CHAPTER 107: THAT WOMAN APPEARS (2)

"What are you two doing here?" Al asked, his voice tinged with bewilderment.

His tone carried a slight rasp—not from fear, but from a pressure building between confusion and caution. Almost unconsciously, his hand brushed the rim of the cup of coffee that had long gone cold, as if seeking some form of comfort through the mundane gesture.

Yura, wearing a flat and composed expression, finally spoke.

"And what’s so wrong if I come to visit my boyfriend?" she said casually, her words accompanied by a faint smile that appeared almost dazzling in the eyes of the workers. Yet to Al, that very smile was nothing short of nauseating.

The statement alone was enough to send waves of disbelief rippling through the laborers. The very boy they had thought of as nothing more than a servant now stood being claimed by a woman of such striking beauty. Some of them even began to harbor the thought that they themselves would have been far more deserving than Al.

The burly man who earlier had almost attacked Al stepped forward again.

"Miss... are you certain you’re not mistaken? How could someone like you ever be in a relationship with a servant like him?" His voice was harsh, but there was a quiver in it. His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging along his neck as he tried desperately to resist the logic that was already crumbling inside him.

Yura’s irritation flared at that question. She turned her gaze toward him—sharp and unyielding. Just that single look was enough to make the workers shudder and instinctively step back.

"And what business of it is yours?!" Yura snapped, her annoyance cutting through the tense air. But in that moment, a particular word caught her attention and caused her thoughts to falter.

Al... a servant here? she questioned inwardly. Her sharp stare wavered for only a fraction of a second, her brows furrowing ever so slightly, though she quickly regained her arrogant composure.

The man still tried to summon the courage to object to what he considered the sheer ’foolishness’ of this woman—lowering herself to date someone like Al.

But before he could say another word, his movements froze as Mudi suddenly grabbed him by the arm and clamped a large hand over his mouth. The grip was iron-tight, enough to leave the man struggling both to move and to breathe.

"Mmmphh... mmmm!" Only muffled groans and restrained thrashing escaped from him. Mudi held him firmly, his towering presence silencing further defiance.

The sheer size of Mudi’s hand made the grip seem absolute, the veins in his forearm bulging from the strain. His eyes bore into his fellow workers, radiating a clear warning that none of them dared to ignore.

Then Mudi finally spoke, and his words made the others freeze in place, their fear mounting.

"Forgive us, Miss Yura... Miss Yura Atenri. My workers have acted rudely." His voice carried weight as he forced the man to bow alongside him. The deep timbre of his words, heavy and deliberate, pressed down on the atmosphere. The surrounding air seemed to constrict, raising goosebumps on the arms of every worker who stood within earshot.

Those words instantly shocked the workers. Murmurs of disbelief spread among them. One by one, they came to realize the truth—that this truly was Yura Atenri. A name infamous for cruelty. For laborers accustomed to working among the elite, her reputation was not something foreign; it was etched into their memory.

Mudi ordered his men to retreat, apologizing for their reckless actions and the disrespect they had shown.

Some of them trembled visibly; they knew that provoking Yura Atenri here could be devastating. Fortunately, Yura didn’t bother to waste her attention on them, nor did she respond to Mudi. She dismissed them entirely, her focus solely fixed on the boy she had been searching for all night—Al.

The group of workers shuffled back toward their tasks, whispering among themselves, though they no longer dared to take action. Yet their resentment lingered. Some still felt their pride was wounded beyond repair by the simple fact that a boy they considered no more than a servant was being called Yura’s boyfriend.

"Could it be true? Is he really Miss Yura’s boyfriend? Would she actually lower herself for a servant? I can’t believe it," one of them muttered.

"I don’t want to believe it either. But didn’t Miss Yura herself announce it?" another replied bitterly.

The rest could only shake their heads, unable to accept the reality forced upon them. They had lost, and not to an equal, but to a mere servant boy. The one who seethed the most, of course, was the man who had clashed with Al from the start.

Mudi noticed his burning expression but chose to say nothing, merely guiding them back to their work, putting an end to the pointless commotion that had stalled everything.

Back where Al stood, Yura and Devy were now directly before him.

Al felt an invisible pressure tightening around him. Two women, each radiating different kinds of auras—Yura with her arrogance and dominance, Devy with her calm but cutting presence—made it feel as if he were completely cornered, without the faintest route of escape.

"Since when did I ever become your boyfriend?" Al said coldly, refusing to accept her claim.

"Since when? You dare to ask that when last night you accepted my card? You even said it was from someone special. And... I already told you—this is an order you cannot refuse." Yura’s retort came swiftly, dripping with arrogance. Her voice was smooth yet carried a piercing edge, stabbing directly at Al’s pride.

The memory of last night surged back to him. His foolishness replayed in his mind like a cruel reminder.

The fleeting image of Yura’s smile from that night flickered in his thoughts, now transformed into the heavy pressure of her presence standing right in front of him. His chest tightened, as if the memory itself had come to suffocate him.

Damn it. Order?... This girl actually believes she can do whatever she wants... And I was stupid enough last night. What can I possibly say now? I can’t just tell her it was all a bluff, he thought grimly.

He weighed his options. On one side, he had no desire to pretend to be Yura’s boyfriend. On the other, he had promised Rina and the others to help her. Worse yet, he had already done something foolish with that card.

Al’s fist clenched at his side, then loosened again. His breathing grew heavier, controlled but laden with inner turmoil, as though he were suppressing a storm raging within.

His eyes lowered, then lifted slightly to meet Yura’s gaze. Their eyes locked in silent tension. Al was still desperately searching for a middle ground. Why had he gotten tangled in the mess of the elite’s drama at all? The Virellano family alone had already been more than enough of a burden.

Time seemed to stretch. Yura’s sharp, dominating gaze clashed against Al’s uncertain but determined eyes. The air between them vibrated, as if barely holding back an unseen clash.

"What are you staring at? Keep your distance!" Yura snapped suddenly, shattering Al’s train of thought.

Her voice rang high and sharp. A faint blush crept across her cheeks—not only out of irritation, but also from embarrassment at being caught in an unexpected moment of eye contact.

Al stumbled backward in a fluster, retreating a step too quickly. His heel nearly caught on the chair behind him, and his hands lifted slightly as if to defend himself, though he had no words to give.

"Don’t tell me you’ve also been captivated by my beauty? Hmph, all men are the same," Yura added with biting sarcasm. Her lips curved arrogantly, her chin tilted upward as if every word were a dagger she aimed straight at Al’s chest.

From behind, Devy let out a small laugh. The sound was light, crisp, like sparks of fire cracking in the middle of smoldering embers. Her shoulders shook faintly, her eyes narrowing with playful delight as though she were thoroughly entertained by the unfolding drama.

Al turned toward Devy, a faint smile tugging at his lips as if he had just found a lifeline.

"What do you think I should do? I don’t want anything to do with her," he sent through telepathy.

Devy received the message and replied in kind, her expression still calm yet her eyes deadly serious.

"You’ve already accepted her payment. At the very least, be a man who takes responsibility."

Asking Devy turned out to offer no solution. If anything, it only pushed him deeper into the suffocating web of elite conflicts.

Al turned back to Yura, deciding to voice the first thing that came to his mind.

"You boldly claim to be my girlfriend, yet you get annoyed when I look at you," he said flatly.

Those words seemed to ignite something within Yura. Her arrogant smile returned, brighter than before.

"Then that means you’ve already recognized your position and status, and you agree to be my boyfriend. You’ve even had the courage to start making your move, haven’t you?" she replied, satisfied.

Al hadn’t anticipated such a response. For once, he was at a loss for words. Rarely did he ever lose in an exchange of arguments, yet here he stood, cornered.

A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple, though he forced his lips into a faint, mocking smirk, trying to mask his sense of entrapment.

But before Al could protest further, a voice suddenly rang out from the main Virellano estate.

"Yura!"

The voice belonged to David. He emerged quickly from the front doors of the mansion, dressed in his school uniform. Behind him were Clarista and Fani, both equally startled to find Yura standing there.

David’s steps were quick, his sharp gaze locked onto them, demanding answers without a word. Clarista’s expression was confused, trying to make sense of the situation, while Fani narrowed her eyes, suspicion gleaming in her stare. But the fact was undeniable—Yura was there, speaking with Al.

And this moment would mark the beginning of a new Chapter in their tangled youthful romance.

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