2 A Rose for Dio (2)

The little useless thing was not only incredibly cowardly, but he was also clearly weak. Dio had definitely made a mistake in choosing him to clean the house.

Mumuye couldn't do the work at all. He didn't have enough strength to sweep it clean. Moreover, he would automatically overlook some trash and would never sweep a second time after finishing once.

Obviously, the "little girl" was trying hard enough. Out of breath, fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Although she paused for a break after every few strokes, it was clear she wasn't slacking off.

You couldn't expect a pampered little girl to suddenly be capable of both hosting guests and managing the kitchen.

Dio stared coldly at Mumuye, offering no sarcasm, nor any intention of snatching the broom to sweep the house himself.

Mumuye ground his teeth inwardly: *Why did they send me here so early? And as if sending me now wasn't enough, they even made me younger than the villain! That detestable brat—I should be the one locking him up and teaching him a lesson.*

He squeezed his own thin arms and legs, feeling like his future was utterly bleak.

The house was still a mess, though not exceptionally filthy.

Perhaps because that drunkard Dario Brando hadn't returned, there were no liquor bottles in sight, nor any smell of alcohol.

However, the house was terribly dilapidated, with a leaking roof and cracked walls. Fortunately, it wasn't a makeshift shack; it at least had a kitchen and a bathroom.

The moment Mumuye recalled the winding paths of sewage and disgusting waste on the streets of the East End, he felt utterly miserable.

Were they tormenting the villain, or tormenting him?

The little girl from the East looked as if she might break at any moment, yet Dio merely gave her a malicious smile.

Even if Dio's face was exceptionally handsome, his sheer malice made him look sinister, which only fueled Mumuye's inner resentment.

As evening approached, it was time to prepare dinner, and Dio ended up making the meal himself.

He certainly wasn't feeling sorry for the little girl he had bought; he was simply worried she would waste precious food.

While cooking, Dio dragged Mumuye along. He didn't let her cook, but demanded she watch carefully.

"Make sure you remember how to cook. From now on, this will be your job," he said.

Mumuye asked in earnest, "Are we going to eat like this every day from now on?"

Dio replied, "If we have more food, we can improve it slightly. But unfortunately, most of the time we will have to go hungry."

His tone was calm, not intending to frighten Mumuye, but merely stating a plain fact.

Mumuye was already questioning the system in his mind: *Why did you choose such a miserable identity for me in such a miserable world? Did you do it on purpose?*

The system felt quite innocent, spreading its hands: *The choice of world and identity is completely random; I have no control over it. Besides, isn't this to help you build a better relationship with the villain? "Childhood sweethearts" share deep feelings, making marriage much easier later on.*

Mumuye's face contorted with anger. In this era of Britain, homosexuality was not accepted; religion deemed it a sin, and one could be sent to the gallows to be burned to death.

Thus, he had chosen to disguise his gender for now, hoping to give Dio a little "surprise" later on.

He was still indignant: *I don't know what kind of underlying logic algorithm you're using. We're using marriage to torment the villain, not to actually fall in love! Why couldn't I be a noble and just buy Dio directly? Wouldn't that make things so much simpler? No one refuses money. If he isn't willing, it's only because the price isn't high enough.*

The system scolded him: *You underestimate the villain. They won't bend their backs for money. You must not doubt the rigor of our system.*

While the human and the system bickered, Dio was already preparing to cook.

He tapped the stove in dissatisfaction and scolded Mumuye, "Since you don't know how, you should watch closely. Don't expect me to hold your hand and teach you gently like those schoolteachers in stories!"

Dio noticed Mumuye spacing out. He felt he was already being considerate enough toward this girl.

If it had been a boy standing in front of him, there was no way he would speak so patiently or guide him step by step.

Mumuye gave a soft grunt, stubbornly insisting, "I am watching."

Ignoring him, Dio got straight to cooking.

He pulled a pile of low-quality potatoes from the dilapidated cupboard, washed them, and chopped them into chunks without peeling them.

Mumuye felt something was slightly off, but since he didn't know how to cook, he couldn't comment and could only watch intently.

Catching a glimpse of his earnest expression, Dio's face softened a bit.

At least this so-called apprentice had a decent attitude.

The chopped potatoes were placed directly into a tall pot, filled with water, and hung inside the fireplace to boil. The firewood burned red-hot, charring the outer walls of the pot black.

Mumuye leaned closer and was startled by a sudden flare of flames. The flickering embers reflected in his dark pupils like tiny, dancing fireworks.

Dio turned his head to look at Mumuye. Seeing that curious gaze, he sneered again, "You must have been some young lady of a wealthy family before, not even knowing how to light a fire. Too bad you not only have to learn how to do it now, but you will also have to do it yourself in the future."

Mumuye pouted.

Dio then pulled out a shriveled onion and sliced it. Although he looked only a year or two older than Mumuye, his cooking movements were far more practiced.

He took a lemon and grated some zest over the sliced onions.

He threw all of this into the pot of potatoes, sprinkled some salt and pepper, stirred it, and then grated a bit of butter into the mix.

Mumuye asked, "Is this our dinner for tonight?"

Dio retorted, "What else, my dear lady? Do you think you're still in your old home, living the good life with feast after feast?"

The little girl before him never got angry at his sarcasm; hearing this, her small face merely crumpled into a frown.

But then her face smoothed out, her eyes shining bright as she said cheerfully, "Not really. I just think that since cooking is this simple, I can do it too."

Dio: "?"

He froze for a moment, then smirked as he realized what she meant. "If you've already learned, that's perfect. I suppose I can look forward to eating your cooking tomorrow. That sounds wonderful."

Mumuye rubbed his hands together like a fly, looking forward to it as well.

Dio took two wooden bowls, one large and one small, from the cupboard and ladled the potato soup he had made into them.

He wasn't particularly cruel at this point, or more likely, he felt it would be a waste if his "three shillings" starved to death.

Mumuye had been quite excited, eager to taste the food of this world, but when he reached out—his two fair little hands were completely black and filthy.

He had just followed Dio's instructions to tend to the firewood, a simple task that he had managed to mess up.

When he threw the wood in, the flames flared up instantly, clawing at him. Terrified, he fell backward onto his bottom, earning a scolding from Dio.

But Dio must have regretted it too, as Mumuye had almost burned the pot and the potatoes to ashes, not to mention wasting a pile of wood.

Mumuye had also swept the floor haphazardly for a while earlier, sending dust flying everywhere, and he had borne the brunt of it. Now, not only were his hands dirty, but his face was also smudged like a stray cat, losing all the clean beauty he had when he first entered Dio's house.

The young child looked at Dio, then at his own dirty hands.

Dio was sitting at the dining table—their house was small, with the kitchen and dining area combined. He held the bowl of potato soup, blowing on it slowly, his crimson eyes casting a sideways glance.

He said mockingly, "My lady, you aren't waiting for me to feed you, are you?"

Standing in the kitchen, the little girl heard his mocking sarcasm but remained silent and dazed, like a lump of dough that wouldn't get angry no matter how much it was kneaded.

He walked over to where Dio had just ladled water. Glancing at Dio's face and seeing no change, he cheerfully scooped up a ladleful to wash his hands. After washing them, he rubbed his face clean.

He was tactful yet oblivious, making Dio twitch his lips.

Just a bit stupid.

In his mind, Mumuye was also wildly complaining about Dio: *I only spaced out for a second and he yelled at me. Does he have anger issues?!*

Angry, furious, whimpering. The little useless thing only dared to complain in his mind. Asking him to wave his hand and pin Dio to the ground was utterly impossible.

Fuming, he finished cleaning himself up and climbed onto the stool, still dripping wet.

Since Dio was incredibly cold to him anyway, he could only look after himself.

The potato soup in the bowl had cooled down a bit. Holding it, Mumuye realized it would take some courage to actually swallow it.

Ultimately, with Dio's threatening gaze and his own curiosity winning out, Mumuye took a deep breath and gulped it down.

As for the taste of the soup, he could only be glad it didn't kill him. It was bizarre, worse than if it had only been salted. For the first time, he tasted the flavor of life in a soup—a complex mix of emotions!

The potato chunks slid into his mouth; except for the skin, they had no flavor inside. Because they weren't peeled, they scraped against his mouth and throat, making the texture equally strange.

Even with such a small bowl, his face contorted as he ate, looking as if someone were pinching his cheeks.

Dio ate his usual meal without a change in expression, even refilling his bowl a few times until the pot of soup was completely clean.

In the end, Mumuye couldn't finish his portion.

Dio glanced over and sneered inwardly. *Clearly, he has never gone hungry before.*

Resting his chin in his hand, he said lazily, "Since you think it tastes bad, I look forward to your cooking tomorrow even more."

"No problem," Mumuye agreed quickly. After eating that meal, his confidence swelled.

Cooking seemed so simple, and if Dio's terrible food was edible, then he would surely have no problem.

Without even getting a decent meal, Mumuye was forced to wash the dishes.

He thought miserably, *What kind of hard, grueling life is this!*

Mumuye reluctantly went to wash the bowls. Fortunately, they were wooden, otherwise he would have shattered them to pieces long ago. Even so, he managed to chip a corner off the larger one, making the veins on Dio's forehead bulge.

But Mumuye looked at him with wide, soft, watery eyes, wearing an innocent expression and looking terrified of being beaten. It was clear he hadn't done it on purpose.

No matter how angry Dio was, he could only swallow it. He could only blame that cheap old bastard for insisting on buying such a troublesome brat.

It was already too late tonight. After a quick, rough wash, it was time to rest.

The dilapidated house had a second floor. The upside was that there wasn't much dust, but the downside was obvious: the floorboards creaked loudly with every step.

The night was pitch-black. The stars that should have been shining in the sky were smothered by the thick smog, barely visible. The house felt eerie and ghostly. Naturally, they had no spare money to buy oil lamps, so they had to grope their way upstairs in the dark, guided only by the moonlight.

Fortunately, it wasn't completely dark yet.

Mumuye trailed behind Dio like a little tail.

"Where am I sleeping tonight?" he asked, taking the initiative to speak up for his own comfort.

Dio was speechless.

He felt that anyone who claimed people from the East were reserved was talking utter nonsense.