As the battle came to an end. The Marquess' soldier helped clean and fix the orphanage gate and wall that were destroyed in the battle.
And where was I, you ask?
Well, I'm sitting in the orphanage head's study room with the Marquess, his aide, Vale, and the twins.
The atmosphere in the room was warm, with the twins recounting their stay at the orphanage, and the Marquess was listening quietly with a caring expression.
"…and then Miss Renna gave us all weeds and told us to make a crown," Alsa said, her voice lively now that she was warmed up. "Mine was the prettiest."
Alfon rolled his eyes. "Only because you stole half of mine."
Alsa stuck her tongue out at him, and for a moment, the tension in the room melted. The warm afternoon light spilled through the study's tall windows, casting soft shadows across the polished desk and the half-empty tea set.
The Marquess chuckled softly—an unexpected sound. "It seems you two had quite the adventure here."
The twins nodded in unison. They sat on the cushioned bench beside Vale, still close enough to touch shoulders, but the stiffness in their posture had faded.
"You were brave," the Marquess continued, his gaze gentle but steady. "When you return home, things will be different for a while. But I'll make sure it's a place where you feel safe again."
Alsa looked up at him, hesitant. "Can we still visit here… sometimes?"
The Marquess raised a brow. "If the orphanage would allow it, I see no reason why not."
That earned a grin from her. Alfon gave a small nod, still quiet but more relaxed.
Then, the Marquess leaned back in his chair and turned slightly toward Vale.
"Vale," he said, voice shifting ever so slightly toward formal. "Would you mind taking the twins outside? Let them enjoy what's left of the afternoon. I need a moment to speak with Eamond."
Vale rose smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Of course, my lord."
He turned to the twins and offered a hand to each. "Come on, then. I saw a basket of pastries untouched in the kitchen, and I know exactly where Miss Renna hides her best jam."
That was all it took—Alsa hopped off the bench, dragging Alfon along with her. "Race you to the kitchen!" she shouted, already halfway to the door.
"Don't break anything!" I called after them.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving just me, the Marquess, and the weight of unspoken words.
He turned his eyes to me fully now. The warmth was gone from his face, replaced by something colder, sharper.
Here it comes.
Negotiation time.
Unless a genie bursts through that bookshelf, I'm in for a long, long talk.
The silence stretched between us. The ticking of the old grandfather clock by the window was suddenly deafening. I sat a little straighter in the chair, meeting the Marquess' gaze as evenly as I could, although my shoulder throbbed and my ribs ached with every breath.
He studied me for a long moment, the kind of look that stripped people bare and pinned them like specimens on a board.
Then, he spoke.
"You know," he said calmly, "when Vale told me about what happened to my children, I nearly razed half the Lower District myself. I've not slept a full night since they vanished. And now…" He gestured loosely toward the window, where faint echoes of laughter could be heard from the garden. "Now I find them here. Alive. Safe. And in the company of a man I've never heard of, who saw fit to not only shelter them for a profit, but to fight a small war on orphanage grounds."
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "So tell me, Eamond… what made you so bold? What gave you the courage to negotiate with me?"
Ah. There it is.
I held his gaze and answered quietly, "Because I had nothing to lose by doing the right thing. And everything to gain if you decide to listen."
The Marquess tilted his head slightly. "And if I hadn't?"
"Then I'd still have protected them," I said. "And taken whatever punishment you saw fit. But I wouldn't have let your children rot in some gang den while I waited for someone more powerful to do something."
For a moment, the air felt sharper. The Marquess' fingers drummed once against the polished wood.
"I could have you imprisoned," he said flatly. "Harboring noble children. Interfering with city matters. Using unsanctioned combat magic. Let's not pretend the law is on your side."
"I'm aware," I said, not flinching. "But you're not here to make an example. You're here because you saw the way your children looked at me and the others here. You're here because you know fear and kindness don't grow in the same soil."
His eyes narrowed.
I pressed on. "You've spent days desperate for answers. I gave them to you. You've seen the scars, heard what they've said. I didn't buy their trust—I earned it. Not with force. With time. With care."
Another long pause. Then, at last, the Marquess leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest.
"Fine," he said. "Let's say I accept that. You didn't ask for money. Or titles. So, what do you want, then? A reward?"
Here we go.
I took a deep breath. "I want support. Not for me. For the orphanage."
His brows arched. "Elaborate."
"The children here have nothing. The city forgets them. We do what we can, but it's barely enough. What I'm asking for is backing. Help rebuild the walls, the floors, and the gates. And more than that—support the shop we've been planning to open."
He said nothing, so I went on.
"We're opening a shop near the market. Nothing big just something to help the orphanage sustain itself. A legitimate business. But it won't last long unless someone like you gives it the push it needs. Your endorsement would mean protection. Customers. A future."
The Marquess studied me again, his face unreadable.
"You could've asked for anything," he murmured. "And you ask for a storefront and repairs."
"It's not charity I'm after," I said. "It's stability. These kids deserve a life that doesn't rely on luck or mercy."
At last, the Marquess exhaled through his nose and stood, walking to the window. He looked out at the garden, where Alsa was now trying to braid flowers into Vale's hair while Alfon helped him swat her away.
"They're laughing," he said softly. "Genuinely. I thought I'd never hear that again."
He turned back to me.
"Very well. I'll fund the restoration of the orphanage—walls, roof, furniture, all of it. And I'll assign a guard rotation to ensure no more 'Red Fang' incidents occur."
My heart thumped, but I kept my expression even.
"The shop," he added, "will be granted a permit, and I'll have my trade agents stop by discreetly to help drum up attention. You'll get one season to prove it can stand on its own."
Relief didn't come in a wave. It came like breath after drowning—slow, staggering, almost painful.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me yet," the Marquess replied. "Because if I find out you used this entire thing as a play to gain influence…"
"You won't," I said.
Another silence. Then—
"You've got spine," he muttered. "I'll give you that."
He turned for the door, but paused just before opening it.
"Oh, and Eamond?"
"Yes?"
"If you ever need a genie—" a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, "—you may want to keep Vale around."
Then the Marquess strode out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
I sat there, stunned.
Wait. What?
My thoughts rewound at lightning speed. Genie? I'd literally just thought that before this conversation. Hadn't said a word of it aloud. Not a whisper.
I glanced toward the now-empty doorway, pulse quickening.
Could he read minds?
No. That was impossible. Probably. Maybe.
Unless nobles had some sort of secret mental magic. Or a mage in his service whispering my thoughts in his ear through some enchanted ring or cursed cufflink. Or—gods help me—Vale had told him?
No. Vale didn't know either.
My fingers tapped the desk once, twice.
Then, without warning, the familiar shimmer of the system pulsed at the edge of my vision.
You have taken a significant step toward long-term sustainability.The children are safer. The future is brighter.You did well.
[Would you like to access a new system upgrade path?]
[Y/N]
I exhaled slowly and leaned back in the chair, letting my head rest against the wood.
System praise always felt strange. Like getting a pat on the back from a ghost who lived in your skull and occasionally tried to tempt you into mass destruction for the low, low price of a million gold.
Still.
I'd take it.
I looked toward the window again. Alsa had Vale by the sleeve, tugging him toward the swing while Alfon argued with a butterfly.
The world was still broken. But here, in this tiny patch of light, we were holding it together.
Bit by bit.
One impossible deal at a time.
I let myself sink back in the chair, just for a moment.
One battle won.
Many more to come.
But for now… I'd take the victory.
" System, show me the update path."