TMIAP Chapter 12

In any case, having come this far, she couldn't just go back empty-handed. Monica pulled her fist from Garcia's hand, then held her palm out flat before him.

She meant for him to compensate her for her clothes and ribbon.

"I spent my entire fortune on that."

Garcia raised his thick golden eyebrows.

"What foolish young lady spends her entire fortune on something like a ribbon?"

"...Because I'd been saving up for it!"

Monica clenched her fist again to show him. Garcia let out a hollow laugh.

"That way of talking..."

Only then did Monica realize she was speaking quite like a childish youngster.

It must seem worlds apart from how she'd behaved politely when she first met Garcia, thinking he was Luis.

But that didn't mean she had any intention of correcting her manner of speech. She deliberately raised her chin arrogantly.

"I don't want to be lectured on my speech by a wastrel."

And rightly so. Did a man who called her "ponytail girl" and brawled in the streets like a common thug have any business criticizing her manner of speech?

Fortunately, Garcia didn't seem particularly inclined to press the issue either. He simply glanced down at her and silently chewed on the end of the spent cigar between his lips.

"Whatever."

"Really."

The man didn't bat an eye even at Monica's glare, and simply grabbed her wrist again. Then he ran his thumb across Monica's palm.

"Ow..."

When pain radiated from her palm, scraped raw and filthy from the fall, Monica groaned despite herself. A mocking smile crossed the lips of Garcia, who still held the cigar butt.

"Looks like you can't even see what's more urgent than that."

Garcia held Monica's hand and stood, heading for the plaza fountain. The tiled fountain—a showcase of La Spezia's wealth at a glance—had stopped running.

Garcia scooped up fountain water without hesitation and scrubbed Monica's palm.

"That hurts!"

It wasn't so much that it truly hurt as that she was flustered by this complete stranger rubbing her hand like that. But Garcia paid no attention whatsoever to Monica's cry and washed both her hands in the water.

"As if you could hold money properly with those wrecked hands."

"Ugh."

Monica looked up at Garcia resentfully. Garcia let out a laugh and tapped the fountain edge. It meant sit down.

That high-handed attitude was as far from aristocratic as could be, yet somehow harder to resist. Monica rolled her eyes and sat on the brick wall surrounding the fountain. Garcia, who'd sat down before her, clicked his tongue.

"Tsk."

Through Monica's torn skirt, he could see her knees covered in scrapes and scabs. The man pulled out the tail of his shirt tucked into his trousers and ripped it off.

Monica was taken aback by the unexpected action, but the man acted as casually as if someone else's shirt had been torn, wetting it in the water and wiping Monica's knees.

"What kind of state is this for a young lady's knees?"

"..."

"You'll never get married."

And whose fault is that! Monica nearly shouted back, but closed her mouth. Because she knew this situation wasn't entirely Garcia's fault.

Besides, Garcia could have simply run away. And yet...

'That woman has nothing to do with this, so let her go.'

He'd come back because of Monica, hadn't he?

Garcia's touch was surprisingly gentle. He seemed careful not to hurt Monica further. Just then, Garcia muttered:

"Count yourself lucky this isn't a battlefield."

"Hm?"

"If you were a wounded soldier, I wouldn't treat you this kindly."

Monica blinked.

He was right. With so many wounded soldiers, one couldn't dream of handling each one gently. There was no luxury to spare for their pain.

But how did this man know that? Was he also a war veteran?

She quietly studied Garcia, who kept moving his hands even while crudely chewing and spitting out his cigar butt.

Perhaps finding the sudden silence strange, Garcia looked up while wrapping Monica's knee with the remaining cloth scrap and grinned wickedly.

"What, are you moved?"

"...Do you really not know Luis?"

Instead of snapping with annoyance at the ridiculous question, Monica asked that. Garcia's eyes immediately turned sharp.

"I don't know that unappetizing bastard."

"Doesn't look like it."

"I'm telling you I don't."

"Anyone can see you're reacting like you know him."

"Mind your business, hmm?"

Garcia deliberately pressed hard as he bound her knee tight. Monica snapped, "Ah!"

"Just hearing that bastard's name ruins my luck for three days, so don't even say it out loud."

"I'm going to say it though. Luis, Luis, Luis, Luis..."

The moment Garcia finished speaking, Monica repeated Luis's name over and over.

"Ah, really!"

'Are you brothers? Your faces look exactly alike.'

As Monica was about to say that, Garcia's right eye, creased in a grimace, entered her field of vision.

Below his eye, sunken as his expression crumpled, there was a scar visible only if one looked closely in the sunlight.

Momentarily, Monica lost her words. Ah, that...

But before Monica could say anything, Garcia spoke again.

"You say that bastard's name one more time and I won't pay you."

"What!"

Monica was shocked. Though she'd kept demanding compensation for the dress and ribbon, she hadn't actually thought the man would pay her.

"You're going to pay me?"

"Damn it. You said you can't work because of me. That you only have three outfits left and one of them's a nightgown."

It was exactly what Monica had been lamenting just moments ago.

"What lousy luck to get tangled up with a woman like this..."

Garcia roughly ran his fingers through his golden hair, grumbling. Instead of saying 'at a glance, you look more likely to swindle money than pay it back...' Monica rounded her mouth into an "oh."

Seeing her expression, Garcia furrowed his brow even more, but said nothing further.

"But is your time alright?"

"Time?"

"Time to go buy clothes."

After she blinked a few times, Garcia crossed his arms and looked her up and down, adding with quite an impudent attitude:

"The ribbon's one thing. But that dress, no matter how generously I look at it, isn't new. It feels like you've worn it solidly for several years and already got your money's worth out of it ages ago. I can't tell how much to pay for a dress that might fetch 10 sing at market if that, so I figured it's better to just go buy something suitable together."

It's definitely an offer to buy clothes, so why do I feel insulted...

"Besides, that market's full of rubbish anyway. And I can't go near the market for a while because of those bastards."

Garcia jerked his chin toward the direction they'd come from. Either way, it meant they'd have to go to the commercial district.

But Monica glanced at Argent Plaza's clock tower and was shocked. The clock was already approaching lunchtime.

"Ah, that won't work!"

She remembered Madame Mollette's words—that after the doctor's visit at lunch, she should start caring for Martinael from then on. And that wasn't all. Since Monica's role was governess-cum-nurse, she'd need to consult with the doctor too. Monica jumped up in alarm.

"This is terrible. I have to go!"

Garcia clicked his tongue and asked seriously:

"Then when are you free?"

How long did it take to get from the plaza to the Mollette estate? At my pace... Monica, who'd been calculating the journey home, babbled before belatedly blurting out "Saturday."

"Meet me here Saturday at lunch."

She'd heard from the maids this morning. Madame Mollette gave the servants one day off per week.

Though she hadn't yet discussed her own day off with the mistress, she thought surely she'd be understanding if Monica said she needed to step out briefly.

"The plaza fountain."

It was a unilateral appointment. Garcia tilted his head to the side leisurely and answered:

"You're not considering that I might not be able to come?"

At those words, Monica made a terrifying expression and said:

"If you don't come then, I'll kill you."

Then she whirled around and ran off in a rush.

Flutter flutter—watching her run off light as paper despite her injured knees, Garcia couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. It was absurd.

"Without even knowing where I live..."

Having said that, he glanced down at his torn shirt tail. That bastard would nag again, but who cares? He didn't even count shirts like this as real clothes anyway.

Thinking that, Garcia roughly stuffed the shirt tail back into his trousers.

His gaze still rested on the woman's retreating figure disappearing beyond the plaza. That black hair, completely loose and flowing...

Come to think of it, he hadn't even asked her name. Garcia rubbed beneath his nose.

Can't be helped—he'd just have to show up Saturday.

Would he even be able to...

Monica had no choice but to change into her dull green dress. The nightgown was completely out of the question, and everyone had already seen the taffeta dress once, hadn't they? It was a bit hot, but there was no helping it.

Once she received this week's wages, she'd either buy a simple dress or ask if any of the estate maids had clothes they weren't wearing to sell.

Of course, there'd also been the farce of Maria screaming when she saw Monica enter the estate alone in her completely torn dress.

"That damned Hans!"

How could he leave someone who didn't even know the way alone until she ended up in such a state! I'll get that boy!

Monica barely managed to stop Maria, who was rolling up her sleeves in fury. She was rather hot-tempered but warm-hearted.

"I'm fine. It was my fault for not being careful."

Instead, could she borrow a needle and thread since she wanted to mend the dress? When Monica asked that, Maria shrugged and held out her hand.

"I'll fix it for you."

"That seems like too much trouble..."

"We have to keep working at something until dinner anyway. And you said you don't have any clothes."

She had no choice but to hand over the dress. As Maria left with the torn dress, she gave a light warning:

"La Spezia may look peaceful, but it's a city untouched by the war. You know what that means?"

There weren't many cities left in the kingdom where money properly circulated. In the south, La Spezia was the only one.

"It's a city where all the riffraff of the south has gathered. Be careful of strangers no matter what. Understand?"

"Yes..."

Answering weakly, Monica smiled. Aren't I part of that riffraff too? Of course, those words didn't leave her mouth.