Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 108
Alan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his mouth twitching in embarrassment.
“Since you followed my instructions, I was able to stay calm, calculate, and act. If you had rushed in to save me, we both would’ve ended up caught by that thing… I would’ve lost my composure.”
“Lost your composure?”
Richelle sniffled as she asked, and this time, it was Alan’s turn for his face to turn red.
“Yeah, well, because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to see you hurt…”
“Oh…”
It felt as if the heat rising from Alan’s flushed face had transferred to her. Suddenly, everything felt overwhelmingly warm.
Flustered, Richelle reached for the bucket.
“H-Here’s the bucket.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
With warmth still lingering on his ears, Alan scooped up the remains of the chef’s jelly into the bucket. As he carefully scraped it in, he mumbled,
“Well, um… thanks for trusting me. And for saving me. Just… thank you.”
His voice was awkwardly loud. Richelle nodded vigorously, almost like a broken doll.
“T-That aside, what exactly did you do to the chef? How did he melt like that?”
Alan shook out the bucket, trying to change the subject. Richelle, grateful for the shift, answered quickly.
“Oh, I poured water on him.”
“Water? Just plain water?”
“I heard that the chef is weak to water. His essence is fire.”
One of Alan’s eyebrows shot up.
“Fire…? Who told you that? Who did you meet?”
“Yes,” Richelle said as she stood up and extended her hand to Alan.
“Come on, Young Master Otis. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
***
Of course, there was something they needed to take care of first.
Richelle lifted her skirt.
“Ugh! Have you gone mad, Teacher?!”
Alan, who had quickly covered his eyes, flailed in panic. Richelle, tearing at her petticoat, looked puzzled.
“Gone mad?”
“No, it’s just… Y-Your skirt!”
“Stop fussing and give me your injured arm.”
Richelle pulled out a strip of cloth from her torn petticoat and grabbed Alan’s arm. Alan cautiously opened one eye. The white cloth was already wrapped around his wound to stop the bleeding.
“This is all I had to use for bandaging… Are you hurt anywhere else? Any more bleeding?”
“…No.”
The boy visibly wilted. Richelle chuckled quietly to herself.
“Alright, let’s head back to the kitchen. Do you think you can walk?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
Alan replied gruffly, putting weight on his legs. He limped a bit, but he seemed able to move without much difficulty.
Still, Richelle felt uneasy and quickly grabbed the bucket. Alan scowled in protest.
“I said I’ll carry it.”
“It’s heavy.”
“That’s why I should carry it!”
“Don’t overdo it.”
“Stop treating me like I’m sick.”
“Well, then, hurry and get better. Eat plenty of delicious food, get lots of fresh air, and get strong.”
“…With you?”
Richelle glanced back at Alan. His sky-blue eyes were filled with tension.
A soft laugh escaped her.
“Yes. With me.”
“…”
“You’d better prepare yourself. If we visit every restaurant I know, your feet will be covered in blisters. So, you’d better stay in shape.”
“…Alright.”
After a brief pause, Alan’s voice softened, as though the tension had finally lifted.
Before entering the kitchen, they retrieved the oil lamp they had hidden at the entrance. Fortunately, the flame was still burning brightly.
“The person I want to introduce you to is inside. Let’s leave the chef’s remains here for now.”
Richelle set the bucket down beside the water tank. Feeling uneasy about leaving it as it was, she scooped up a ladle of water and poured it over the jelly remains for good measure.
“Alright, now let’s…”
As she turned, a disfigured corpse entered her line of sight.
It was a horrifying scene.
“We should cover this person with something before we go.”
Alan suggested quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Richelle silently removed her cardigan.
When they had first entered the basement, they had heard a scream. That meant the person had still been alive at that time.
If only they had come sooner, if only they had figured out the chef’s weakness earlier, could they have saved this person?
Holding her cardigan, Richelle approached the body. Now she could see the face she hadn’t noticed before.
The moment she recognized it, Richelle froze in place.
“Teacher?”
Alan called out to her, but she couldn’t respond.
When she had first heard the scream, it had seemed familiar. She had hoped it was just her imagination.
“Teacher, what’s wrong? …Do you know her?”
Know her?
Of course. How could she not? She had often met this person face to face. They had spoken at length many times.
Richelle clamped her hand over her mouth as nausea surged. Even though she was seeing it with her own eyes, she couldn’t believe it.
The disfigured thing that had become the chef’s meal…
It was, no, she was…
Becky Dustin—the one she had searched for so desperately.
