"Um… Elya…"

"Evelia."

"Haaah— Forget the name thing for now. Are you heading out?"

Arman just couldn’t win against this rigid little maid. Rubbing his bangs in frustration, he let out a long sigh. Too many names sounded like "Evelia," and he couldn’t sort them out. If anything was to blame? Her name—so ordinary, yet so tricky to pronounce.

"No. Evelia isn’t going out. Evelia is preparing your first dinner at this manor."

"You really don’t have to refer to yourself like that…"

"Evelia only fears Mr. Arman might forget Evelia’s name."

"Well… even so…"

"Then Evelia asks: What is Evelia’s name?"

"Elurea?"

*Crack.* A nerve in Evelia’s head felt ready to snap.

"I’m genuinely bad with names… especially… sorry—especially generic ones like yours."

"Haaah…"

In over ten years as an assassin, Evelia had never felt this helpless.

*But the mission comes first… endure it.*

"Mr. Arman, do you recall your own name?"

She took a slow breath, suppressing a sharp impulse.

"Arman Sistalia."

"The current emperor’s name?"

"Pandarata Clea."

"The Crown Prince and Second Prince?"

"Sorlock Clea and Erik Clea."

"And the elderly butler you trust?"

"Rug Laz."

"And… me?"

"…"

Arman hesitated.

"E… Evelyn?"

"Not bad. You got two syllables right—but messed up the count entirely?"

Watching his flustered face, Evelia could barely contain her killer intent.

*How is this guy even captain of the Knights Order? Does the Crown Prince prefer brainless pretty boys? Is he… the Crown Prince’s favorite? No wonder rumors say he dislikes women…*

—That her mind spiraled this far showed how utterly unreasonable she found this man, whose only apparent asset was his face.

Even the emotionally detached Evelia felt a flicker of irritation.

"My bad. I struggle remembering people I rarely interact with. Those names? Daily life and documents. Soldiers? I barely recall theirs—we use nicknames. Four- or five-syllable names all blur together."

"I am your personal maid. We *will* cross paths constantly. Please remember my name."

"Can’t I just call you ‘Pink Hair’—?"

"I’m afraid not, Mr. Arman."

"…Fine."

"By the way—you planning to go out?"

"Hm?" Arman blinked. "How’d you know?"

"You kept asking *me* if *I* was leaving. Seemed… eager. I guessed you wanted an excuse to go yourself. Given your personality—definitely the former."

"Haha, sharp."

"One wouldn’t survive as your maid without sharpness."

"True…" Arman smiled, eyes crinkling. His voice dropped too low for even nearby Evelia to catch—but in his gaze, she saw it: a flicker of *observation*.

Not a glance. A piercing, analytical *observation*.

"To serve well is to understand my master’s needs. If you dislike my guesses, I’ll stay silent."

Evelia sensed danger—but her face stayed blank, tone flat.

"Why dislike it? Someone who reads hearts avoids tedious debates. I hate arguing over trivial things."

The "observation" vanished. Arman’s smile returned—warm, genuine, slightly goofy, like a happy golden retriever. Not eerie. Yet… pressure coiled in Evelia’s chest.

"If you need an excuse to go out, I’ll accompany you to buy wine for dinner."

"Perfect!" He dashed inside, grabbed his coat, and shrugged it on. "Let’s go now? I hate being cooped up."

Evelia nodded silently, following. *Why can’t the manor’s master leave freely?*

Just then, Butler Rug emerged from his office, white mustache twitching.

"Where are you going?!"

"Buying wine with my maid," Arman grinned, carefree.

"Staff handle procurement! You needn’t go!"

Rug frowned at Evelia behind him, expression unreadable.

"Wine is a banquet’s soul! Must go myself."

"Alone, you’ll bring back nonsense again! Your reputation’s already shaky! Think of your image—you represent the Royal Knights Order!"

"Image doesn’t feed knights. My ‘image’ hasn’t stopped them marrying. Relax, I’ve got E—" He dragged the syllable, glancing at her.

"Evelia." *Ugh.* She bit back an eye-roll.

"Right. With her. You’re safe."

"You…! Once you’re set, ten oxen can’t drag you back… Sigh. Evelia—please watch him closely. No wandering. No strange purchases. Our reputation *and* budget are fragile… so many knights to support!"

Rug entrusted her gravely. Evelia nodded, murmuring, "You have my word." Arman waited patiently, smiling, until the butler finished his tearful plea.

"Enough! Don’t act like the world ends if I step out. We’re off!"

Arman patted Rug’s shoulder, freed Evelia, and strode away without looking back—under the butler’s worried gaze.

"…Sigh." Alone, Rug’s expression darkened. "You truly love causing trouble…"