Though Phaga had never tasted Rina's cooking and couldn't judge its flavor, he could tell from the panic on Lycaon's face that it wasn't an act. After thinking it through, Phaga chose to keep silent.
Before long, the argument downstairs ended. Rina drifted out of the kitchen, her head hanging in defeat, with two Bangboo fluttering beside her, softly consoling her.
Looks like Lycaon won.
"Hmph!"
Ellen let out a cold snort, shaking her head in regret. "Rina's cooking is actually really good," she muttered.
She then turned slightly to glance at Phaga. "Come with me."
Without another word, Ellen headed up to the third floor.
Phaga followed. The third floor had many rooms, though most were locked.
Ellen pushed open one of the unlocked doors, leaned against the frame, and beckoned him in with a flick of her tail. "Get in."
Phaga stepped inside. Ellen shut the door behind him and switched on the light.
Click!
The sudden burst of white light stung Phaga's eyes. He squinted for a moment before slowly opening them again.
Rows of shelves filled his view, stacked with fabrics and cloth of every kind—an overwhelming display.
Suddenly, Phaga felt someone touch his waist. He was just about to move when a sharp voice rang out:
"Don't move!"
Ellen, holding a measuring tape, slid from his left side to his right, her face so close it nearly brushed against his back.
"If your butler uniform ends up too big, that's not on me," she muttered.
"Butler uniform?"
Phaga was a little confused, but still spread his arms as Ellen directed, letting her take his measurements.
"Yes," Ellen replied as she jotted down his arm length. Next came his height. She kept chatting as she worked, easing the awkward atmosphere.
"Victoria Housekeeping doesn't care about broad social recognition, but we can't afford to lose our reputation among high-net-worth clients.
Unlike those second-rate teams, Victoria has strict internal standards—appearance included.
You saw Lycaon and Rina earlier, right? What they were wearing were our uniforms… Hey, hold still! I'll mess up your height if you move."
She gave Phaga's chest a light tap and shot him an annoyed glare.
Phaga hardly reacted. Instead, his thoughts drifted.
Rina's maid outfit did give her a refined air, and Lycaon looked reliable in his steward's suit.
Then it struck him. He turned his head. "So… you have a maid outfit too?"
After all, Ellen was still in her casual attire—a pink-and-white blouse, short skirt, low-heeled shoes, and black stockings. She radiated the youthful charm of a student.
Phaga found himself imagining what Ellen would look like in Rina's maid outfit.
Hmm… it would look nice, but somehow a little mismatched.
"Hey! Hey!"
Ellen waved her hand in front of his face, raising her voice.
Phaga blinked back to reality—only to find Ellen glaring at him, arms crossed, her shark tail slapping irritably against the floor.
"What are you thinking about? And where exactly were you looking?" she demanded, her chin tilted up with disdain.
Phaga gave a sheepish smile. "I was just wondering how you'd look in a maid outfit."
Ellen's brow arched. "You want to see?"
"Yes!"
Without hesitation, Phaga nodded. His reflexes were so sharp they even startled Ellen.
This… Was Phaga this fast when fighting the Dead End Butcher one-on-one?
Phaga said nothing more, but his eyes burned with intensity.
Quiet and withdrawn as he might be, he was still a young man, full of blood and fire. His past had forged him into something hard and bitter…
But now? Now he had the chance. Who wouldn't want to see a tsundere maid?
"Keep dreaming!"
Ellen shot him a glare, lowering her head to jot down the final measurements.
"Outside of work, I'm not wearing that thing."
With that, she headed out. But just before leaving, she tossed him a set of keys.
"That's your room key. Everyone's rooms are on the third floor. The one with the shark doodle is mine. Yours is next door."
Her footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by her fading voice.
"Your butler uniform will take about five days. Wait for it."
Phaga shrugged, jingled the keys in his hand, then closed the door and stepped into the hall.
He soon found Ellen's door with the shark doodle.
Along the way, he noticed three other rooms with doodles: a little werewolf, two flying Bangboo, and the most amusing one—a teddy bear holding a chainsaw.
Stopping in front of Ellen's room, Phaga leaned back against the door and tilted his head to study the teddy bear across the hall.
Shark-Thiren, Wolf-Thiren, humans…
Could the unseen member living there be a rough-and-tumble bear-Thiren?
But would a bear-Thiren really draw such a cute doodle?
His lips curved slightly. Then he remembered—Lycaon, dependable as ever, also had a cutesy little werewolf doodle on his door.
So the doodles clearly didn't match their owners. More likely, some childlike member of the team had drawn them all.
Could it be Ellen?
He pictured a little shark clutching a paintbrush, teeth bared, sprawled out on the floor happily doodling.
Pfft.
Phaga chuckled, then shook his head.
No way Ellen's personality could be that cute.
Click!
The door behind him suddenly opened. With nothing to lean against, Phaga lost his balance and fell backward.
His head smacked the floor with a heavy thud.
"Ugh—"
He sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed the back of his head.
"You alright?"
At the sound of her voice, Phaga opened one eye. Ellen stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, peering down at him.
"I'm fine. Just a scrape," Phaga answered automatically.
"You always say that."
Ellen folded her arms, her tone frosty. "You've made a habit of calling everything 'fine.'
Last time, when the Dead End Butcher broke your right arm, you said the same thing. How bad does it have to get before you admit it's serious?"
"Uh… I don't know."
Phaga sat up, recalling his past.
"So far, I've never had an injury I couldn't recover from. That's one perk of being a vampire. No matter how severe, as long as I have enough energy, I'll heal."
"Tsk. So fighting the Dead End Butcher wasn't even your worst injury?"
Ellen clicked her tongue, struggling to imagine what could possibly wound him worse than that.
Phaga just shrugged helplessly, then shifted the topic. "By the way, your room looks pretty nice."
He glanced inside. Ellen's room was neat and girlish, decorated with cute wall art and a pink carpet.
What stood out most was the bed—there was a pillow at both the head and the foot.
Phaga sneaked a look at Ellen's tail.
Did… did her tail need a pillow too?
He stared, lost in thought.
Then, suddenly, a soft hand clamped onto his chin, forcing his head upward.
Phaga snapped back to himself, only to meet a face as cold as ice.
Her sharp eyes narrowed, her teeth bared in contempt.
And with that disdain carved into her features, Ellen spat a single word:
"Get out."