The Cursed Extra-Chapter 89: [2.37] The Art of Buying Someone (A Practical Guide)

Chapter 89: [2.37] The Art of Buying Someone (A Practical Guide)

"Gold doesn’t corrupt people. It just shows them who they already were."

***

But there was a third option.

I could see Rhys reaching for it in the way his shoulders tensed. The way his weight shifted toward escape. He could just walk away. Leave the pouch on the ground. Let social pressure sort itself out over time.

Annoying. But predictable.

Time for the ace.

"Of course," I said, letting my voice carry a note of wounded confusion. The hurt of someone whose generous offer had been inexplicably rejected. "If you truly believe your actions were unworthy of recognition, I suppose I could inform my father that House Leone owes no debt to House Blackwood."

House Blackwood.

Watch this.

"I’m sure he’ll understand when the other lords ask why we failed to honor our obligations to a borderland family." I let my expression fall into something approaching genuine sadness. "The Blackwood name will surely survive the implication that their son’s courage was worth less than a commoner’s daily wage."

See what I did there? I elevated his family’s status. Made this about more than just Rhys as an individual. Now any rejection would reflect on his father’s reputation as the village watch-captain. On his family’s standing in their community. On every person who depended on the Blackwood name for protection in those dangerous borderlands where reputation meant the difference between receiving aid and being left to die.

Politics. Gotta love it.

Rhys’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles went white. Tendons stood out beneath his weathered skin. For a moment, I genuinely thought he might swing at me. Yesterday’s violence flickered behind his green eyes like heat lightning, and I felt an actual thrill of danger that made my heart beat faster.

Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. I am very fragile and would die immediately.

But then his gaze fell on the pouch again.

Heavy leather. Bulging with more gold than a scholarship student would see in a year of careful saving. Enough to buy medicine for his sister for months instead of weeks. Enough to ease the constant fear that gnawed at him every night when he lay awake counting coins and calculating days until his funds ran dry.

His hand moved. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Toward the offering.

"There we are!" I exclaimed, pressing the pouch into his palm before he could change his mind. Before his pride could reassert itself over his desperation. "Honor satisfied! Debt acknowledged! House Leone stands proud in the knowledge that we have properly recognized true courage in whatever form it takes!"

The gold seemed to burn his fingers. Rhys held the pouch like it might explode. His face cycled through shame, anger, desperate relief. Each emotion clear enough for the watching crowd to catalogue and remember.

Beautiful.

"Now then," I continued, clasping my hands together like a delighted child who’d just received exactly the gift he wanted, "we simply must arrange a proper ceremony! Perhaps a formal announcement during the evening meal? I could have the academy herald compose a song about your heroism!"

His eye twitched.

"’The Ballad of Rhys the Bold’ has such a lovely ring to it, don’t you think? Or perhaps ’The Commoner’s Courage’? No, no, that lacks gravitas..."

"No." The word came out strangled. Forced through a throat tight with humiliation. "No ceremony. No songs. No... no anything."

"But surely your housemates would want to celebrate—"

"No."

Rhys clutched the pouch against his chest like a shameful secret and fled.

He moved like a wounded animal seeking its den. Shoulders hunched. Head down. He pushed through the crowd without meeting anyone’s eyes. The watching students parted before him in a wave. Some snickered openly. Others whispered behind their hands about the "charity case" who’d finally shown his true colors. The proud commoner who’d apparently had a price after all.

I watched him disappear into the shadows of the West Bastion. His earth-brown hair was the last thing visible before the darkness swallowed him.

My expression stayed locked in its mask of confused disappointment. The bewilderment of a noble who’d tried to do the right thing and been rebuffed for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

"Well," I said to no one in particular. Loud enough for the lingering spectators to hear and repeat. "I suppose not everyone appreciates proper gratitude. Father always did say the lower classes have difficulty understanding noble customs. Something about their upbringing, I imagine." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The crowd began to disperse. Students returned to their meals with fresh gossip to share. But the damage was done. Planted like seeds that would grow into rumors by nightfall. By evening, everyone in the academy would know that Rhys Blackwood had been bought. That the proud commoner who’d stood alone against three nobles had a price after all.

And that price had been met by the most pathetic member of a fallen house.

Me.

Only when the courtyard had largely emptied did I let the mask slip.

The fawning gratitude melted away. My shoulders straightened. My posture shifted from awkward desperation to something colder. The hunched nervousness vanished. The twitchy energy that had animated every gesture disappeared like it had never existed.

I stood still in the emptying courtyard and let myself think clearly for the first time since the performance began.

The first chain was forged in pity.

When I helped him against Vance. When I arranged for him to be the hero of that little drama. I created debt. Obligation. The beginning of connection between two people who had no reason to acknowledge each other’s existence.

The second chain is forged in gold.

Now he carries my coin. Bought with public humiliation that will follow him for months. Every time he spends that money on his sister’s medicine, he’ll remember this moment. Remember that his pride has a price. Remember that I know exactly what that price is.

I turned toward my own dormitory. Already planning the next phase with the same care I’d applied to the first two.

The third chain will be forged in blood.

And then, Rhys Blackwood, you will be mine.

Behind me, a few scattered coins glinted on the cobblestones. I’d "accidentally" let some gold spill during our exchange. The clinking sound drew immediate attention from nearby students. They were already scrambling to collect them. Elbowing each other aside in their haste. Unaware that even this small detail served my larger purpose.

Spreading the story further. Ensuring that everyone knew exactly how much gold had been involved in this transaction.

After all, what was the point of buying someone if you didn’t make sure everyone knew the price?

I smiled. A real smile this time. The kind I never let anyone see.

Three chains. Three steps. Three opportunities for everything to go catastrophically wrong and get me killed in increasingly creative ways.

But that was the fun part, wasn’t it?

No, I corrected myself. That’s the terrifying part. The fun part is pretending the terrifying part is fun so I don’t have a complete mental breakdown.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked toward the dormitory, whistling off-key.

Just another pathetic Leone heir. Nothing to see here. Certainly not a guy who’d just laid the groundwork for his own secret organization using nothing but pocket change and shamelessness.

The sun was warm on my face. The courtyard smelled like expensive pastries and teenage desperation. Somewhere behind me, students were still fighting over dropped coins like pigeons over bread crumbs.

Life was good.