MSVL 06

Milona, who had made “safety first” her life motto and always tried her best to uphold it, occasionally—very occasionally—lost control to instinct and ended up inviting danger herself.

“You’re insane! Absolutely insane! Hey, Hand! Why on earth did you do something like this?!”

Milona kept alternating her gaze between her own hands and the heavy, luxurious-looking pouch placed on the bed, shouting in frustration.

She prided herself on her quick hands, but those same hands that moved faster than her thoughts often caused trouble like this.

Normally, she had always managed to clean up after such incidents.
Well, “clean up” mostly meant secretly selling the stolen goods without anyone noticing—or quietly disposing of them with Danilo’s help and leaving no trace—but until now, that had been enough.

“No, if you’re going to steal something, steal something else! What were you even thinking?!”

The problem was that this time, her usual solutions were unusable.

The object belonged to royalty—more specifically, someone with the rank of a duke—and disposing of it “without anyone noticing” was impossible. And asking Danilo for help would basically be the same as dragging everyone to their deaths.

“We absolutely cannot die together!”

Her relationship with Danilo had started back when she was just a child from the back alleys, barely surviving from one day to the next.

The thought of both of them being dragged into danger because of her mistake was unbearable.

“If we all die because of this, we’ll end up in hell together—and I’ll have to listen to his nagging even in hell? No way! I hate that even more!”

Milona clutched her head with both hands and flopped face-down onto the bed, pretending to cry.

Of course, it was only an act—she wasn’t actually crying. Not at all.

It wasn’t like she had already shed all the tears she would ever have in childhood or anything like that. Rather, she had simply learned that thinking productively was more useful for survival than wasting time crying.

So her current “crying” was just a performance, as she tried to appeal—somewhere—to whatever god might be watching her.

“…A-are you watching, right? There’s no way you sent me back to save the world and then just aren’t monitoring how things are going, right?”

That couldn’t be true.
If it was, she was in serious, serious trouble.

But this was the same god who had smiled brightly and said things like, “Wouldn’t it be beautiful if the world were saved through love?”

Remembering that carefree expression sent a cold sweat down Milona’s back. It was entirely possible the god really wasn’t paying attention at all.

“God, can you hear me? Change of plans! Not the ‘You’re the first person to scream at my face’ operation anymore—it’s now the ‘You’re the first person to turn my pocket inside out and then surrender’ operation!”

It felt like being Danilo, who would rearrange the interior of a flower shop, make her run around fixing everything, and then, when she was exhausted, casually say, “Actually, the first version was better.”

But Milona decided to be shameless.
After all, the original plan had been that.

“But… how do you even surrender? If I just go and return it, I’ll be arrested immediately, won’t I?”

As a skilled professional in her own field, Milona had never once been caught by the capital’s guards.

There were times she had been chased, but she always prepared at least three escape routes in advance, so she could never actually be captured.

Danilo used to say that a true “ownership transfer expert” should at least visit prison once in their life. For that, he had received so much nagging from Daniela that it nearly came out of his ears.

“So let’s say I manage to surrender by luck… then what?”

She knew very well that this wasn’t actually a plan.

It was just a desperate attempt to think of something—anything—positive.

To be honest, it had just been a joke she threw out because the future looked hopeless.

“But it’s still my fault… no, my hands’ fault!”

The story circled back to her instinct-driven hands that had caused this disaster.

Blaming them was no different from blaming herself, but in moments like this, she really wanted to assign responsibility to those two hands as if they were someone else entirely.

It was just another form of escapism—different from when she had been held in Wade’s arms an hour ago, but still escapism nonetheless.

However, Milona, who valued reason over fantasy and a black loaf of bread in front of her more than hope itself, could not stay lost in thought for long.

“…First of all, let’s admit it. I’m doomed.”

Yes. She was doomed.
Completely doomed before she had even properly begun.

She had avoided showing her full face thanks to the mask, but her distinctive, beautiful eyes had been exposed.

If only the lower half of her face had been revealed instead, there might have been even a sliver of hope—but with her eyes seen, appearing in front of Wade now was impossible.

So there was only one conclusion.

“Run.”

There was still time before the gates of ruin fully opened.

If she disappeared for a while until they forgot her face, nothing major would happen.

“I’ll come back around the time the seasons change. Maybe travel a bit with the money I’ve saved.”

The money she had saved from her previous life was hidden under the mattress.

She had died before she could ever use it anyway, so maybe spending it all before dying this time wouldn’t be such a bad experience.

“Anything! Everything will work out! Probably!”

A doubtful addendum slipped in at the end, but positivity was important.

The “sister” who had raised Milona when she was young had taught her that the most important things for survival—right after “safety first”—were “positive thinking.”

Some people mocked those teachings as nonsense, but Milona had survived just fine so far, proving them right.

“Anyway, there’s nothing to pack. Just take the money and run. Slip out when the guards are distracted and cross the walls.”

As she nodded to herself, Milona suddenly frowned.

On the bed still sat the heavy, undeniably expensive-looking money pouch belonging to Wade.

Just looking at it, she could tell it would fetch a fortune if sold. But where exactly was she supposed to sell something like that?

“…What do I do with that?”

She had decided to run, but this troublesome object was now tying her down.

She couldn’t take it with her, but she couldn’t leave it behind either.

Burning it felt wasteful. Keeping it was dangerous.

And just as she was agonizing over it—

A faint sound came from outside the window.

It was very small.

But the problem was that, no matter how she thought about it, it sounded like the synchronized footsteps of a large group moving in formation.

Worse—it wasn’t just a large group. It was the disciplined march of soldiers carrying weapons.

Milona swallowed hard, recognizing the sound she had learned to distinguish thanks to Wade, who had endlessly waged wars in her previous life.

“N-no way… right? They couldn’t have figured out my identity in just one hour. Right? Then why is it getting closer?!”

In broad daylight, the noise of soldiers stirred up a growing commotion.

Milona prayed desperately that it was just passing noise—but then she heard the trembling voice of the shopkeeper downstairs.

And she knew her prayer had not been answered.

“Damn it!”

The sound of boots climbed the creaking wooden stairs.

Through the window, she saw armored soldiers surrounding the grocery shop.

And then—

The footsteps stopped right in front of the door.

Once it opened…

“I’m done for!”

Not just her. The world itself might be done for.

No matter how she tried to explain it, it would look like an assassination attempt coinciding with the theft of a royal’s pouch.

Could that possibly be brushed off?

“Oh God! I only asked for a little help! If the world ends, it’s your fault!”

As she silently cursed the god, Milona flattened herself against the floor.

“I’m sorry! Please spare me!”

She knew resistance was meaningless in this situation.

If she could, she would have folded her hands—but instead, her hands were now pressed flat against the floor, showing total submission.

“Raise your head.”

So they were going to check the face of the culprit.

Swallowing hard, Milona slowly lifted her head.

“…Wow.”

And she unintentionally let out an admiring breath at the man standing before her.

Pale, smooth skin. Sharp eyebrows. Deep violet eyes beneath them. A straight nose and tightly pressed red lips. Long black hair loosely tied and draped over his shoulder.

A handsome man stood before her—so striking that she found herself staring, almost dazed, into eyes even deeper violet than her own.

“…So it really was you.”

Hearing his trembling voice, Milona realized something was wrong.

“I finally found you.”
“…Uh… excuse me?”
“I am your father.”
“…Huh?”

As she stared at the man whose violet eyes began to glisten with tears, Milona thought:

Something about God’s help… feels like it’s going in a very strange direction.