“What do they think Catherine is?”

They neglected her inside the house yet dressed her up like a doll whenever she had to appear in public to uphold the dignity of the Sillion family.

“Honestly, it would be strange if a child from this household didn’t turn out twisted.”

The original novel Julia, Where Are You? never detailed the villainess’s circumstances.

Though she had once pitied the real Catherine, who had disappeared when she possessed this body, her sympathy evaporated when she heard a knock at the door.

After all, it was someone else’s misfortune, not her own.

“Come in.”

The door opened, revealing a brown-haired maid she had drawn to her side.

Shrinking in fear, the maid hurried over to Catherine and bowed deeply.

Catherine gazed down coldly at the trembling, rough hands of the maid before finally speaking.

“Stand up. And from now on, you don’t need to bow.”

Fear flickered in the maid’s eyes, but she nodded in response.

“Yes, my lady.”

Seeing that, Catherine suppressed the smirk threatening to creep onto her lips and asked,

“The matter I sent you for?”

“The woman was at the location you specified.”

“The hair and eye color should have been obvious, but did you confirm the scar on the inside of her arm?”

“Yes, yes.”

As Catherine had instructed, she had not checked personally but had sent someone to do so. However, she did not tell the truth.

The lingering pain in her calf and the sting on her cheek reminded her of the punishment she had endured, making her choose deception instead.

Fear is the quickest way to subjugate someone, but unless it is overwhelming, it has its limits.

When commanding subordinates, whether they do their utmost or precisely follow orders—all of it depends on how much they respect their superior or how much conviction they have in their duty.

Catherine had yet to subdue the maid fully. She treated her as a mere tool, and the maid regarded her in much the same way.

“Do you think I can’t do anything to you just because I’m mistreated in this household? Even if I were to kill you right now, all that would happen is that I’d have to endure a few unpleasant scoldings and miss a couple of meals.”

That was what she had said to the maid the day she, the foolish young lady who had once thrown tantrums like a child, had suddenly changed.

That day, for the first time, the maid felt fear toward the young lady she had always looked down on and secretly mocked.

And with that fear came resentment.

Had she acted like a noble, would the maid have dared to treat her that way?

She had been born with blue blood and was fully qualified, yet she had lowered herself and tiptoed around others.

Had someone overheard, they might have dismissed her thoughts as utter nonsense. But negative emotions are not ruled by logic or reason alone.

Hiding her mixed resentment and fear, the maid finally spoke the words she had prepared.

“The price to buy that woman is at least…”

Catherine listened to the maid’s words, calculating various possibilities.

Rescuing a woman who had been sold to the backstreets, accumulating even more debt, and now suffering from illness required a substantial sum. However, Catherine was more than willing to pay the price.

After all, that woman was none other than the younger sister of Kertan, the man who would become the strongest sword of the original heroine.

Catherine intended to use him.

The original heroine had plenty of other good men available, so losing one shouldn’t matter.

Besides, as expected from a story with the keyword ‘#ReverseHarem,’ Kertan never had his feelings reciprocated by the end.

If that were the case, finding his sister a little earlier than in the original story would also be better for him.

Of course, she deserved a reasonable reward since she was essentially saving him.

In exchange for fulfilling his lifelong wish, he could assist her in escaping not just this wretched household but also the original story itself, allowing her to live a leisurely life. That was a small price to pay.

And now, it was time to compensate the maid standing before her.

“Well done. Here is your reward.”

Catherine handed over a gold coin, smiling benevolently.

Catherine felt even more specific when she saw the maid’s eyes gleaming with greed upon receiving the coin.

People like her were best controlled with money.

GIVE & TAKE: Assign tasks according to what is given and ensure that work is done in return. Such people would prove useful repeatedly.

The maid bowed as she tucked the gold coin into her pocket.

The brief flicker of greed that had crossed her face instantly vanished.

As much as she loved money, it wasn’t an overwhelming amount that would be impossible to refuse, nor was it enough for her to consider Catherine a superior worth serving over a mere couple of gold coins.

To any onlooker, the two appeared to fit a perfect cliché—an enlightened maid pledging loyalty after reforming and a magnanimous lady treating her kindly.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave…”

As the maid respectfully bowed and attempted to step back—

“You have one more task to do.”

Catherine stopped her.

“Go to the man here and tell him about the place you visited. Instruct him to check on that woman’s condition from time to time. Just tell him I sent you. Oh, and… never mind. That will be all.”

She had considered instructing the maid to prepare lunch but shook her head.

She would be going out anyway, so it was better to handle it herself.

“Should I just relay the message?”

“Yes.”

The thought of returning to that back alley made the maid’s face involuntarily contort, but she did her best to mask her expression, bowing before leaving the room.

After sending the maid away, Catherine retrieved her hidden robe and coin pouch, murmuring.

The small pouch irritated her, but she fastened the robe securely, reminding herself that soon, the mine would be hers.

“The bait is set. Now it’s time to catch the big fish.”

She needed to win big at the gladiator arena and meet Kertan.

“I’m curious to see what kind of face he’ll make.”

A smile spread across Catherine’s face at the thought of meeting the man described in the original story as the strongest, now ideally within her grasp.

Catherine’s room in the Sillion estate, where no one paid her any mind, was left utterly cold and devoid of warmth.

***

Thud!

“Aaaaaaah!”

“Ugh, shut up already! Make him quiet!”

“Hahaha! Drink! Just drink!”

“This is top-quality stuff. I’m giving you a great deal. You know me—I’m honest, right?”

A pickpocket, caught in the act, was getting beaten to a pulp, his screams grating on the ears of a grumpy old woman. A drunkard, already wasted despite it being broad daylight, waved a liquor bottle around. A con artist desperately tried to sell off junk as valuable merchandise.

Amid the filth and crime-infested streets, two men in tattered, foul-smelling robes walked unnoticed.

Their hoods were pulled so low that their faces were obscured entirely, but no one paid them any mind.

Suspicious individuals were a dime a dozen in this back alley.

As long as someone didn’t appear to be a threat or an easy target, the residents of this place didn’t care who wandered in.

The two men navigated through the chaotic labyrinth of alleyways without hesitation, never pausing to look around or appear lost.

They walked purposefully, stepping over the grimy stone pavement without a second thought.

One of them, however, spoke reluctantly as they hurried along.

“Are you going there yourself?”

“Why do you think we came here?”

“I mean, I just didn’t expect you actually to go in person.”

“Lead the way.”

“I could just go in alone and take care of it quickly. Considering your status, You shouldn’t be getting used to a place like this.”

Aiger responded with a slight nod, and his subordinate—a man from the backstreets who owed him a debt of gratitude—grumbled but obediently followed.

As they wound their way through alleys thick with unidentifiable filth squelching underfoot, Aiger’s eyes caught sight of someone.

The man wore tattered, stained clothes typical of those in the backstreets and worn leather boots. His disheveled hair framed a face devoid of any noticeable scars or wounds.

At a glance, he was an unremarkable, ordinary man.

And yet, something about him felt off.

Aiger wasn’t the only one who noticed. Scattered glances from others suggested they, too, were assessing the man, sizing him up as prey and debating whether he was worth the risk.

The backstreets were filled with strange individuals, making it difficult to judge someone’s true danger level based on appearance alone.

For instance, a small, unassuming man with a foolish-looking face might walk these streets.

A potential victim? Absolutely not.

For someone to still be walking around in one piece despite looking defenseless, they were either utterly insane or had powerful backing.

It was always one of the two. Or both.

Of course, there were cases where outsiders wandered in by mistake. But by the time they reached this part of the slums, they would have already been stripped of everything—often leaving behind nothing more than a severed finger.

So, even if the unfamiliar man didn’t belong here, the backstreet dwellers knew better than to take him lightly.

Aiger wasn’t a native of the underworld, but he operated by different instincts. And those instincts told him something was off.

“That guy doesn’t belong to this world.”

At Aiger’s remark, his subordinate stretched his neck to follow his gaze.

Upon seeing the man, the subordinate blinked a few times before nodding immediately.

“You’re right. He doesn’t belong here.”