Chapter 46 : Why is the public safety so bad around here?

Negotiations with Malcom’s gang were peaceful. Sneaking out of the orphanage? Simple: when one kid left, the others coordinated excuses for Mother Isolde’s inquiries—a desperate measure to take turns getting fresh air without worrying her. Kids’ tricks are obvious to adults, though, and Isolde likely turned a blind eye.

It didn’t matter to Lena. She wasn’t trapped—just didn’t want scolding for leaving without permission. Even a flimsy excuse avoided nagging. Coincidentally, it was Malcom’s turn, but with him injured and stuck, Lena took his spot. Fresh air meant studying society, and she’d already taught him lessons he couldn’t learn fooling around outside—deep, unforgettable ones. No need for him to go out, right? She filled the vacancy; no one should feel cheated. Malcom mumbled and flailed when she said she’d go, but Lena couldn’t decipher it. Strange. She understood monster gestures fine. Well, they are monsters—probably use gestures more than humans.

“…Hey! Yo!”
Alright, now what? Wander the castle beating up George’s Crew? A whack-a-mole game—hit enough holes, Pener would pop up. Names were visible; she wouldn’t nab unrelated folks. Someone else might devise a cleaner plan, but Lena disagreed. Nothing’s more certain than simplicity. Why count banknotes by hand when machines exist? Certainty. Why overthink plans with no guaranteed outcome? Legwork gets it done reliably, no misses. Decided.

She was about to move—
“You little sh*t, are you deaf? You wanna die?”

A rat-faced man blocked her path.
“Kids these days are so disrespectful. Ah, is it ‘cause they’re kids? I heard that a lot too.”
“?”

He cursed, then muttered to himself. Why’s security here so bad? Bandits on the way to the castle, now this guy spewing curses the moment she left the orphanage. No police-like officials in medieval times? A fight breaks out—“Handle it yourselves”? “Don’t care if dirty commoners brawl”? Lena nailed it. Castle guards protected the city, not settled resident disputes—showing up late to clean up, not prevent. Barbaric age! Nobles didn’t care unless a major incident tarnished their honor, as long as taxes rolled in.

Grasping this truth intuitively, Lena loosened her wrists. She respected adults with criteria: older than her, not aged disgracefully. This guy was younger (by her homeland age) and foul, cursing on sight—no hesitation to punch.
“Hey kid, I get it, but stick to the meeting spot, right? Late time, wrong place—how’re we supposed to meet?”

Lena blinked. What’s he talking about? Not just some bum cursing orphans—he acted like this was planned. She swore it was their first meeting.
“Hurry up and follow me. The boss is pissed ‘cause you guys haven’t been doing your job lately. You’ll probably get hit a few times, so brace yourself.”
“Where do I need to go?”
“Where else? Our place of business.”

Place of business? Lena glanced at his head and understood. Malcom must’ve gestured to warn me.
[George’s Crew Subordinate Levi]—the status window confirmed.

“Boss, I brought the kid.”
“Did you make a kid on the way?! What took so long!”

A bowl smashed against the wall with a crash.
“Why use something expensive to vent? Even if we’ve been making bank lately, it’s a waste.”
“Is that something a subordinate should say right now? You wanna die?”

Bogas, action leader of George’s Crew, flared up. Already annoyed, he didn’t need lip from a lackey. He eyed the space behind the door Levi opened—a chronic paranoia of underground groups. Ruled by violence, not hierarchy, no subordinate was truly trustworthy. Even grunts were potential usurpers; sudden insubordination—“I’m stronger than you”—was an annual rite.
“Ah, it wasn’t my fault. What could I do if the kid didn’t show up?”

No gang burst in after Levi—good.
“Late time, wrong place. It’s all her fault.” Levi jerked his chin at the girl.

Shifting blame to a kid might raise brows, but normal folks don’t join gangsters. Bogas strode toward her.
“Haven’t seen your face before. Didn’t you just grab some random kid passing by?”
“Are there other kids this clean besides those ones? Treated like royalty at the orphanage—fed and clothed well. They live in luxury.”
“That’s true.”

Mother Isolde’s generosity was famous in Carvalon Castle—why her tightrope act between religious orders was tolerated.
“Right, if you’ve lived in luxury, you should repay the kindness. Natural if you’ve got a conscience, yeah?” Bogas smirked, his face more threatening than likable.
“Do you know how much the Sister suffers for you? Even if you can’t stop it, you should lessen her burden.”
“…”
“As you know, things’ve been tough for us lately. We’re thinking of cutting donations—imagine how hard that’d make running the orphanage. You working under us isn’t just good for us—it’s for your home too.”

The girl stayed silent.
“You might not like what we do. But unless you pickpocket or extort, how else you gonna make big money? This is poor Carvalon Castle, and you’re orphans. This is the fastest, surest way.”

That’s how Malcom’s gang and George’s Crew colluded—exploiting the kids’ affection for the nun who raised them. Sheltered unlike typical orphans, they were easy to sway into “helping” the crew.
“In that sense, how’s the persuasion going? You need to talk them up good—let the kids know they can earn big and convince the Sister.”

Then Hope’s Fence would become a steady manpower source. What a grand plan! George’s Crew could rule Carvalon’s underworld for a thousand years.
“I heard you’re keeping the kids in line with some initiation ceremony. Isn’t it time we saw results?”

…All the Boss’s words. Bogas didn’t get much of it—just that handling the orphanage kids well would stabilize the crew, maybe outmuscle the Red Rose Knights in years. Beat knights with orphans? Makes sense? Doubts were useless—he did it ‘cause he was told. Success was the Boss’s foresight; failure, a chance to overthrow him. They called it George’s Family, but “Crew” fit better—no familial bonds here.
“Hmm, I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but—”

The silent girl spoke.
“So what work you gonna make me do?”
“Today, we’re collecting protection money from the Cassadine Merchant Caravan. Watched ‘em a few days—they sell good stuff, probably made a fat profit.”
“Cassadine? Sounds familiar… Ah, Mister Morutun’s group.”
“What, word spread to the orphanage? Then we can really make a killing.”

Bogas licked his lips gleefully. She lifted her head—motivated by money? Even with orphanage care, she must feel some lack. Their eyes met.
He realized he was wrong.

No greed in Lena’s eyes—vertically slit pupils, deep and endless. His vision narrowed, mind blanked, chest tightened, breath gone.
“Just as I thought, my intuition that leaving you alone would cause trouble was right.”
Undefeated streak, Teacher Intuition, when will you lose? With that playful voice as his last sound, Bogas’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.