Serving a blind master was no simple task. For starters, Vincent was pathologically guarded. I had been told I was the tenth person hired since he’d barricaded himself in this room. Some had been valets, others maids, but they either quit after a few days or simply vanished.
Vanishing aside, I understood why no one lasted. He was sensitive to the slightest sound, his blindness sharpening his hearing and leaving him with a tongue just as jagged.
He never budged from his bed. Unless absolutely necessary, he stayed holed up, and the moment anyone entered, he would cocoon himself in the sheets.
His temper was volatile; he flipped or destroyed whatever I brought him. Yet, the moment he sensed me moving, he would curl up, desperate to hide.
He was no different than a cornered cat.
The only time Vincent was remotely mild-mannered was when the butler—the elderly gentleman who had brought me here—visited. He came once a day, and during those times, they held earnest conversations. Vincent would emerge from his sheets, his face softening into a genuinely serious expression. Whenever I snuck a peek, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was who he was beneath the rage—earnest, passionate.
But what did it matter? That wasn’t who he was now.
A plate flew past my head, smashing against the wall in a spray of ceramic. I was too tired to even turn around.
“Get out.”
I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. Vincent recoiled at the sound, though his gaze remained piercing.
“It seems you do not like me.”
“Indeed. I don’t like you at all. So, get out.”
“What is it that you don’t like? If you tell me, I will fix it.”
“Everything. From beginning to end. All of it.”
That was problematic.
“I will try to make sure you do.”
“There’s no need for that. Just disappear.”
I wanted to hit him. Just once. An unruly child needed a flick on the forehead to wake up. I glanced at his head. Would it really be so bad if I gave him… just one?
“What are you thinking?”
“…….”
“Don’t even think about pulling any tricks. I’ll kill you.”
He was sensitive to that sort of thing. I shrugged and turned to clean up the shattered plate. What a waste; it would have fetched a decent price at the market. I smacked my lips in regret as I gathered the shards. Meals could wait; I needed to change the bedsheets first.
“Master, the bedsheets need to be changed.”
“Do not come closer.”
“If you would just step aside for a moment…….”
The second I reached for the covers, something whistled through the air and struck my forehead. The impact left me dazed. As I steadied myself, I saw a desk clock lying on the floor, its hour hand snapped and stuck. I was dumbfounded.
“If you didn’t want to move, you could have just said so instead of throwing dangerous objects…….”
“Why, are you afraid you’ll die? No one would care if someone like you died anyway.”
I raised my gaze to meet his. For a rare moment, Vincent had revealed his face. He wasn’t just agitated; he was sneering.
“People like you are all the same. Beggars who would do anything for money. Filthy, greedy creatures. Do you think your kind even fears death? You must have come here for the cash. You wouldn’t have accepted an offer from a total stranger otherwise.”
“…….”
“Do you know why I hired you? Because you have skills? Because you’re trustworthy? No. It’s because it wouldn’t matter if you died. Someone who knows how to cater to others, is somewhat useful, and wouldn’t be missed if they were disposed of when they became an annoyance. That is you.”
The words pierced my chest like blades, mangling my insides. How could he be so cruel? Yet, the reason I didn’t cry was that these were things I had heard a thousand times before.
It was easy to blame. People had treated me that way for years—my father, my sister. They grew their own sense of dignity by condemning me. That was the value of my existence.
So, I wasn’t hurt. Not as much as my father’s beatings, anyway. But feeling unpleasant was a separate matter.
“You are truly mean.”
“What?”
“For such an ‘exalted’ master, you live in quite a filthy state.”
Vincent’s face flushed a deep, beet red. It was pathetic, watching him glare into empty space. He gritted his teeth and hissed.
“You, watch your mouth.”
“If I may add a word, you are correct. I am indeed greedy. I am obsessed with money.”
“What?”
“As you said, my life is expendable. If I were to vanish, no one would come looking. Even if you ordered me to die right now, I could not resist. So, there is no need to be afraid. But if you hate me, just kill me. I would be grateful if you did it all at once—it would be cleaner than torture. You can rest easy knowing no one will come to avenge me. You have truly found the right person.”
“…….”
He finally went quiet. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but it was brief. As I approached him again, his guard spiked.
“Then, Master.”
He groped the area for something to throw, but I didn’t care. Taking advantage of his confusion, I stopped at the bed.
“Excuse me.”
I grabbed the sheet and pulled it hard.
Without a gasp, he rolled, and with a loud *thud!*, Vincent fell off the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing!”
“I am changing the sheets, Master.”
I pushed his flailing legs aside and yanked the remaining covers off. I pretended not to hear him shouting at the top of his lungs as I sat in front of him and reached for his pajama buttons. He lunged to stop me, but I pinned his hand to the floor with my knee.
“What are you doing! Do not touch me!”
“Why? Is your body something so grand?”
“What?”
While he sat stunned, I unbuttoned his pajamas. As I went to pull them off, he twisted his whole body. He was stronger than I expected, and I lost my balance, tilting to the floor. He shoved my head away with his free hand, but I didn’t back down. I held onto the fabric, pinned his other hand more firmly with my knee, and twisted to match his frantic thrashing.
After a long struggle, I finally pulled the pajamas over his shoulders.
Had it been a year since he lost his sight? He had been holed up for half a year, barely eating.
He was far too thin.
There was no flesh on the body revealed before me; his ribs were stark, his muscles atrophied. I had felt the thinness of his bones when I touched his arm, but I hadn’t imagined he was this emaciated. Small bruises were scattered across his skin.
Even his face, seen up close, was hollow and bloodless. His under-eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, his cloudy emerald eyes lacked focus, and his chapped, cracked lips let out ragged, labored breaths.
He looks like he would break if I just poked him.
It was pitiable.
Without thinking, I brushed his cheek. He shuddered and turned his head away, his lips pressed into a tight line of shame. I pulled my hand away, lifted my knee, and pushed his shoulder back. As his body slumped, I stripped off his trousers. I left his underwear alone, out of some shred of conscience.
I stood up with the filthy pajamas and grabbed a fresh pair. He had curled into a ball, his spine protruding sharply.
“If you truly wish to keep wearing those stinking clothes, I suppose I have no choice. But please understand my desire to keep you clean. And it would be appreciated if you would stretch out your arms.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Yes. Please stretch your arms straight up.”
I grabbed his thin arms. He resisted, but his strength was feeble—a reflection of the life he’d lived, confined to this room. I hooked the new pajamas over his wrists, and he pulled them on, likely desperate to cover his nudity. I adjusted the fabric, pretending not to notice.
“Here are your trousers. And your underwear.”
“…….”
No reply. I pressed the clothes into his hands and turned to the bed. I stripped the pillowcase, replaced it with a fresh one, and smoothed the sheets. I turned back to Vincent Bellunita, satisfied to see he had finished changing.
I approached him to help him up, but he slapped my hand away. He groped at the air, stubbornly insisting on walking to the bed by himself.
“Master, you need to go to the right.”
“Shut up.”
I ignored him, watching as he turned right. I picked up the clothes he had cast aside. Wait, why was this all there was? Where was the underwear?
“Master, you need to change your underwear as w—”
Before I could finish, Vincent Bellunita scrambled onto the bed. I watched, speechless, as he pulled the fresh sheet over his head and squirmed into the corner. I leaned in, sniffing the air. A foul, stale stench wafted up.
Don’t tell me…?
“Did you not change your underwear?”
“Get out.”
Seriously, that’s disgusting. Excuse me, Master. The moment I leaned down, the sheet fluttered, and something suddenly lunged out from inside.
It was a gun, pressed against my forehead.
I froze in pure shock, and then, he pulled the trigger—*click, click.*