The Villain Who Invests in a Witch to Survive

Chapter 53 : The Little Maid Learns Magic

After making that small adjustment, she turned around and met Ryan’s gaze.

A blush immediately spread across her cheeks.

“I… I went to the cafeteria to get dinner,” she said softly. Her fingers started twisting the edge of her apron again, the fabric already worn fuzzy from being wrung so many times. “When I came back, the rain… it wasn’t this heavy yet.”

The words lacked conviction. The last syllables drifted away like something about to vanish in the air.

Ryan’s gaze moved from the tray to her.

A thick gray wool coat wrapped around her slender frame. The sleeves were carefully rolled twice, revealing delicate pale wrists.

Around one wrist was a thin cotton bracelet, light brown and somewhat unevenly braided.

Ryan remembered that bracelet.

Cosette had braided it herself three days ago. She had been sitting by the window in the sunlight, her clumsy fingers looping the thread again and again, braiding and undoing, undoing and braiding. The final result had been crooked, but once she put it on, she never took it off.

The bracelet was dry.

The cotton threads were clearly textured, without the darkened marks that would appear if they had been soaked in water.

Ryan’s gaze shifted downward.

Small specks of mud dotted the hem of her coat and the cuffs of her trousers. The stains were fresh, their edges not fully dried yet, spreading faint gray-brown smudges across the dark cloth. The height and angle of the splashes were consistent—exactly what would happen if someone walked quickly through puddles, their heels kicking up water.

Then there were her clothes.

Under the gray wool coat was a light beige cotton blouse. The collar was neatly pressed, the cuffs peeking out by half an inch.

Ryan remembered that blouse too.

It had been washed and hung by the window last week. Normally, Cosette would fold the clothes she had worn and place them beside the bed, wearing them again the next day before finally changing them the following evening.

Yesterday she had been wearing a dark brown one.

This beige blouse should have been tomorrow’s change.

All these details came together quickly in Ryan’s mind:

Dry clothes hurriedly changed into after getting soaked by rain. Hair carefully dried but not fully combed yet. A newly replaced hair tie. Boots that were dry but still marked with fresh mud.

“The rain wasn’t this heavy yet.”

The real meaning of that sentence was simple: the rain had already been heavy. Heavy enough that she needed an umbrella. Heavy enough to splash her trousers as she hurried along the road. Heavy enough that she had to change her wet clothes immediately after returning to the room.

But she didn’t say that.

Instead, she turned slightly, letting the lamplight pass over her cheek and cast faint shadows beneath her lashes.

“…I’m not cold,” she said quietly, as if answering a question he had never asked. “I wore my coat. And it’s not far. I came back quickly.”

After saying that, she stole a glance at Ryan’s face, trying to read something from it.

Reproach?

Displeasure?

Those dark brown eyes held a careful, nervous anticipation.

Ryan walked to the table and sat down. The wooden chair creaked softly.

He reached out and touched the rim of the porcelain bowl.

The temperature was perfect—warm enough to eat, but not too hot. It had been prepared precisely with his return time in mind.

He lifted his eyes.

Cosette was still standing there, fingers twisting her apron, watching him like someone awaiting judgment.

Ryan’s gaze swept over her dry coat, the slightly uneven strands of hair at her forehead, the crooked but dry bracelet around her wrist.

Then his eyes returned to her face.

He looked at her for two seconds.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

It wasn’t really a smile.

At least not in the usual sense. It was only the faintest curve, so brief it was almost impossible to catch.

Cosette saw it.

She froze.

Her dark brown pupils widened slightly in disbelief. Then, as though she had finally confirmed something, the tension in her shoulders slowly melted away. The nervousness and caution hidden in her eyes softened into something like relief, mixed with a shy embarrassment.

Her cheeks reddened again.

This time it wasn’t the red of anxiety.

It was the flush of being seen through.

Ryan said nothing. He simply picked up the spoon. The metal touched the porcelain bowl with a crisp clink. He scooped up a spoonful of stew and put it into his mouth.

He chewed and swallowed naturally, as if nothing unusual had happened.

But that small curve at his lips, and the fleeting warmth in his eyes, were already enough.

Cosette stood there watching him eat.

Her fingers slowly loosened their grip on the apron. The light in her dark brown eyes grew brighter, like stars gradually appearing in the night sky.

Then she quietly inhaled and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Her movements were more natural this time. Her hands rested neatly on her knees, her back straight, but her expression relaxed.

She didn’t explain again.

She didn’t repeat that the rain wasn’t that heavy or that she hadn’t really gotten wet.

She didn’t need to.

Her master already knew.

And he hadn’t blamed her.

That was enough.

Cosette’s fingers twisted her apron nervously again, the lamplight reflecting in her dark eyes like two restless pieces of amber.

Then Ryan’s lips curved again.

Not a full smile—just the faintest upward tilt.

It lasted only a moment, so brief that Cosette almost thought she had imagined it. But in that instant, the look in his eyes softened.

Cosette had seen many expressions on Ryan’s face before—calm, thoughtful, occasionally cold and mocking when dealing with people looking for trouble.

But this…

This relaxed, almost helpless hint of a smile—

She had never seen it before.

Her heart thumped softly in her chest.

“The umbrella—borrowed?” Ryan asked, his voice gentler than usual.

“Yes.” Cosette nodded. Her dark brown ponytail swayed lightly behind her. “Aunt Mary from the laundry room lent it to me. She said… the rain was too heavy.”

She hesitated for a moment, then carefully walked over and sat on the edge of the bed again. Her hands rested properly on her knees, like a student listening attentively in class.

Ryan said nothing and lifted the spoon again.

The spoon tapped lightly against the porcelain bowl.

He scooped up another spoonful of stew and put it in his mouth. The carrots were soft and tender, and the broth carried just the right amount of black pepper. Warmth slid down his throat, dispelling the last trace of chill he had brought in from outside.

Cosette sat quietly.

Her eyes never left Ryan.

Each time he lifted the spoon, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. When he chewed, her eyelashes trembled gently, as if she were silently counting the bites.

Halfway through the meal, Ryan set the spoon down.

Then he raised a hand and beckoned to her.

Cosette blinked in surprise, then slid down from the bed and knelt beside the table. She looked up at him with puzzled dark brown eyes.

Ryan’s hand rested on top of her head.

He gently ruffled her hair.

Cosette’s eyes widened. Her dark pupils shimmered in the lamplight like glass marbles submerged in water. Color spread rapidly across her cheeks, from her ears all the way down to her neck.

Ryan withdrew his hand and picked up the spoon again.

Cosette remained kneeling there for several seconds without moving.

Then she slowly lowered her head. Her ponytail fell forward, hiding her bright red face.

But Ryan could still see the tips of her ears turning pink in the lamplight.

She stayed kneeling by the table until he finished the last bite.

When the spoon touched the bowl again with a soft clink, Cosette seemed to snap out of a trance. She quickly stood up and picked up the tray.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” she said, her voice a little muffled. She still didn’t dare meet Ryan’s eyes. “Master… would you like tea? Mint tea?”

“Yes.”

Cosette nodded and hurried toward the door with the tray. Just before stepping out, she paused and glanced back.

Warm yellow light spilled from the room, outlining her slender silhouette. Her dark brown hair glowed softly in the light, and the flush on her cheeks had not yet faded.

She opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something.

But in the end, she only pressed her lips together and smiled—a small smile that could not hide her happiness.

Then the door closed quietly.

The room fell silent.

The lamplight spread across the tabletop, illuminating the empty bowl and the faint circle of water spreading beside the tray.

Outside, the rain had completely stopped. The clouds had parted, letting in cold moonlight.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of the table.

The warmth of the stew still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint fragrance of mint tea. In the distance, the clock tower struck nine. The sound traveled through the damp air after the rain—muted and distant.

On the bookshelf, the light blue fairy-tale book rested quietly on the second shelf.

Beside it was the worn literacy booklet, its page corners creased—marks left little by little by the brown-haired girl.

In a world full of schemes and disguises, at least there was still a corner like this.

A place that required no masks, no lies.

Just a bowl of warm food, a lamp that never went out, and a girl who would blush because she fetched dinner for you—whose eyes would light up at the smallest praise.

And those eyes, always clear when they looked at you.

“How is the literacy booklet going?”

Cosette’s eyes immediately lit up.

The light in them shone from deep within—clear and burning.

“I finished the third book today,” she said, excitement barely contained in her voice. “I can understand all the stories now. I even borrowed a fairy-tale book from the library…”

She reached into her apron pocket and carefully pulled out the small book with the light blue cover.

Her movements were cautious, as if she were holding something fragile and precious.

“The librarian said it helps with learning characters,” she continued, tilting the book so Ryan could see the title. It looked like a beginner’s reading book for children. “I read two stories already. I know all the characters. Some sentences take a little time, but I understand them.”

The lamplight fell across the page, illuminating the simple lines of text.

Ryan noticed one corner of the page had been folded lightly.

A small mark Cosette made whenever she encountered a passage she liked.

“How many books are left in the literacy course?” he asked.

“Just the last one,” Cosette answered, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the cardboard cover of the fairy-tale book. “Probably… about one more week.”

She paused.

Her lips parted slightly as her dark eyes lifted to meet Ryan’s.

Within them were expectation, nervousness, and a deeply buried yearning that seemed ready to break free.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

Only the faint crackle of the oil lamp and the fading sound of rain outside could be heard.

Ryan looked at the light in her eyes.

In this world full of schemes and deception, such purity was a rare luxury.

“When you finish the last book,” he said, his voice a little gentler than usual,

“you can start learning the basics of magic.”