A Hero Saves With Her Body - Chapter 86

I will grant your wish.

The lightly flowing voice tickled Rosé’s ears.

Hmm. Rosé liked her lips and spoke to the voice.

“Elion Hidden f*tish… Ugh… Tell me…”

Then the voice soon changed into the familiar voice of someone in her ear.

Miss. In fact, I…

Rosé stretched her neck like a bird about to take flight, trying to get closer to the voice.

Elion? So what exactly is his Hidden f*tish?

In fact, I… poop…

Oh. Poop hole? an*al s*x? I didn’t expect that. Still, I’ll give it a try. It wasn’t that bad when I tried it with a miner last time…

I like poop.

“Scat¹scatology (usually abbreviated scat) refers to coprophilia, when someone is sexually aroused by fecal matter, NOOOOO!”

Rosé woke up with a start, screaming and sitting up. She was drenched in cold sweat, paler than white sugar cookie dough.

Panting, she wiped the sweat beads on her nose. Then she noticed the familiar wallpaper and rubbed both cheeks with her palms.

Strange. She remembered finding the teapot and pouring it, but after that, it was all dark.

“It must be a dream.”

But if it’s not a dream, this couldn’t possibly be Blue Rock.

Traces of mice gnawing on boldly patterned yellow wallpaper. Similarly, wooden furniture gnawed on by mice. Tattered curtains fluttering limply. Window frames only stirring up dust. The glass window that remained blurry no matter how much she wiped.

This was undoubtedly her bedroom in Blue Rock.

‘But just in case….’

With a trembling heart, Rosé pressed ‘Character Profile’. Elion’s target card appeared. She widened her eyes and checked the Hidden f*tish section. Unknown.

Finally feeling relieved, Rosé wiped the sweat trickling down her forehead with her sleeve.

“Phew….”

Scat with that handsome and refined appearance. If it had been real, Rosé felt she wouldn’t be able to forgive the creator.

「Rest here. I’ll clear the weeds and come back.」

A note from Elion was placed on the desk.

Clearing weeds was a side job Elion often pursued after mining and construction. The thought of him toiling in mining and then diligently going to work brought a tear to her eye.

Yeah. A solid man like him couldn’t possibly like poop.

With a regained sense of peace, Rosé stretched her legs under the bed. However, there was a piece of black fabric on the carpet.

‘What is this….’

Could it be a black cloak?

Sniff sniff. A pungent smell of mold and dirt mixed together emanated from it.

Uh, unknowingly tilting her head back, Rosé examined the condition of the clock with suspicious eyes.

The bottom was all frayed with threads sticking out like raw silk, and the seams around the hood were halfway undone. Even she, who was clueless about sewing, could tell it couldn’t be worn like this.

Rosé opened her inventory. Maybe she could put it in for now and ask Elion to mend it later…

〈SYSTEM〉 Regular items cannot be stored in the inventory.

…It should work.

〈SYSTEM〉 Regular items cannot be stored in the inventory.

〈SYSTEM〉 Regular items cannot be stored in the inventory.

〈SYSTEM〉 Regular items cannot be stored in the inventory.

But no matter how many times she tried, the same system window kept popping up repeatedly.

She tried putting the black clock in the inventory dozens of times, but this kind of system prompt was new to her.

Just in case, she tried putting a pencil rolling around on the desk into the inventory. As expected, the same notification window appeared.

〈SYSTEM〉 Regular items cannot be stored in the inventory.

So it means it recognizes the black clock as a regular item, like a pencil. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any item description when examining the black cloak earlier.

A bead of sweat trickled down Rosé’s temple. Could it be…

“My magic resistance….”

The black clock had been destroyed.

“No!”

Rosé quickly dressed in a maid outfit lying on the floor. Her whole body felt stiff, but that was trivial now.

Leaving Blue Rock in that manner, Rosé caught a ride on a passing carriage and shouted, 

“To Michol Salon, the best tailoring shop in Bistiman!”

“Then it’s Michol Salon.” 

The coachman confidently replied as he set off. Upon hearing the sound of hooves, Rosé breathed a sigh of relief.

However, at that moment, she failed to notice Sergi’s carriage passing by.

After the shabby shared carriage left, a carriage with black curtains pierced through the broken fence and entered Blue Rock Mansion. It was a turn of events that Rosé could never have imagined.

* * *

Named Michol Salon,

It was a lively social hall for wealthy women and noble ladies in Bistiman, where male entertainers were unofficially always on standby for them—a pleasure ground.

By word of mouth, it was also known as the best tailoring shop in Bistiman, all thanks to Jerome.

Known as Countess Bertie’s first love, Jerome was the founder of Michol Salon and the leader of male entertainers.

And at 41 years old this year, he was a handsome man with an unbelievable amount of charm.

But Jerome’s fame came from reasons other than his superficial charm.

His distinctive sense in designing and his tailoring skills. It would not be an exaggeration to say that all of Countess Bertie’s unique fashion philosophy originated from Jerome.

Not only did Jerome graduate as the top student in costume studies at the Imperial Academy, but after graduation, he rose to fame as an imperial tailor.

If one were to ask why such a person left Monchen and descended to Bistiman, the edge of the map…

「To the cute and passionate dandelion who trying to escape from me, Jerome.」

It was because of Countess Bertie.

“What number letter is it today?”

“The 1873rd.”

“She really doesn’t seem to tire.”

Kyle wiped away the torn pieces of letters that Jerome had shredded and threw them in the trash.

The Countess, who was married and had a lover, was trying to regain her first love. His lower part was so excellent, she said, that she wouldn’t be able to forget it, even until death.

“It’s not even 1 o’clock yet. Please rest a bit.”

Unless it was Friday, the salon opened at 6 p.m. and closed at 3 a.m. So, 1 p.m. was like midnight to Jerome.

However, perhaps due to the dreadful letters that arrived during the day, sleep did not come easily.

“I should drink some port.”

Normally, he would choose a low-alcohol white port wine, but today he needed strong liquor. Jerome took out the hidden port and poured it into a crystal glass.

The deep aroma of brandy flowed down his throat. Now his mind seemed clearer.

“Should I bring some snacks? There might be some leftover cheese from last night.”

Emptying two glasses in a row, Jerome nodded his head.

Every time he received a letter, his regrets about his life in Bistiman came flooding back. Despite running away so ardently, that woman still clung to his body like a ghost.

Instead of this, he should have continued working as an imperial tailor. This was an era when even Juzy Baudelaire, who made absurd underwear, rose in popularity among tailors.

Damn. Jerome felt like people’s eyes had all gone astray as he downed glass after glass.

Clank.

That was when it happened.

As Jerome was halfway through emptying his glass, the door creaked open. Jerome set down the glass and narrowed his eyes.

“Um… Is this Michol Salon?”

A petite woman peeked her head through the door.

Unconsciously, Jerome carefully examined everything, from the woman’s hair to her small feet.

“Who are you?”

The woman, a remarkable beauty whom Jerome had never met even during his wild days in the capital, was perhaps akin to the first princess.

However, it had been almost eleven years since he left the palace, so he had long forgotten the face of the first princess. That’s why, he now considered the woman before him as the empire’s most beautiful woman.

“Oh, I’m from the Duke of Ramford’s estate. I’m here to entrust you with tailoring.”

As Rosé entered the salon, shyly extending her black cloak, Jerome had to double-check if he had misheard.

“Are you asking me to tailor this black cloak?”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Oh dear. Jerome rubbed his forehead.

He had repaired dresses for young ladies whose skirts tore while dancing, but this was the first time an ordinary person came openly asking for tailoring work.

If one were to ask about his tailoring skills, they were excellent. But if one were to say he was unique in Bistiman, that was not the case.

Even if he couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to do maid’s errands during the day. But let’s leave that aside for now.

“This is… not an ordinary cloak.”

Jerome received the black cloak, entranced.

He could feel its slightly rough and fluffy texture at his fingertips. Jerome had a hunch. This garment was not made of fabric from this world.

“Can you fix it?”

Looking up at him pitifully like a stray cat, Jerome hesitated for a moment before unfolding the garment with both hands.

The large black cloak that completely covered the woman’s small body had a deep hood attached.

“Black Cloak….”

Jerome muttered with wide eyes. Surely. Looking at Rosé with a suspicious expression, she quickly turned her head.

Although it didn’t show on the outside, Rosé’s heart was pounding as if it would burst forward. She thought it was torn and faded beyond recognition, but he recognized it as soon as he got it.

Is this why they call him an excellent tailor?

“Th-This black cloak is pretty much beyond repair. Can you fix it?”

“Um…”

Jerome carefully examined the black cloak. Foul odors ingrained in various places, traces of something sticky and slimy, tangled messes. But everything could be easily fixed.

However, there was one thing he couldn’t fix with his own power. Jerome pointed to the square-cut end of the cloak and said to Rosé.

“I don’t know about elsewhere, but to fix this part here, we need extra fabric.”

“Oh, if it’s fabric, how about this?”

Rosé raised her maid’s skirt, which she was wearing now as spare fabric. Suddenly blushing, Jerome coughed as if he had eaten something wrong.

“Ahem. No, that won’t work. If the fabric doesn’t match, it won’t go back to how it used to be.”

If he valued practicality over aesthetics as a maid, he might think black fabric was black fabric no matter what, but Jerome wasn’t like that.

When tailoring clothes, texture was more important than color. If you wanted to find the same feeling as before in old clothes, you needed the same material, the same distribution process, and the same delivery process.

The problem is whether this maid has the same fabric.

“Don’t have it?”

Seems like she doesn’t have it.

“Then it’s difficult. Moreover, the fabric used here…”

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  scatology (usually abbreviated scat) refers to coprophilia, when someone is sexually aroused by fecal matter