Yifia was utterly fed up with the short noble—this cockroach that just wouldn’t die.

Even after his jewels had been brutally kicked, he still came personally to capture her! Just how much willpower did that take?!

She cautiously stepped back twice, putting distance between herself and the short noble with his thugs, wary of a sudden move… Thank goodness for that muscle-bound hunk at the underground clinic—he’d given her a few escape tricks.

But no matter how careful she was, her slender arms and legs stood no chance against two burly men. She had to find a way out.

“Wait. I suggest you stop right there—or you’ll bring serious trouble.”

With the grudge from that kick to his jewels, reconciliation was impossible. Only authority could suppress him now.

If he dared lay a finger on her, Amelia would wipe out his entire family!!!

To prove she wasn’t bluffing, Yifia snapped, “If I had no backing, would I dare act like this? Idiot—still not getting it?!”

Her words worked.

The thugs hesitated, glancing between the noble and Yifia. This job suddenly felt risky.

Logically, they should obey.

But Yifia’s striking beauty and fearless calm screamed *not a commoner*. She clearly had powerful backing.

After all, a woman’s sharpest weapons were her looks and cunning.

Cross her, and a far worse figure might emerge.

They were temporary hires—not enslaved lackeys. No need to die for a stranger.

Exchanging silent looks, the thugs studied the sky, the grass, a passing bug—anything but the two standoff figures. Let them sort it out first.

Yifia’s face stayed neutral, but inwardly, she sighed in relief.

Not cowardice—those thugs’ muscles were terrifying. One punch, and she’d be gone.

Damn it. This bastard noble, losing fair and square, then hiring muscle?!

“Yifia! Don’t think you can fool me! A fresh commoner student—where’d you meet big shots?! I swear: you’ll pay! I’ll sell you to the vilest underground brothel, where you’ll be at the mercy of countless men!”

Losing his jewels seemed to twist him toward depravity.

His sinister tone, paired with that grotesque, contorted face, sent chills down spines.

Yifia curled her lip. Did he think she was scared easily?

“Tsk. Drag me out of Pris Academy first. Sun’s still up—dreaming already?”

Playing nice would mark her as a pushover. So she dropped the act. Honestly, his face alone begged for insults.

…But seriously, was *no one* else on this path?

They’d been locked in this standoff for minutes. Not a single passerby.

“ARGH! Yifia, I’ll kill you! Why aren’t you moving?! I paid you to act, not stare! Grab her!”

The noble’s temper exploded like a powder keg. Screaming with impotent rage, his flabby body trembled violently.

The thugs could no longer pretend to be scenery. Slowly, reluctantly, they advanced—still hesitating to lay hands on the beautiful girl.

[System, help! They’re taking me!]

[Host, resolve the crisis yourself. The system cheers you on!]

[...]

Fine.

Today’s system: still useless.

Yifia’s spirit crumpled inwardly, but outwardly, she stood calm as stone.

Glancing at the thugs’ blank faces, she gambled on drama-queen tactics from villainess TV scenes.

“Heh. So eager to be scapegoats? When my protector investigates, he’ll throw you two under the bus and wash his hands clean.”

Chin high, eyes dripping disdain, she regarded them like insignificant pests.

A mocking smile played on her lips. If she had a fan, she’d hide behind it and laugh… Wait. This pose felt familiar. She’d seen it near the shrubs before.

But when Amelia did it? Elegant. Charming. Not hateful at all.

Truly—it all depended on the person.

The thugs froze exactly as hoped.

Yifia pressed on: “And he calls himself a man? Hiring thugs to handle a frail girl who couldn’t even tie up a chicken? Obviously seeking fall guys.”

She was gambling.

Betting the noble’s pride would keep his injury secret.

She won.

He *hadn’t* spread the word.

The thugs’ suspicious glances shifted to the noble. Unspoken, but clear: *Is this true?*

A girl this slight? They could crush her one-handed. Even a pale, weak noble should manage her alone…

Was *he* the one setting them up?

“You fools! I swear on the Gray family name—I take full responsibility! You won’t be implicated!”

The noble shot Yifia a venomous glare. If not for that bitch’s brutal kick to his jewels, he’d have beaten her himself. No need for these useless fools!

Swearing on his house worked. Nobles guarded their honor. Maybe… they’d survive this.

Worst case: vanish after cashing out. And squeeze him dry first.

“Sorry, miss. No offense—you crossed a noble,” one thug muttered before both moved to seize her.

Yifia’s heart sank. Delaying was over.

Was this it?

“MEOW!!!”

A piercing, familiar wail cut the air. Yifia’s eyes lit up with hope.

Then—cool, detached, exactly as awaited:

“What do you think you’re doing to her?”