How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)
Chapter 68: How to Uncover a Massive Corruption Scheme by Accident (2)

Chapter 68: How to Uncover a Massive Corruption Scheme by Accident (2)

The rotten wood of the door vibrated each time I slammed my boot sole against it. Nothing. No sound from inside. Not even a cough, not even a "just a minute." I even thought she might have jumped out the window — but that crappy bathroom didn’t have a window big enough for that. She was doing this on purpose. Of course she was.

I leaned against the wall of the dorm house with a sigh — and a creak from the loose boards. My clothes reeked of moss and defeat, but Thalia was alive. Because of me, just to be clear.

And if it’s my fault, then I’ll take the headache too.

I kept staring at a crack in the wall while the steam leaked out from under the door. She was taking her time. Longer than necessary.

When the door finally opened, Thalia came out like a grumpy thunderstorm wrapped in a hand towel — which, honestly, probably violated three guild dress codes at once. She didn’t even look at me. Just walked right past, leaving behind a trail of moisture, lavender shampoo, and barely disguised arrogance.

"You okay?" I asked, in a tone that mixed genuine concern with the absolute certainty that I’d regret asking.

"I’m great," she answered. And that was it. "Great." As if I hadn’t just dragged her out of a druidic sacrificial ritual performed by fanatics with black root blindfolds and runes carved into their eyes.

"That’s good. Because next time I have to rescue you, I’m charging a fee."

She stopped, back turned to me. Her wet hair dripped slowly onto the floor. Her hands were clenched.

"I just wanted to get this over with," she said, quietly.

[STATUS UPDATE – THALIA]

[Trait: "I Just Wanted To Get This Over With"]

→ When emotional fatigue exceeds patience, all logic-based reasoning suffers a -3 penalty

→ Automatically disables [Snarky Retort] and [Deflective Banter]

[Condition: Fragile (Hidden)]

→ Emotional Overload Detected

→ Confidence debuff: -2 to charisma and social rolls

→ Vulnerability state: retreat impulse triggered

[Passive Trait: Shame Reversal]

→ When blamed by ally, auto-applies [Silent Withdrawal]

→ +20% chance of retreating without warning

→ Speech frequency reduced by 70%

[Silent Action: Window Escape]

→ Dexterity Roll: SUCCESS

→ Left no evidence of departure

→ Activated [Stealth Exit – Level 1]: No note, no clue, no sarcasm left behind

[Bond Sync: Severed (Temporarily)]

→ Emotional tether between [Dante ↔ Thalia]: tension critical

→ Synchronization Rate: 34%

→ System warns: High chance of miscommunication

And it wasn’t the kind of quiet that comes before a shouting match. It was the deflated kind. The kind of sound someone makes when they realize everything has gone off the rails.

I sighed. The kind of sigh that’s already tired by the time it starts.

"Look, you helped. You said too much, drew too much attention, triggered every alarm, and almost died because of it. You’re a great assistant. Award-worthy."

She turned slowly, like my words were coated in acid. But her face wasn’t angry. It was... broken. The Thalia I knew didn’t look like that. She fought back, snapped at me, called me an idiot. Now she was just staring at the floor.

"You don’t understand," she murmured.

"And now what? You’re gonna jump out the window to prove your point?"

She didn’t laugh. Not even a sarcastic snort. Not even a look of contempt. Just walked back to her bed, sat down, hugged her knees, and stared into nothing as if the void was more comforting than anything I could say.

Great. Now I was the villain of the day. The half-orc monster who saved the damsel and had the audacity to say "I told you so."

"Look..." I began, stepping closer. "We mess up. Everyone does. Including me, who came over to comfort you thinking you’d yell at me, throw a pillow, something. But this depressed version of you is honestly unbearable."

Silence.

"You’ll be fine. We still have a path to follow. Corruption to expose, people to annoy. If you die of depression, I’ll have to... I don’t know, write a sad song or something."

More silence.

I stared at her for a few seconds. She didn’t even blink. She looked like a broken doll — the kind you find in a cursed crypt, curse included.

It was kind of annoying. The same young Thalia who wanted to be a professional investigator, who wanted to prove she was amazing to her father and super responsible, was now acting like a literal brat.

Look, she messed up, fine, move on. No need to make that sad face like I’m gonna feel bad. That doesn’t work on me. Never has. Especially when it comes to a dumb person.

Dumb people have a natural talent for fucking themselves over.

And what can I do? Some people were born to fail.

"Ah, forget it." I muttered, losing patience. "I’m taking my damn shower. If you decide to jump out the window, at least warn me. So I don’t have to rescue you naked. Again."

I slammed the bathroom door behind me harder than I needed to. The hot steam wrapped around me like an invisible towel — the kind of hug life rarely offers. I stripped off my torn clothes and stepped under the warm water, feeling every muscle complain. Some of the dried blood still ran down my shoulder. The water turned red for a moment.

"She’s gonna kill herself," I thought, with the kind of humor only I would find funny.

[Internal Commentary: "She’s gonna kill herself..."]

→ Passive Humor Buff (Dark Irony) activated

→ Allies within 5m suffer -1 morale when sarcasm exceeds threshold

→ Resistance to guilt effects: +15% (temporary)

"She’ll leave a note written in blood, and then I’ll be the one explaining to her father that the princess of investigations decided to martyr herself in the middle of a conspiracy."

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling.

The water helped, a little. It reminded me I was still alive, even if surrounded by idiots with hero complexes and self-destructive tendencies. I dried off quickly and put on the only tunic that still smelled like soap and not mildew.

I opened the bathroom door.

The room was way too quiet.

The bed where Thalia had been sitting before was empty. Her backpack was gone. No notes, no sounds, not even the annoying tapping noise she always made with her nails on the wood.

"Thalia?"

Nothing.

"Oh no... no, no, no..."

The window was open.

Of course it was.

I rushed over. No sign. No trail, no footprints, not even a sarcastic little note stuck to the wall saying "be right back."

I stood there in silence for a second. Just staring into the emptiness of the Antorilian night, where the rooftops now looked more treacherous than ever. Then, with all the calm and serenity of an exhausted half-orc emotionally buried under other people’s stupidity, I muttered:

"Shit."

And then shouted a bunch of ugly words.

Then I threw on my cloak with the grace of a grumpy bear and strapped the pickaxe to my back.

[Gear Check]

→ [Pickaxe – Durable, slightly chipped, bonded]

→ [Cloak – Damp, smells like smoke and spite]

→ [Soap-Touched Tunic – Bonus to Respectability +1]

And just before I went out into the night, the system kicked in again. Figures. Even the world wanted to remind me what a mess I was in.

[Condition: Exhausted]

→ Physical exhaustion: -2 to reflex-based actions for next 1 hour

→ Emotional suppression: sarcasm intensified (passive defense mechanism triggered)

→ Steam-induced stabilization: mental cooldown effect initiated (+1 clarity per round)

[Current Objective]

→ Locate [THALIA]

→ Prevent self-destructive behavior (Priority: Medium-high)

→ Maintain emotional dominance in interaction (Passive Quest)

[Emotional Trait Unlocked: Grumpy Savior]

→ Bonus to heroic intervention when annoyed (+10% reflex during rescues)

→ -10% effectiveness in comforting allies using kind words

→ +15% effectiveness using insults or reverse psychology

My boots hit the stone with more weight than I intended. Maybe I was hoping she’d hear the frustration in my steps and feel bad. Maybe I was hoping she’d realize how close she’d come to dying and finally act like this was serious. But no. This was Thalia — the walking contradiction in lavender and sharp opinions.

I turned from the window, ran a hand through my damp hair, and sat on the edge of the bed she’d just abandoned. The mattress still held the shape of her body, like a ghost that hadn’t fully left. Typical. She always left things half-done — arguments, plans, emotional responsibilities.

I stared at the mess she’d left behind. Damp towel crumpled on the floor. Half-empty flask of potion on the table. One of her boots turned sideways like it had given up halfway through an escape. Everything screamed, "I wasn’t ready."

And maybe neither was I.

But I didn’t get that luxury. I was the one who had to be ready. Always.

I got up, cracked my neck, and adjusted the strap of the pickaxe over my shoulder. The cloak was still damp, but the city wouldn’t wait for me to dry off.

"Okay, Thalia," I muttered. "Let’s play find-the-moron again."

For fuck’s sake, this girl will gonna kill me some day. But that maybe a spoiler.