My brain, the true traitor that it is, was running in panicked circles, spitting out one ridiculous excuse after another:

“Say you’re an intern! No, a volunteer! Or—wait! A maid on an exchange program!”

At least not “Maid of the Month.” That’s a framed photo in the hallway, a certificate for polishing floors, and mandatory tea parties with mops.

“Uh…” I stalled, sweat sliding down my forehead as my thoughts burned up in a bonfire of shame. “You see… I just—”

But my brilliant (and totally honest, I swear!) version of events was rudely cut short.

“Enough,” barked the stranger. His voice cracked like a whip. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore—his glare was fixed on the boy. “What game are you playing, brat?”

The hooded kid stayed silent. Not in a proud or defiant way—more like… as if none of this mattered to him at all.

“Well? Answer!” The man’s voice grew sharper, heavier, like the air itself had turned thick and sticky.

Or maybe that was just my blood pressure spiking.

The boy didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.

So Baldy the Discount Lord snapped toward his thugs like an actor in a bad play:

“Take him away.”

The two meatheads I’d just thrown into a brief vacation on the cobblestones groaned, but obeyed, lumbering toward the boy.

And then—things got interesting.

From behind the boy—out of the shadows, where plot twists usually spawn—slid a figure. Smooth, silent, like they hadn’t been part of the stage until just now.

And then this “shadow person” unleashed choreography so sharp I wanted to give a standing ovation.

One thug didn’t even scream—just grunted before he was launched like a sack of bricks.

The second kissed the wall face-first, with a sound that screamed “romantic embrace with stone—via forehead.”

I blinked. My brain tried and failed to process.

“He just…” I whispered. “He just downed both of them in, what, eight seconds?”

Suddenly the wind picked up—as if the universe wanted to add some extra drama. The hood fell back, and the secret fell with it.

Out stepped not a man, but a girl—maybe seventeen—wearing a maid’s uniform polished with sapphire-level smugness.

Her face was cold, merciless as a February morning. Lime-green hair streamed in the wind like festival ribbons, only without joy—more like “brace yourselves, trouble’s here.”

And on her wrist—a violet ribbon tied with surgical precision. It screamed more importance than bones themselves.

Seriously, I’ve never seen an accessory with that much attitude. Even our class rep and his death-noose tie couldn’t compete.

She dusted off her hands with the air of someone muttering, “Ugh, all this dirt clings to me again.”

The crowd froze. Even Baldy’s shiny dome dimmed in shock.

And me? I suddenly felt… let’s just say, way below the difficulty level here.

Where do you even apply for assistants like this? And what’s the entry requirement—other than “don’t just wash dishes and argue with cats”?

Then I realized—the boy in the hood had been staring at me the whole time. Not like a person, more like I was a Rubik’s Cube set to nightmare mode.

I hiccupped nervously. My brain was panicking like Windows 98 during startup.

And then the boy behind me squeaked:

“Braaather!!!”

My shoulders jumped. The hooded boy turned, and—miracle of miracles—his stone-face cracked. Brows lifted, lips twitched, and for one second he almost looked human.

“Don’t run off like that again,” he murmured as the kid clung to his cloak. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Nope! This lady saved me!” the boy chirped, jabbing a finger at me.

Lady?! My fists clenched. Excuse me, I’m sixteen!

Okay… fine. With my face after sleepless nights and tomato assaults, I could pass for twenty-one.

I stepped closer, forcing an awkward smile.

“Sorry for the… uh… theatrics. I just saw someone trying to grab him, and I reacted. Then things kinda snowballed. So I, uh… became his maid. On a part-time basis. With life.”

The hooded boy studied me. Surprisingly, not hostile.

“You’re brave. And… a little odd.”

“Thanks, I try. Runs in the family.”

“Family?”

“Yeah. Mom’s the queen of awkward situations, Dad’s the champion of bad decisions. I’m just continuing the dynasty.”

A faint smirk flickered across his lips.

“Hm. So irony is your shield?”

“No, irony is my weapon. For defense, I use a frying pan.”

The younger boy snorted with laughter.

“Brother, I think she’s stronger than she looks.”

“Or louder,” the elder replied dryly.

“Excuse me,” I shrugged. “Some wield swords, I wield sarcasm. End result’s the same—enemies fall.”

“Mostly from laughter, not wounds,” he countered.

“Hey, results are results,” I grinned. “Method’s just details.”

Before I could keep running my mouth, I caught Baldy slithering closer out of the corner of my eye. His cane lifted high—every inch screaming “I’m about to crack someone’s skull.”

The world slowed. The crowd recoiled, silent.

Not on my watch.

I lunged, shoving the boy aside. He staggered but stayed upright.

In that same moment my fingers clamped onto the cane. With a sharp yank, I ripped it from Baldy’s grip. He was left empty-handed, mouth hanging like a fish out of water.

“Oops,” I breathed. “Unexpected plot twist.”

I spun the cane and pressed its handle hard against his throat. Hard enough he choked, eyes bulging, scalp blotching red.

“One more step and the last thing you’ll see in this world is your shiny reflection,” I hissed, adrenaline pounding in my skull.

The crowd gasped.

The boy behind me squeaked:

“Whoa… Auntie’s awesome!”

Auntie?! Oh, you little—

Baldy wheezed like a broken vacuum, but his eyes still flared with rage.

I leaned in, smiling sweetly:

“So, Mister Villain-By-Hobby, want to tell us the proper etiquette for back-alley kidnappings?”

The hooded boy looked at me like I’d just broken the script of his entire life.

And behind Baldy stood Ribbon-Maid, staring like I’d just stolen her job description.

Sorry, miss bodyguard! I didn’t mean to steal your thunder—it’s just my profession to butt in where I don’t belong.

Baldy’s face was turning tomato-red again, veins popping. And I? Panic-mode was screaming: Great, now what?

But then the hooded boy strolled over, leaned in close to Baldy, and whispered something.

I didn’t catch it. But whatever it was, it turned Baldy’s face from ripe tomato to chalk-white plaster in seconds.

He bolted. Sprinting for his carriage like a spooked schoolkid, nearly tripping over his own cloak.

The carriage screeched off so fast it left scars in the cobblestone. One thug shouted, “Wait, what about us?!”—but was instantly ditched.

That left just us: me clutching my shiny new cane (spoils of war), the boy, his ominously calm brother, and Ribbon-Maid glaring daggers.

I glanced from cane to boy, back to cane.

Holy hell—what did he whisper that made Baldy ditch his dignity, minions, and scalp polish?

“And now… who are you?”

I almost missed his question, too busy memorizing every detail of his face.

“Mira. Personal maid of Lady Eveline de Fargun…” I began, but the brow he raised mid-sentence tripped my tongue.

“A maid of the Farguns? Interesting…” He nodded. “Didn’t know they handed capable servants to bastards.”

My eye twitched, but I kept my face composed.

Compliment or insult? Two-for-one special?

“Thanks for the… words.” I bowed stiffly. “Normally I get called ‘too talkative,’ ‘too cheeky,’ or ‘a hazard to society.’”

“No surprise,” he replied smoothly. “You just held a cane to a noble’s throat.”

“Sometimes,” I said, smirking, “a dialogue needs sharpening.”

“Your insolence overflows,” he noted calmly.

“And your mystery’s spilling everywhere,” I shot back. “Tell me honestly—do you hide your face because you’re stupidly handsome or stupidly ugly?”

The little brother giggled. Ribbon-Maid stared at me like she was debating where to bury my body—garden or demon pit.

“An amusing theory,” he murmured. “But don’t tempt fate.”

“I always do,” I grinned.

His lips twitched. “You’re too odd for a maid.”

Then he pulled down his hood.

And wow. Just—wow.

Platinum hair shimmered like someone sprinkled stardust over it. Golden eyes burned too brightly for any normal human. Slightly pointed ears peeked out, marking him not as rumor-tavern elf, but a half-elf straight from a bard’s over-romanticized ballad.

A face carved with certainty, a gaze that commanded worlds to part at a snap. He radiated aristocracy—the kind that doesn’t even eat oatmeal without a bodyguard, a butler, and a string quartet.

And there I was—standing in my wrinkled maid uniform, stinking faintly of tomatoes.

“You’ve got… something,” he said, pointing at the corner of my mouth.

I swiped quickly—and yep. A thin strand of drool. Perfect. As if I’d just spotted a shawarma stand, not a golden-haired noble.

Then he asked, utterly unfazed by my disgrace:

“You still haven’t answered. Why defend my brother? You could’ve been hurt.”

I blinked. For a heartbeat, I was genuinely surprised.

To me it sounded like someone asking, “Why breathe?”

“I… just couldn’t stand by while everyone else just watched,” I muttered, glaring at the still-gawking crowd. “That’s against my moral protocols.”

He glanced at them too. His golden eyes flashed like drawn blades. The masses scattered instantly, heads down, slipping into alleys like rats.

Then he turned back to me, squinting as if checking for wires beneath my skin. Finally, he gave a curt nod:

“Thank you. We’ll remember. The Lemeis don’t forget those who save their blood.”

My jaw dropped.

“Lemei?” I croaked.

“Lucian Lemei. Heir of House Lemei. Third branch of the High Line. First son of Lady Selene.”

The world froze.

My eyes widened. Knees buckled. It felt like life itself sucker-punched me in the forehead. My cane trembled like a faulty vibrator.

Oh no… I spun and bolted.

“What?” Lucian called, startled.

“Sorry! I need to get back to the carriage before it defaults on my credit!” I yelped, grabbing my floating grocery basket mid-run.

I sprinted through the street, brain pounding with one frantic alarm.

By the time I skidded into the alley where the carriage waited, I was gasping, clinging to a stone pillar.

Think, Saya, think! You are in the deepest—

My foot slipped. I crashed onto my butt, staring up at the sky.

“…deepest isekai-level crap.”

Somewhere above me, a pigeon laughed. Probably at me.