The boy swallowed hard as he looked at the noblewoman crouched in front of him.
She looked like a fairy—so beautiful it was almost unreal.
From the way the guards had responded to her, she was clearly someone important.
What if he said something wrong?
The boy was sharp for his age.
"Today, you got lucky. The world is full of strange people, so be careful out there."
At her words, he instinctively nodded. It was pure reflex.
But the only thought running through his mind was—
Isn’t she the strangest person here?
As if she had read his mind, the expressionless noblewoman gazed at him in silence before raising a single finger—
And flicked his forehead.
It didn’t hurt, but it caught him off guard. He raised a hand to rub his forehead, confused.
Meanwhile, the fairy-like woman stood up and began walking away.
It was only then that the boy realized—she was leaving.
Panic surged through him, and he scrambled to his feet.
Before disappearing completely, she stopped by the guards and said something. The two nodded and then approached him.
What? What’s happening? Am I being taken away because I thought something disrespectful?!
"Where’s your home, kid? We’ll take you there."
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
Hearing their gentle voices, the boy’s shaky legs gave out, and he collapsed back onto the ground.
As he sat there, watching her retreating figure, he gathered all his strength and shouted.
"Thank you! Miss!"
For a moment, the noblewoman hesitated in her steps.
But she never turned back. She simply continued walking forward.
"He said thank you," Lukas remarked.
"He should be thankful. After all the trouble I went through," I replied flatly.
At my words, Lukas let out another laugh, recalling the chaos I had just caused.
Sure, go ahead. Laugh all you want.
Now labeled a lunatic among the nobles after the engagement fiasco—and a lunatic among the commoners after today’s stunt—I decided to take a quieter path back.
"So why did you step in yourself? You could have just ordered me to handle it. It would’ve been over much faster," Lukas asked.
"I thought he’d recognize me," I admitted. "Guess that was just my overconfidence. And... things like this are more memorable when done by someone ordinary. You, Sir Lukas, don’t exactly look ordinary."
"You think highly of me."
"Objectively speaking, you are highly regarded."
As we walked away from the busy square, the number of people thinned, and Lukas started laughing again.
I frowned at him.
"Why are you laughing now?"
At first, he didn’t respond. He just looked at me, still laughing, then pressed a finger to his lips—mimicking what I had done earlier.
Was he mocking me?
...No.
Because in the next moment, Lukas’s eyes sharpened, darting to something behind me.
Before I could react, he reached for my shoulders and spun me around.
It was so sudden that I felt like a flimsy paper doll being flipped over.
Pressed against his chest, I wriggled my head free enough to peek behind me.
"What the hell is this?" I muttered.
"Thugs."
"Thugs?"
Thugs. Here. Why?
As if answering my unspoken question, a bulky man with a steel club slung over his shoulder let out a snicker.
"I saw you back there," he drawled. "Seems like you got plenty of money. How about sharing a little with us?"
...Really?
Out of everything that happened in the plaza, this was what impressed him?
That of all the moments, he fixated on me handing over a pouch of coins?
Of course. The highlight of my dramatic display, the most memorable scene, was apparently... a simple act of handing someone money.
What a waste of a performance.
The man chuckled, his stance exuding arrogance.
I turned back toward Lukas.
This was a textbook extra—a filler villain. And yet... somehow, it was more uncomfortable than I expected.
Maybe because he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.
If he at least had proper clothing on, I could ignore it. But no. The sheer amount of exposed skin was just... excessive.
I glanced up at Lukas.
A perfectly smooth jawline came into view.
The difference between a protagonist and a background thug was staggering.
More importantly—why did I keep getting dragged into these cliché encounters?
One after another.
If another female protagonist saw my life, they’d probably pat me on the back and tell me to hang in there.
Judging by the coarse chuckles around us, there were more than just one or two thugs.
Lukas pulled me closer, his grip tightening.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
"Wrap your arms around me from the front. Hold on tight."
"...Okay."
I obeyed without hesitation.
Dying was bad enough.
Dying at the hands of a nameless thug was worse.
Dying with my skull smashed in by an extra’s club?
That wasn’t just a bad ending.
It was a very bad ending.
No—the worst ending.
The thought of being killed by some unimportant lackey made me sick.
But something was off.
Usually, when you protect someone, you place them behind you.
So why was I being held in front—like a baby kangaroo in a pouch?
Something wasn’t right about this setup.
"...I’m not a human shield, am I?"
"You’re too weak to be a shield."
"Oh... Okay."
Fortunately, I wasn’t being used as a human shield. That was enough for me.
Lukas’s left arm wrapped around my back, pressing me against his chest. Since he was taller, my face ended up buried against him, leaving me completely trapped.
And yet, the thugs—almost as if they were politely waiting for us to finish our conversation—didn’t attack immediately. They just kept snickering among themselves, watching.
Only after Lukas adjusted his stance and drew his sword did they finally charge.
Even while holding me, Lukas moved effortlessly, dodging and striking as if this were nothing more than light exercise.
Truly, the movements of a protagonist.
...Which meant I was suffering.
Ugh... ugh!
Every time he stepped back, he squeezed his arm tighter around me to keep me from slipping.
It wasn’t a dramatic motion, but it was enough pressure that my ribs were screaming in protest.
This kind of scenario always seemed romantic in books.
In reality?
Nothing but pain.
If I complained, though, what could he do? If he loosened his grip, there was a good chance I’d just die.
So... ugh... better my ribs than my skull.
I could hear bodies hitting the ground around us, accompanied by curses and groans.
The remaining thugs, finally realizing they had picked the wrong target, adjusted their stances, keeping a safe distance as they circled.
They were stalling for time.
So was I.
Lukas, however, was perfectly fine. Not a single breath out of place.
When was this going to end?
I peeked over his shoulder at the state of the battlefield. Several bodies sprawled on the ground.
Ouch. They must be in pain. But I suppose I have it better than them.
Just then, one thug tried to use the pause to his advantage.
He darted out from the alley, swinging a steel club at us.
"Behind you, Sir Lukas."
"I know."
Even as I spoke, Lukas had already moved—sidestepping effortlessly and flipping the thug onto the ground.
It was the first time I had properly seen him fight.
I had to admit—it was impressive.
"Wow... you’re really good at this."
"Is this the time for that?" Lukas asked, sounding almost amused.
"...Can’t I say it?"
"You seem very at ease."
Even while carrying me and engaging multiple opponents, he didn’t lose form.
"Between the two of us, you’re the one who looks at ease."
"Not wrong," he admitted. "But the weight I’m carrying is a bit heavy."
...This guy.
I let it slide. My life was still in his hands.
"The genius knight is complaining about this much?"
"I hate that nickname."
"Oh? Then should I call you the White Duchy’s knight instead?"
"...Aren’t you going to ask why I hate it?"
"No. If you hate it, you hate it."
No need to complicate things.
As we talked, the sound of swinging weapons and heavy breathing from the thugs filled the background.
It made for a rather horrible soundtrack.
"This is all too much. Can I just close my eyes now?" I asked.
"You’ve already had them closed for a while."
"...That’s true."
I had kept my eyes open purely out of courtesy, since he was carrying me around. But if he hadn’t even noticed, I should have closed them from the start.
Above me, I heard the low rumble of his laughter.
Fine, laugh all you want.
I closed my eyes and adjusted my position, trying to find some semblance of comfort.
Then—
His arm momentarily loosened around me, only to tighten again.
Ugh!
The battle didn’t last much longer.
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Because of course it didn’t.
Lukas was the protagonist.
Even in the worst of worst dramas, a protagonist wouldn’t die at the hands of Thug #1, #2, and #3.
If that ever happened, it would have to be a show where the villains shot lasers out of their eyes or something—so over-the-top that people could at least try to justify it.
Lukas eventually came to a stop.
No more movements. No more noises.
I carefully pulled away from him.
Looking around, I saw muscle-bound bodies scattered everywhere.
No one seemed dead. Not that I had been particularly worried.
But just in case, I glanced at Lukas.
His long hair had come undone, cascading over his back.
"My hair tie must have fallen somewhere," he noted.
Both of us glanced down, scanning the ground.
But with all the bodies strewn around, we couldn’t see anything.
Oh well.
He had just saved my skull from being smashed in.
Might as well return the favor.
I reached up and loosened the ribbon tying my own hair.
As the pale green fabric unraveled, my hair fell freely over my shoulders.
Giving it a quick shake, I then held out the ribbon to Lukas.
He looked at it for a moment before lifting a hand to take it.
As the ribbon passed from my fingers to his, I gave it a small, silent farewell.
"Behind you," I murmured.
Smack.