Chapter 37

“Slum dwellers.”

At that moment, as if he had read her thoughts, Leopold’s lips moved slightly.

“Slum dwellers who don’t deserve any mercy. Most of those living in the slums look like that—filthy and disgraceful.”

His voice had turned cold, followed by a sharp sneer. His tone disregarded the child entirely, treating them as less than human.

“Slum dwellers? Does that mean people who live in hardship? Then we should help them even more.”

Euphrasia widened her eyes and glared at Leopold. At the same time, she hid the child behind her skirt to block Leopold’s disdainful gaze.

She had thought Leopold might have some dubious and suspicious qualities, but she also believed he had his moments of kindness and consideration. Without realizing it, she had developed a subtle sense of affection and familiarity toward him. Euphrasia wasn’t aware, but this was an instinctive pull of shared bloodlines. Thus, unconsciously, she had been generous in her judgment of him.

But she hadn’t expected him to be so deeply entrenched in his sense of superiority. 

Was it because he was a Prince? Was this how noble blood revealed itself? Did he truly believe that slum dwellers weren’t even human? Shouldn’t the ruling class of a nation care for everyone, from the highest to the lowest?

“You don’t seem to know what slum dwellers really are.”

Despite noticing Euphrasia’s discomfort, Leopold didn’t abandon his cynical attitude.

“Even if you help them, they won’t be grateful. No, if you give them food, they’ll complain about not receiving money. If you give them money, they’ll resent you for not giving more. They are the bottom rung of society—people without shame or dignity. That’s what slum dwellers are.”

“You speak as if you know them well. Have you experienced it yourself? Have you had the chance to?”

How could a Prince, with his noble status, possibly have experienced the life of slum dwellers?

Her sarcastic undertone was evident.

Leopold nodded without hesitation.

“Yes, I have. That’s why I know them well.”

“…Even so, that’s a narrow-minded perspective. Just because you’ve experienced it doesn’t mean you know everything. Not all slum dwellers are like that.”

Euphrasia stammered, slightly overwhelmed by his resolute stance. Leopold didn’t argue further but responded quietly with a bitter smile.

“Then do as you wish. Experience it for yourself.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Euphrasia defiantly looked at the child hidden behind her. The child, who had been quietly crouching under her skirt, still looked frightened and startled.

“You must be very scared. You can choose as many fruit skewers as you want. Or perhaps some fried chicken or rye bread over there?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!”

The child stepped back and shouted in a muffled voice.

Thud, thud!

Before Euphrasia could say anything further, the child turned and ran off. Being light and nimble, they disappeared from her sight in an instant.

“The Prince scared them…”

Euphrasia furrowed her brows and turned to Leopold. Although Louis and the slum child were of completely different ages, as a mother, she couldn’t help but worry about the hungry child who had fled without eating.

Leopold simply shrugged his shoulders.

“They wouldn’t have bought anything anyway.”

“What?”

Euphrasia, who had been about to take out her coin pouch, suddenly turned pale.

“My coin pouch… I was sure I brought it… Where did it go?”

Her hands frantically searched her pockets. No matter how many times she checked, it was no use. The coin pouch was nowhere to be found.

The dress she wore was designed with practicality in mind, emphasizing functionality over aesthetics. It had pockets where she had placed a small pouch of gold coins. Yet now, it was gone.

“When you hid the slum child behind your skirt earlier, they skillfully took it. You didn’t notice at all, did you?”

“What? Are you saying I was robbed? And you saw it all happen? Why didn’t you stop it?”

Euphrasia’s jaw dropped. She was stunned—not only by the theft but also by Leopold’s indifference.

“I thought you pitied the child so much that you knowingly gave it to them as charity.”

“What? That’s absurd…”

“That’s why I told you. Slum dwellers aren’t pitiful. They’re cunning pickpockets. Why waste your worries on such things?”

Smirk.

Leopold’s cold sneer pierced Euphrasia’s chest. Her pure goodwill had been returned with deliberate malice. Euphrasia’s trembling pupils turned toward the direction where the slum child had disappeared.

***

After running for a long time, Jizel stopped, panting heavily. The familiar, foul stench of the slums surrounded her. Deep within the poorest part of the slums was the space Jizel had always called home.

“Who’s worrying about who?”

The kind face of the noble lady who had smiled at her lingered in her mind, stirring what little guilt remained in her heart. She had stolen countless times before, but today felt different—strange and unsettling.

Jizel jumped in place, shaking her entire body. It was her way of trying to rid herself of the discomfort. Born and raised in the slums, Jizel had sharp instincts and quick reflexes. She also had a natural talent for moving swiftly and nimbly. Thanks to these traits, she had survived even after losing her parents at the age of five.

An orphan.

And a rather cute girl at that—qualities that made her position in the slums incredibly disadvantageous and dangerous. 

For most girls, this would be the age when secondary s*xual characteristics began to emerge. It was the time when interest in the opposite s*x blossomed and the desire to beautify oneself grew. But Jizel, with her underdeveloped body, disguised herself as a boy and lived each day simply to survive.

‘A stray cat, nothing more.’

She lived her life avoiding the dangerous residents of the slums, hiding in dark corners, and darting out to satisfy her hunger. Reflecting on her life only deepened her despair.

Eight years had passed since she began surviving against all odds. During that time, she had formed a bond with someone—a connection she had come to cherish like family. A few years ago, she had taken in an older but naive woman who had wandered into the slums.

Thinking of her sister, Jizel steeled her wavering resolve. She forced herself to block out her thoughts and pulled out the coin pouch she had stolen. The pouch was heavy. When she opened it, she saw a dazzling collection of about ten gold coins shining brightly.

“Crazy! How much is all this?”

Seeing the contents of the pouch, Jizel exclaimed, forgetting her earlier unease.

“X-this is a jackpot!”

The vulgar words slipped out as a habitual expression of her astonishment.

Once again, Jizel moved toward the center of the capital to survive another day. Picking pockets was simple but occasionally risky. To succeed safely, the most important factor was choosing the right target.

Even someone as sharp as Jizel made mistakes sometimes. On bad days, she would end up severely beaten, her body covered in bruises. It was a miracle her bones had never been broken.

Fortunately, today had been a lucky day. As soon as she entered the bustling area, Jizel spotted the perfect target.

‘Is this noblewoman sneaking out for a stroll?’

The man and woman standing in front of a fruit skewer stall were dressed in modest commoner attire. Yet Jizel sensed the distinct aura of nobility—especially from the woman.

Her gentle tone and soft skin.

Above all, her well-manicured hands, free of calluses, hinted that she had never done hard labor in her life. The man next to her was slightly harder to read but seemed no more than the noblewoman’s lover or servant.

He didn’t exude the aura of a protector, nor did he carry the weight of nobility. Jizel’s intuition was half right.

‘I thought I’d fail.’

The man hadn’t openly protected the woman, but he seemed to have figured out her identity at a glance. He might have even noticed Jizel’s hand slipping into the noblewoman’s pouch.

Thinking about the man, who had shown a strong hostility toward her and the slums, made her uneasy once again.

“Ugh.”

Jizel stretched her arms wide, shaking off the tension. The action worked, helping her dispel both the anxiety and the lingering discomfort.

“Living day by day, barely scraping by. I should be worrying about myself.”

She often felt the pitying gazes of others. But those gazes were always mixed with a sense of superiority. Jizel hated those hypocritical looks. She preferred outright contempt or insults.

Yet today’s target—the noblewoman’s gaze—was different. It was pure and sincere, filled with genuine concern and goodwill.

She seemed like a sheltered noblewoman. Someone who had likely never experienced betrayal before. Had she been hurt?

Who’s worrying about whom?

Despite herself, Jizel couldn’t shake the thought. Feeling unsettled, she looked down at the coin pouch in her hands. The forced smile she had been wearing was long gone.