"Hah, still as delicious as ever."

Moen sat alone at the dining table, elegantly handling his knife and fork while enjoying the dinner.

The duke's chef remained as skilled as ever, providing him with a feast for his taste buds.

"If you think it's so good, young master, you really shouldn't forget to eat in the first place," Ann grumbled, standing behind Moen.

"If the master or the madam finds out, it'll be me who gets scolded."

"Apologies, Ann," Moen said with an apologetic smile. "I won't do that anymore."

"Apologies won't suffice," Ann muttered, leaning down to place a sparkling crystal wine glass in front of him.

"Would you like some wine, young master? It's a rare wine gifted by Count Locke. They say the count's vineyard only produces a hundred bottles of this wine a year. It's a treasure that even he can't drink it anytime he wants. On the market, it sells for an astronomical price of twenty thousand Emilia per bottle."

"I..." Moen initially wanted to agree. After all, this was a fine wine he could never afford in his previous life, and he naturally wanted a taste.

But then he remembered the tasks he had to finish after dinner, and he knew drinking would dull himself. So Moen suppressed his desire and chose instead to decline.

"Forget it, I won't drink."

Ann's hand, holding the bottle of wine, stiffened slightly.

"...Then what would you like to drink, young master?"

"Coffee," Moen replied. Coffee helped him stay alert. While it didn't pair perfectly with dinner, he didn't want to risk taking any beverages into the library where every book was a priceless treasure.

"...Coffee."

"What's wrong?" Moen noticed Ann acting oddly. She wasn’t her usual efficient self, quick to fulfill his requests.

"Apologies, young master Moen," Ann said hesitantly, "but due to certain circumstances, your beverage options tonight are limited to red wine or red tea."

"Huh?" Moen frowned. That statement sounded strangely familiar, but he didn't dwell on it. "Why?"

"Because," Ann explained, "a careless maid accidentally left the coffee bean sack outside the cupboard, and it was chewed by rats. The remaining coffee bean was eaten or contaminated by those rats."

"I assume you wouldn't want coffee that's been nibbled on by rats?"

"...No, I certainly wouldn't," Moen agreed, nodding.

"Then I'll have red tea." Tea could also help with alertness.

"Understood." Ann bowed slightly and prepared to leave and brew the tea.

"Wait." Moen suddenly called out to her, his curiosity piqued.

"Are you going to brew it yourself?"

"Hmm? Am I not a maid, young master?"

"You're the head maid now, Ann. Brewing tea seems like..."

"Even if I am the head maid," Ann interrupted, "I am still your personal maid, young master. Preparing tea for you is naturally my responsibility."

"Is that so..." Moen said, furrowing his brow slightly.

"Alright, then go ahead."

"Yes, young master," Ann said with a slight nod before departing.

"..."

Watching her retreating figure, Moen rubbed his chin, murmuring, "Something feels...off. Like a strange sense of familiarity."

But he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Must be because I'm too tired." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "As if Ann would ever plot against me."

Not long after, Ann returned with the red tea.

It was perfect timing—Moen had just finished eating and was using a napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you."

Moen accepted the tea and prepared to take a small sip.

But as soon as he lifted the cup, he paused.

He glanced down at the tea, then back up at Ann's composed expression. He could not resist saying, "Ann."

"Yes, young master. Is there something else you need?"

"This red tea is...so red."

"Isn’t red tea supposed to be red?"

"But the red tea I’ve had before was always a lighter shade of red. This is outright crimson."

"Perhaps it's because of the difference in tea leaves," Ann explained.

"Just as oranges from the North Donnell region are smaller but sweeter than those from South Nancy, different regions may produce teas with slightly varying colors."

"...Alright."

Moen handed the cup back to her, locking eyes with her as he said, "You drink it first."

"..."

Ann held the cup, her face unreadable.

She remained as composed as ever, and had it not been for the faint floral fragrance Moen could smell as proof of her presence, he might’ve thought he was staring at a statue.

For a moment, she was silent before finally speaking, "Young master, are you suspecting me of something?"

"No," Moen said coolly. "I'm simply concerned that you’ve been busy all day, and you deserve a tea break yourself."

"You're so kind, young master," Ann said in a soft voice, bringing the teacup slowly toward her lips.

But Moen's sharp eyes never left her. He scrutinized her every small movement, every detail, completely unwilling to miss any sign of strangeness.

He insisted on watching until she drank every last drop.

However, Ann did not drink.

Instead, she sighed softly and said, "Since when did the young master become so...cautious?"

"So there *is* something wrong!" Moen leapt from his chair, pointing a finger at her.

"You spiked the tea, didn't you?! Ha, do you really think such an outdated trick could fool me? How naive!"

"Outdated, you say?" Ann tilted her head, curious.

"So you've used this trick on others before, have you?"

"Ahem. That’s irrelevant." Moen coughed twice, straightening his posture. His expression froze as his gaze bored into her.

"The matter is why you drugged me, Ann. Why did you betray me?!"

Ann was Moen’s personal maid—she had followed him faithfully since he was eight years old.

In both the book and his current life, Ann was unwaveringly loyal to Moen.

So why would she betray him now? What reason could she possibly have?

"I’ve never betrayed you, young master," Ann said without hesitation as she gazed down at the teacup.

Her reflection shimmered in the crimson tea, and her tranquil demeanor veiled the dark turmoil storming inside her—darkness and desire, restless, surging, and finally spilling over uncontrollably.

"I’m simply...putting everything back on track."

"Back on track?" Moen frowned, fully perplexed by her cryptic statement.

"I don’t care what your intentions are, but if your plan failed, then—"

"Failed?" Ann interrupted, raising her head with a serene smile.

"Why would you think I’ve failed, young master?"

"Huh?" Moen froze.

It wasn’t just her words that unsettled him—it was the look on her face.

On that familiar, dignified visage, there was a contorted, sinister smile he had never seen before. Her expression sent chills down his spine.

Although her lips were smiling, what lurked behind her dark, fathomless eyes resembled a trapped beast breaking free of its shackles—a monster exuding greed as intense as a dragon’s lust for treasure.

*Crack.*

A sharp, crisp sound yanked Moen back to reality.

He gaped in horror as Ann—using her delicate, alabaster hands, hands so soft and gentle they had brushed against his clothes, cleaned his room, and served him tea—now crushed the teacup into powdery fragments.

Not shards—dust.

Moen’s jaw dropped as he watched the powdered glass mixed with tea trickle from between Ann’s fingers.

"This is your fault, young master~" Ann cooed in a sing-song voice, stepping toward him one deliberate pace at a time.

"Uh-oh," Moen muttered, cold sweat dripping down his spine.

This level of strength—was she really a maid?

Before he could finish the thought or even make a move, a sudden rush of wind cut through the air from behind him.

And then—darkness consumed his vision.

Moen’s world went black as he slipped into unconsciousness.