Chapter 145

Chapter 145

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

Chapter 145 – Volunteering During the Golden Holidays (2)

“Um, excuse me...”

Sinclaire appeared out of nowhere and awkwardly addressed Vikir in polite language.

Sinclaire hesitated before speaking as Vikir stared at her, as if asking what was wrong.

“Um, Mr. Vikir, did you also apply for regular volunteer work here?”

“No.”

“Oh? So, what brings you here?”

“I’m here because of demerits.”

“Ah...”

Upon Vikir’s brief response, Sinclaire nodded her head.

“I’m planning to do regular volunteer work. I have to collect volunteer points, but still, helping less fortunate neighbors makes me feel good and accomplished, you know?”

“I see.”

Vikir had no interest in Sinclaire’s personal life, so he nodded once and tried to leave.

However, Sinclaire continued to follow Vikir and talk.

“By the way, it’s quite a coincidence that we’ve been assigned to the same volunteer location.”

“Is that so?”

“In fact, I saw someone submitting a volunteer application last week, but I never expected it would be the same place.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Vikir...”

Despite Vikir’s short responses, Sinclaire kept smiling happily.

Vikir interrupted her words for a moment.

“Speak more casually. We’re about the same age.”

“Oh, um, actually, I’m 17 years old, so I’m a year younger than Mr. Vikir.”

“Doesn’t matter much.”

Vikir nodded his head, and Sinclaire’s expression brightened even more.

“Uh... well, I’ll speak more casually then!”

“Sure, let’s have a more relaxed conversation next time.”

Vikir thought he had ended the conversation smoothly and stood up.

He needed to clean the mop.

But Sinclaire, once again, followed Vikir closely.

Vikir entered the men’s restroom to get the mop, and while he was inside, Sinclaire stood in front of the restroom door, staring at it as if she were waiting for Vikir.

“Fortunately, she didn’t follow me into the men’s restroom.”

Sinclaire patiently waited until Vikir finished cleaning the mop and came out of the restroom.

“Excuse me, but I saw you submitting a volunteer application during the holiday, so I thought you were already managing volunteer points for academic purposes.”

“I was forced to submit it because I have too many demerits.”

“I see. I thought you were doing it willingly because you’re so good at studying.”

Sinclaire continued to talk and look at Vikir with admiration, despite his brief responses.

“By the way, how do you study?”

“How many hours do you study each day?”

“How do you balance your pre-study and review?”

Turning around, Vikir saw Dolores, who held a knitting basket and dolls. She was the academy’s student council president, head of the newspaper department, and also known as the saint of Quovadis. She volunteered here every weekend.

Dolores narrowed her eyes and asked Vikir with a stern gaze, “Are you working hard on your volunteer activity? You need to work hard to make up for those demerits.”

“I am working hard,” Vikir replied.

“Good.”

Dolores nodded and continued to observe Vikir with her severe and strict gaze.

“It’s better not to show hasty kindness to that girl.”

“...”

Confused, Vikir tilted his head, prompting Dolores to explain further.

“She was born here. She’s been here for the past thirteen years, witnessing countless volunteer students coming to the orphanage.”

“...”

“At first, she used to get along with the volunteer students, calling them older sisters and brothers.”

“...”

“But as time went on, those older sisters and brothers gradually distanced themselves. It’s unavoidable. They have to study more as they progress through their grades, and they also have to graduate and find jobs. I have to do the same.”

Vikir listened to Dolores’s explanation attentively.

“1 out of 100 1st-year volunteers continues to volunteer even after becoming 3rd-years. Some may stop completely after graduation or getting a job. So, the kids in the orphanage don’t easily open their hearts to volunteers. To volunteers, these kids are just a part of accumulating volunteer points, but to these kids, the volunteers mean a lot.”

These words made sense. Most of the academy students came to volunteer here mainly to earn points for their volunteer activities.

Dolores looked at Nymphet’s retreating figure with a saddened expression.

“Nymphet cuts off any bonds quickly but longs for them deeply, and gets tired of saying goodbye forever. So, she promised not to give her affection to outsiders.”

“I see,” Vikir replied.

“However, every time she meets someone new, she becomes more guarded, and eventually, she stopped speaking altogether. It’s as if she put all her expectations on others and got hurt. I wish she didn’t see the world so cynically.”

Dolores seemed upset as she spoke about how Nymphet never acknowledged her greetings even though she had been volunteering here for over three years.

At that moment, Vikir’s expression changed suddenly.

“Nymphet needs to regain her ability to speak soon. Since selective mutism is an ailment rooted in emotional pain, she needs warm love and attention from those around her... Ugh?!”

Dolores couldn’t finish her sentence. Vikir’s hand swiftly covered her mouth.

...Tuck!

Vikir pressed Dolores’s mouth tightly against a nook between two cabinets, a minor design flaw in the hallway. It was tucked away with cabinets on both sides, and the shadowy location made it hard to notice from the corridor.

“Ugh!?”

Dolores tried to push Vikir away and remove his hand from her mouth, but Vikir didn’t allow it. Instead, he pushed her closer to the wall.

“Hush.”

Gradually, Vikir’s soft voice resonated in Dolores’s ear. She felt her mind becoming hazy.

‘???’

How did this happen so suddenly? No, wait, what was the situation from the beginning?

This was unquestionably the first time she had been this close to a man since her birth.

In this abrupt, rude, and... intimate(?) situation, her body froze in place.

“...”

Vikir, with narrowed eyes, surveyed the corridor. The muscles in his face involuntarily tensed. A foul stench permeated the air.

Thud-thud-thud.

The sound of footsteps tapping on the marble floor.

A gentleman in his fifties, a devout religious follower, a successful businessman, and a caring father. On the surface, he appeared perfectly normal, but beneath that mask, he exuded an overwhelming odor of death.

The monster in question was none other than Vikir’s assassination target, “Quilt.”

[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]