in shock. Fortunately, Agnes had already calculated the distance and jumped in time to catch his fingers.
Then she pulled him up with all her strength.
Thankfully, she had enough strength to pull up a child. Their positions switched—Timothy was saved.
“Uwaaah!”
But Agnes, in his place, went tumbling backward, grabbing at the crumbling railing to no avail.
The railing hadn’t even held Timothy properly—it stood no chance against an adult woman.
With a loud crack, both railing and Agnes fell from the roof. Luckily, there was a stable next to the building.
Agnes crashed through its flimsy roof and landed in a pile of hay, then rolled to the ground. And of course—the stable floor was covered in horse dung.
“Ugh… argh…”
The stench was overwhelming. Even though the hay cushioned her fall, her whole body throbbed. She groaned, lying in the filth. At least her head was safe—but the smell was enough to make her want to pass out.
‘How did it come to this?’
She only wanted to work as a tutor—and now here she was, rolling in manure.
Agnes felt utterly ridiculous. All the children she had tutored before, even if mischievous, were well-mannered and from good families. Even the notorious Westwick kids never swore in someone’s face or ran away screaming.
They feared their parents. They at least pretended to care if scolded. Most of all, they didn’t harbor blind rage toward adults.
Timothy was in a league of his own—a true devil among brats.
‘I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but this is something else… I can’t lose control. I pushed him too hard.’
The fact that she’d enjoyed the chase—even for a moment—left her uneasy.
‘I haven’t even officially started work, and it’s already like this…’
She could already see the rough road ahead.
‘Still… at least the child didn’t fall…’
Agnes groaned and lifted her head. Though she landed in manure, she wasn’t seriously hurt. Without the hay and dung, she might’ve broken something and needed treatment before even beginning her job.
And thankfully, there were no horses around, so she hadn’t been trampled—
SNORT!
“Eek!”
She was going to be trampled! Agnes curled into a ball.
“You’re not dead, then.”
“Gasp…”
“Get up. That’s Kish’s spot.”
Agnes swallowed hard. Slowly, she raised her eyes.
‘That voice… it’s the same.’
The man holding the reins wasn’t a stable hand. A final flash of nightmare crossed her mind:
Her uncle, the one who beheaded her nephew.
A burning castle, screams all around.
A knight in a black helmet, saying, “Just kill them all,” as he approached.
It was Duke Battenberg.
