The Villain Who Invests in a Witch to Survive

Chapter 6: A Maid Naturally Needs a Maid Outfit

Cosette nodded, her hands pressed stiffly against the sides of her legs. Her gaze remained lowered, and she only dared to secretly follow Ryan’s movements with the corner of her eye.

Ryan watched her for a moment. His gaze lingered in particular on the oversized old shirt that almost swallowed her entire frame, and his brows drew together slightly.

He looked away and surveyed the room where he was temporarily staying.

The room was not large, but compared to the noisy shared dormitory downstairs, it was far better.

There was a single bed, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe, and in the corner a simple washing area separated by a folding screen.

At the moment, the room was not exactly messy, but it certainly could not be called tidy either.

Several thick hardcover books lay scattered across the desk. They were 《Basic Elemental Theory》 and 《Outline of Continental Magic History》, books the original owner had prepared in advance to cope with his upcoming enrollment. Beside them were several small alchemical tools—one crystal crucible mounted on a base carved with simple stabilization runes, several glass tubes of varying thickness, and a few empty reagent bottles with faded labels. It looked as though the original owner had attempted some sort of beginner experiment the night before and left the aftermath behind.

“…All right then,” Ryan said calmly, drawing his gaze back. “Start by cleaning up this room.”

He pointed toward the desk and the scattered items on the floor. “Put things back where they belong and wipe off the dust. Don’t touch those instruments carelessly. I’m going out for a bit.”

Cosette raised her head and glanced at him quickly before lowering it again.

“…Yes,” she answered quietly.

She did not ask where he was going or how long he would be gone. She simply acknowledged the instruction obediently.

Ryan said nothing further. He turned and opened the door, stepping out into the corridor. The wooden door closed gently behind him, cutting off the light and noise from outside.

The room fell completely silent.

Cosette stood there staring at the closed door for several seconds. Only after she heard Ryan’s footsteps gradually fade down the corridor did her shoulders finally sag slightly, as though the strength supporting her had suddenly been removed. She let out a long, silent breath.

She had really… become someone’s maid?

The word felt both familiar and unfamiliar to her.

It was familiar because in the gossip of the streets and the occasional glimpses she had caught before, she knew that behind those elegantly dressed noble lords and ladies there were always people walking with lowered heads, wearing particular uniforms. They were called “servants” or “maids.”

But it was unfamiliar because that world had never overlapped with hers—a life spent rolling through mud and refuse just to survive.

A maid…

What exactly was she supposed to do?

She looked around blankly.

That cold yet somewhat strange boy—her “master,” Ryan—had only told her to clean the room.

Then… she would start by cleaning.

She walked to the desk and began tidying things up. Her movements were clumsy but extremely careful.

Those heavy books felt like bricks to her. The gilded letters on the covers were twisted and complicated, and she could not recognize a single one.

She simply stacked them carefully according to size and thickness, aligning their edges neatly.

The glassware and strange little tools made her nervous. Afraid of breaking anything, she picked them up only with the tips of her fingers, gently returning them to places that seemed reasonable based on the marks left on the desk.

There was a thin layer of dust on the desk surface. Unable to find a cloth, she hesitated briefly before lifting the relatively clean inner corner of the oversized shirt she was wearing and carefully wiping the surface with it.

After finishing, she stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

It seemed… there was nothing left to do.

Suddenly she felt a little lost. Her fingers unconsciously twisted the long hem of the shirt.

What should she do next?

She did not dare sit on the bed, even though the bed covered in white linen sheets looked irresistibly soft and comfortable.

When Ryan had told her to lie down earlier so he could apply medicine, it had been an order she had no choice but to obey.

But now that Ryan was not here, she hesitated again.

The bed was too clean, too neat, and too soft.

Even though she had bathed and was wearing Ryan’s shirt—which carried a faint scent like sun-warmed wood—she still felt as though deep down she remained the dirty child who had rolled in mud her whole life.

She did not deserve to touch something so clean and soft.

The best place she had ever slept before had been a corner sheltered from the wind, with a torn sack and some dry grass beneath her.

That alone had already counted as a rare good night’s sleep.

She lowered her head and looked again at the oversized men’s shirt she was wearing.

The soft cotton fabric brushed against her freshly washed skin, creating a strange sensation. Only now did she belatedly feel a wave of embarrassment.

She was wearing nothing underneath it.

She was simply wrapped in the shirt of a strange boy, and the shirt still carried his scent.

She lifted a hand to touch her burning cheeks.

Ryan…

He was actually… quite handsome.

This was the first time Cosette had had both the leisure and the courage to recall her master’s appearance.

He was tall—much taller than her. She probably only reached his chest.

His shoulders were not especially broad, but he stood very straight.

His complexion was somewhat pale, but his features were well-defined. Especially those gray-blue eyes—when he looked at people, they seemed cold, yet they were not murky or disgusting like the eyes of those street thugs.

He could also use magic.

Back in the alley earlier, he had raised his hand and pushed the bad men away.

So powerful.

And he seemed… quite wealthy as well.

He could stay in an inn like this and attend that magic academy that sounded so impressive.

Right—Magic Academy!

A vague sense of yearning flickered in Cosette’s eyes.

Was that place filled with people who could perform wonderful magic? Would glowing crystals float in the sky? Would everyone wear beautiful robes and speak elegantly, never worrying about where their next meal came from?

She had never dared imagine approaching such a place.

But now… Ryan had said he would take her there, as his maid.

Just thinking about it gave her a strange tickling feeling inside her chest. She could not tell whether it was fear or anticipation.

She shook her head, forcing those wandering thoughts away.

Now was not the time to think about that.

She was a maid now.

How were maids supposed to address their masters?

Should she simply call him “Master”?

The moment that thought appeared, her face heated up again.

Would she… have to call him that from now on?

Meanwhile, Ryan had already stepped out of the inn.

The afternoon sunlight was glaringly bright.

Of course, he was not wandering aimlessly.

Picking Cosette up was one matter. Making sure she could stay by his side without raising suspicion was another.

First of all, she needed proper clothes. She could not keep walking around wrapped in his shirt forever.

Following his memory and the street signs, Ryan soon arrived at a more common section of White Bell City’s commercial district. The shops here were less luxurious, but their goods were practical.

His destination was a tailor shop that looked as though it had been around for years. Several finished garments hung outside the entrance, most made from sturdy cotton or linen.

When he pushed the door open, the brass bell above it rang with a clear jingle.

The shop was somewhat dimly lit, and the air carried a faint scent of cotton thread and dye. Behind the counter sat an elderly woman with gray hair and reading glasses. She was holding a needle and thread, mending a piece of clothing.

“What do you need, young man?” she asked gently, her gaze sweeping over Ryan’s well-made clothes.

“I need two sets of maid outfits,” Ryan said directly. “Ready-made ones, or something that can be altered quickly. And two sets of undergarments as well. They’re for a young girl.”

The elderly woman adjusted her glasses and looked at him.

“Buying them for a maid at home? Do you have her measurements?”

Measurements?

Ryan froze for a moment.

Only then did he realize the key problem.

His first instinct was to say, “I forgot. I’ll go back and ask.”

But at the very instant that thought appeared, Cosette’s figure surfaced in his mind with astonishing clarity.

Not a visual image—but a series of precise numbers.

Height. Shoulder width. Waist measurement. An approximate chest measurement—almost negligible. Leg length…

The data was so detailed that it felt as though he had personally measured her with a ruler.

Ryan’s heart skipped.

Was this… some manifestation of the original owner’s talent?

An extraordinary spatial awareness and memory for details?

Or some strange side effect of transmigration?

He did not have time to analyze it deeply. Suppressing his surprise, he calmly reported the measurements to the elderly woman.

She nodded without showing much surprise at the maid’s small frame.

In this city near the academy, it was not uncommon for minor nobles or declining families to send young children to work as apprentices or servants.

She turned and took down several sets of dresses from the rack behind her. Most were simple brown, gray, or navy garments designed for durability and easy movement.

“These styles are commonly used,” she said. “The fabric is sturdy and long-lasting. This navy one with the white apron is quite popular among the little maids at the academy.”

Ryan looked them over and pointed to the navy one and another gray-blue set of a similar design.

“These two. And…” His gaze moved toward a rack of shoes in the corner. “Add a pair of black flats that fit.”

He remembered that Cosette had followed him barefoot.

“Very well. These clothes are ready-made. I just need to adjust the waist and skirt length slightly—it won’t take long. I’ll check if we have the right shoe size.”

While waiting, Ryan went next door to a bakery and bought several fresh white loaves and a few thick pies filled with smoked meat and cheese.

The aroma of food made him imagine the girl’s thin frame and the subtle way she swallowed her saliva.

When he returned to the inn with a bundle of clothes and shoes along with the food, the room was quiet.

He opened the door.

As expected, the room had been tidied. The books and tools were in place, and the desk and floor were clean.

And Cosette was standing stiffly in the exact center of the room, still wearing his absurd oversized shirt. Her arms hung straight at her sides, and she stared blankly into space like a life-sized doll that had been placed in a strange environment and did not know how to behave.

When the door opened, she snapped back to awareness like a startled rabbit and looked toward him in panic.

Ryan walked inside and placed the items on the desk with a soft thud.

“These are for you,” he said, pointing first to the cloth bundle and then to the oil-paper package. “Those are clothes. Change into them and see if they fit. That’s food. Change first, then eat.”

Cosette’s gaze moved between the bundle and the food before finally settling on Ryan’s expressionless face.

She stepped forward hesitantly and untied the bundle with trembling fingers.

When the two brand-new dresses—navy and gray-blue—appeared before her, stiff and crisp with the scent of fresh fabric, she seemed to stop breathing.

She carefully lifted the navy one.

The fabric felt dense and sturdy. The white apron had been heavily starched, its edges trimmed with simple ruffles.

Holding the clothes in her arms, she looked helplessly at Ryan, then glanced toward the folding screen.

“Change behind there,” Ryan said without turning around. He was already facing the window. “Hurry up.”

Cosette pressed her lips together and hugged the clothes to her chest—symbols of a new identity and the possibility of stability.

Then she quietly slipped behind the screen.

The screen was thin. It barely blocked the view, and it certainly did not block sound.

The rustle of fabric brushing together. The faint clicks of buttons fastening. Occasionally a quick breath or a soft grunt as the girl struggled with the unfamiliar back fastenings and ties.

Ryan looked out the window at the sunset slowly turning orange-red.

His face remained expressionless as he listened to the sounds behind him.

Once again he confirmed inwardly—

This was truly a complete and utter trouble.

But when the message about “survival probability increased by 30%” flashed through his mind again, that trouble suddenly felt like a cost he had no choice but to bear.

After some time, the sounds behind the screen finally stopped.

There was a brief silence.

Then the girl’s small voice came from behind it, timid as a mosquito’s buzz, filled with obvious nervousness and unfamiliarity.

“M-Master… I’ve finished changing.”