My body moved before my mind understood.
It was a hair’s breadth.
That was how little separated Mo Haein’s death from the moment I struck the Rabbit Butler’s wrist.
Part of her hair vanished without a trace.
The beam grazed her cheek and left a red line behind.
It was a burn caused by extreme heat.
But she had not died.
Mo Haein was alive.
After confirming her survival, I felt immense relief.
Then a shudder climbed my spine.
Instinctive terror radiating from the being directly behind me constricted my body.
“Gunbam.”
Still standing behind me, the Rabbit Butler asked,
“Why did you do that?”
His brief question held pure bewilderment.
The butlers hated cleaners.
Even the Footmen, who had once been cleaners before the mansion employed them, found the cleaners repulsive.
To them, a cleaner was nothing more than fuel used to maintain the mansion.
They had no further value.
The Cat Butler, with his more refined tastes, was at least somewhat lenient toward them.
More precisely, he did not concern himself with anything as insignificant as filth.
But the Rabbit Butler expressed his dislikes plainly and mercilessly disposed of any cleaner who irritated…