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What was the one thing you would least have wanted to experience at that moment, or something you would have disliked happening to you?

If the other person were intelligent, they would have executed it accurately and precisely.

Optimistic views had always been betrayed time and time again. The world was made up of only the worst. That’s precisely why predictions were easy.

There had been a suspicious shadow sneaking up behind the inn.

Dressed in a manner that allowed for easy movement, with sleeves and hem rolled up, a cloth was draped around the neck.

He had a good physique, the kind that seemed to hold considerable strength.

Men like him had been present in quite a number within the city of Kugutfulm. In this city that the turbulent currents had turned chaotic, it had been necessary to tidy up and transport various things. No matter where he wandered, he wouldn’t have been suspected.

However, the task he had had to accomplish in that city hadn’t been about transporting goods or cleaning up trash.

Blending into the bustling city that had been busy with reconstruction efforts, he had looked around to confirm that no one was watching, then had reached into his pants pocket.

Then, something like a glass bead, which logically shouldn’t have fit in his pocket due to its size, had emerged.

In the world, there were magic items that could connect bags or boxes to a subspace, allowing many items to be stored within. Similarly, it had been possible to enchant clothing pockets in such a way or incorporate such items as inner pockets within the pockets themselves.

What filled the glass-like object… the potion ball, was a paste of a dirty color.

The man frowned at it, as if saying “I wouldn’t want to carry something like this around,” and raised his hand, preparing to swing it toward the inn’s back door.

“Ugh!?”

Dazzled by the gushing flash of light, he staggered.

“Found you.”

Monica, who had been hiding beside the doorway, appeared holding a Chrome Shooter. In the magical box that captured the scene, without a doubt, the figure of the man attempting to throw something dirty was imprinted.

This wasn’t the back entrance of the Rock Lizard Inn. It was the back entrance of the inn called Hawthorn Pavilion, where Monica was staying.

“Really, you’re so laughably foolish and obvious. Show bait, and you bite right away. Even the fish in a fishing pond are a bit smarter, aren’t they?”

Monica mocked the man, who seemed taken aback.

From the start, Monica had been secretly brought here through teleportation magic and left behind, and she understood the intention behind it. However, why had she, despite this, exposed herself on the rooftop, visible from the street, engaging in photography?

It was to use this inn and herself as bait to lure out the culprit behind the “prank.”

Hawthorn Pavilion’s entrance faced the street running along the canal, offering an unobstructed view. And on the left and right sides (a common layout due to limited space within the walls), it was tightly attached to other buildings, leaving little room for anyone to enter.

It could be predicted that if something were to be set up, it would be in the back alley lined with the inn’s back entrances.

She felt a bit sorry for the innkeeper, but if she let the culprit go free like this, it wouldn’t just end at the Rock Lizard Inn. If they could be lured, then that would be the best strategy. The most effective bait that was needed would be… Monica herself.

The other party surely wouldn’t want to miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attack the person who was currently sheltering Monica. That’s right, it was all within the realm of the worst-case scenario.

“So, what’s your plan? If you give in and spill everything, you might get a reduced sentence, you know?”

Monica casually raised her Chrome Shooter.

The man’s face, as he looked at it, twisted like an intimidating dog.

“…You little piece of s̲h̲i̲t̲!!”
“Mmph!?”

Before she knew it, Monica’s face was grabbed by a large hand, and she was pushed down onto the damp cobblestones of the narrow alley. Her lips cut against her own teeth, and the taste of blood spread in her mouth.

—This man, he doesn’t know me (Monica)…!?

Caught off guard by the sudden, too sudden, burst of violence, Monica could only freeze in astonishment and confusion, her body tensing up.

There were two miscalculations.

First, the culprit behind the “prank” wasn’t acting alone. There had been someone who investigated Monica and the movements of Golden Helmet, giving instructions to the perpetrator. It was the person who, under the orders of the mastermind, had a complete understanding of the situation and was carrying out the actions.

This executing perpetrator had never directly seen Monica. Neither her true appearance nor her current appearance concealed by the Mob Glasses. He had no interest whatsoever in politics or political affairs and didn’t even know about the scandal that had rocked the country over a decade ago, leading to the abdication of the queen and the first princess.

And the second miscalculation was that Monica’s imagination hadn’t caught up with the foolishness of the culprit.

Throughout her life, Monica had been exposed to a lot of malice. As a result, she was extremely sensitive to hostility and ill will, and had a nature that allowed her to peer into the depths of others’ hearts.

However, she lacked crucial experience in dealing with “vulgar malice.”

The nobles who had cornered Monica were cultured, had something to lose, and cared about appearances. That’s why their actions had been careful, designed not to get spattered with backlash, gradually wearing down her spirit with calculated, elaborate, and cruel methods.

Yes… their malice had been a refined and intricate thing.

For the side setting up this “prank,” directly targeting Monica was one of the worst moves they could make. That’s why Monica had exposed herself here.

But the opponent might not be intelligent, and they might not always consider their actions carefully to choose the optimal course of action.

There were individuals out there who went even lower than what Monica could imagine.

There were those whose anger was directly linked to their arms. There were individuals who would engage in fatal violence without a second thought, saying “It looks dangerous and annoying, so I’ll just go for it!”

The man drew a knife, larger than one might use for self-defense, and brandished it.

The dirty blade emitted a gleam tainted with grime.

“Mgh! Mnghhh!!”
“Don’t… underestimate… adults, you damn brat…! Just playing… the hero, huh… What a joke!”

The man aimed for her throat. It was a vital spot, and crushing the throat to prevent her from calling for help would be a reasonable choice, if he was only thinking about his safety five minutes later.

The strike, although unskilled, was swift and forceful, devoid of hesitation. The knife descended.

“Gyaah!!”

In an instant, both the man and the knife were propelled into the air.

A knight, who had rushed in from the side at a speed akin to the wind, sharply kicked the bulky man’s body as if it were a kicked ball.

The knife slid across the cobblestones as it spun.

Monica’s heart pounded loudly, her breathing erratic as she struggled to catch her breath.

Before Monica, two knights dismounted their horses and subdued the man, restraining him with a serpent chain —a Mythril chain designed to ensnare adversaries upon impact— wrapping him in multiple layers.

“Secured!”
“Guards!?! You little… you damn… calling for…”

The man struggled, but it seemed unlikely he could break free from the restraints.

The man seemed to have misunderstood, but it wasn’t guards who captured him, and Monica hadn’t called for them either.

Dressed in civilian attire that allowed them to blend into the city, they were knights who, upon closer inspection, wore Mythril chain shirts beneath their clothes and had their swords polished—a disguise to be able to move around unnoticed.

Likely, they were retainers of Duke Foster.

They kept a close but not too close distance, guarding… or perhaps, monitoring Monica. They would observe Monica’s actions, report to the duke, and if necessary, even reprimand her behavior. They were knights sent for this purpose.

Monica didn’t know where they had been observing from, but they seemed to have sensed something happening in the narrow alley and rushed over.

““Monica!””

Just at that moment, Lucella and Viola smashed open the inn’s back door and rushed out.