Atonement, About it's Cruelty - Chapter 15
In the brothel, the man was there but he wasn’t enveloped in lust.
It was a moment when words seemed choked off in her throat.
“Excuse me, Madam…”
Startled by a voice behind him, she turned away from the man, and through the crack in the door, she saw that pretty face again.
Oh, the world!
Despite her sweat-drenched hair and worn coat, she had been pretty, but now cleaned up, she looked so lovely that she was convinced the woman could command a high price starting tomorrow.
Her eyes sparkled like someone who had discovered gold in a sandbox.
This woman would look stunning with mysterious opal earrings and draped in a fluttering dress… The initial investment of five thousand would be recouped on her first booking, making her a veritable golden goose.
Having been rolled through the muck, the brothel owner had seen and done it all—been sold and done the selling. She knew all too well how filthy that path was, no need for an explanation.
If there was one thing she learned from that filthy path, it was this: wounds and emotions fade, but money remains.
What mattered now was how the man behind her knew to look for the woman in front of him. She needed to be careful.
“Miss, do you know this gentleman?”
Her eyes briefly met the man’s before falling to the floor.
She didn’t know him. The woman in front didn’t recognize the man behind. That was one less problem. Relieved for a moment, she then asked cautiously,
“Is this place really an inn?”
“Of course.”
Her response came as if it was the most natural thing in the world, but laughter came from behind. As the beautiful woman’s gaze turned back, she quickly added,
“We rent rooms and charge for them, so yes, it is an inn.”
That price includes both the physical space of the room and the special human resources of prostitutes.
While Oscar managed a mocking laugh, touching his nose in amusement, Simon felt like stuffing the woman’s mouth with sand himself, sensing his master’s patience had utterly run out.
Sure enough, Oscar bypassed the brothel owner and asked the woman directly.
“Will you stay?”
As their eyes met briefly, he threw the question casually with a charming smile.
“You know this place is a brothel, right?”
Instead of the expected panic, the woman merely blinked her big eyes.
“Guest, what are you talking about?”
Despite not understanding why, it seemed that the unknown man was trying to take the woman away from this place. His urging to leave suggested that they weren’t acquainted.
Not friends, not master and servant.
Then she couldn’t let him take the woman.
Yet she dared not speak directly to the man, so she turned to the woman with a resolved expression.
“Do you want to leave?”
“…”
“Alright. I’ve only received money from you for one night anyway. Even if you stay tomorrow, I wouldn’t want you to. But if you really want to leave tonight, I won’t stop you.”
“…”
“If you’re going to leave, you should go now. But on a night like this, alone, where and how will you go? I worry about that, even though you’re a stranger to me.”
Oscar burst into laughter.
A philanthropist, indeed.
His laughter tinged with scorn felt like a slap, but the brothel owner stood firm, mustering her strength.
Amid the most amusing thing he’d heard all day, Oscar took a drag on his cigarette and asked the woman.
“What will you do?”
Her brown eyes shimmered nervously.
On one side, a kindly-looking middle-aged woman; on the other, a slouching man smoking a cigarette. The woman was dressed in a modest dress, while the man wore a loosely buttoned shirt.
Watching from the background, Simon sighed.
Seeing the two options side by side, it seemed the answer had always been clear.
Frankly, the term ‘brothel’ seemed to suit Oscar more than the middle-aged woman.
“…I’m sorry.”
As expected, the woman chose the brothel owner over Marquis Reinhardt. The door quietly closed behind her.
In a world turned sour, Simon quietly despaired.
Finished.
The brothel owner shivered with a sinister thrill.
What remained was facing the man behind her.
He seemed unusually familiar. But he couldn’t be a high noble; they usually announce their visits in advance and demand specific prostitutes. That left only the possibility of him being a newly wealthy individual or a noble not quite at the top.
Either way, they were not the type the brothel owner could easily handle.
But what era was this?
Even the royal family had to be wary of the common folk’s opinion. They couldn’t just recklessly overturn someone’s business without evidence, and since the act of human trafficking she had committed was not yet known by the victim, there was no evidence.
Yes, she could likely smooth this over.
She braced herself and turned to face Oscar, ready to grovel if necessary, promising to cater to his desires for the night.
“…….”
Was it because he was staring at the ground that her gaze also dropped?
There he was, hands in his pockets, crushing a cigarette underfoot. Grey ash mixed with the tobacco, crushed and broken under the solid heel. The small, not yet extinguished ember was extinguished as it was crushed.
If it had been direct insults or physical violence, she wouldn’t have blinked an eye.
But absurdly, it was just a cigarette being crushed underfoot—why did it feel like she was the one being crushed?
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