3 Roses Dedicated to Dio (3)

There were only three rooms on the second floor; one was piled high with miscellaneous items, another had belonged to Dario Brando and Dio's deceased mother, and now was seldom visited. Dio entered his own room, and Mumuye slipped in behind him.

The room wasn’t small, but it contained only a single bed. Dio certainly had no intention of generously offering his bed to her. He lifted his eyelids with a malicious glint and said, “You can sleep on the floor.”

The frail little girl opened her eyes wide. “I’ll freeze to death,” she protested.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Dio retorted, sprawling boldly across the bed, his gaze cold.

The girl’s eyes were dark and bright as she looked at him earnestly, her small face tilted, cheeks still faintly pink and soft, a bundle of childish innocence. Anyone else, seeing her like this, would be compelled to soften their heart—but Dio was not among them.

His eyes were truly indifferent as he looked at Mumuye. This girl, always clumsy and easily bullied, suddenly found a bit of cleverness and pleaded softly, “But if I freeze to death, you’ll lose three shillings! That’s a substantial waste of money.”

Her soft jab struck Dio where it hurt. Having no money meant living frugally, and enduring this troublesome brat. It was hardly a profitable bargain.

The girl before him could bend or stand as circumstances required. She said gently, “I won’t take up much space, just a tiny bit.”

She extended two slender, pale fingers, indicating a little space, trying to persuade him.

It was already late, and Dio had other things to do tomorrow. He didn’t want to quibble over small matters with Mumuye.

“Do as you like,” he said, “just don’t bother me. And don’t come near me.”

With that, he lay down and closed his eyes.

In truth, the wooden bed was fairly large. Even at eleven or twelve, Dio, tall as he was, was still just a boy, unable to take up much room.

Mumuye, opportunistic and emboldened by her three-shilling price, climbed onto the far corner of the bed.

Dio, unsettled, wished he could blink and wake to find today’s ordeal was just a nightmare. Besides, sleeping meant not feeling hunger.

But reality was harsher than imagination. Mumuye tossed and turned through the night, unable to sleep, famished. His stomach growled, his gut twisted itself, devouring its own emptiness.

He tried to bargain with the system: “Let me turn over a new leaf, start afresh and try again—just tell me, can you reboot this world?”

The system replied, “Stop dreaming. It’s impossible.”

Mumuye was someone who tended to give up easily, but in this matter, he persisted, pestering the system: “How about this, let me escape and earn enough money, then return triumphantly and team up with the villain in another fashion!”

The system refused, unwavering.

Mumuye was furious: “Are you really so heartless you’ll let me starve to death?!”

The system, somewhat guilty, tried to comfort him: “Oh, don’t worry. Before long, you’ll be living well.”

Mumuye wasn’t satisfied, harassing the system further, threatening to slack off on the mission—even though he’d hardly made an effort thus far.

Finally, the system relented: “Alright, tomorrow I’ll find a way for you to eat and drink well.”

After much back-and-forth, Mumuye finally received his compensation and lay down with some peace.

On the other side, Dio was kept awake by the loud growling of Mumuye’s stomach and the incessant tossing and turning on the shaky bed, which creaked noisily. Unable to sleep, he opened his eyes.

He got up and walked over.

Mumuye, groggy, opened his eyes. The window stood open, letting in a flood of moonlight into the dilapidated room.

In his blurry vision, Dio, pale-faced, approached, towering above him, his eyes bloodshot and face shadowed like a vampire.

Mumuye shrank back in fear.

Though the moonlight was faint and the trees outside swayed, the light was enough to reveal the small girl curled up on the bed. As she had claimed, she took up little space, thin and small, her head tilted up like a quail caught in the rain, trembling slightly as Dio drew near.

She wasn’t entirely useless. She must have lived a privileged life before, yet now, in this impoverished house, she hadn’t uttered a single complaint.

Dio had indeed felt an urge to strangle Mumuye earlier, but reason prevailed, and he changed his mind. Now, he was more curious to see if, after being trained, Mumuye could become the person he envisioned.

He leaned forward, reached out, and pinched the girl’s soft cheek. It was pleasant to squeeze. He didn’t hold back, leaving a red mark on her delicate face.

That was interest on his investment.

Turning away, Dio rummaged through his desk for something.

Mumuye watched as he turned and tossed something hard toward her.

Dio commanded coldly, “You’d better eat it. Don’t make trouble for me.”

It was a loss that the old man had spent three shillings to bring home such a nuisance; they’d have to spend even more to raise her.

Mumuye looked down and saw it was a small piece of black bread.

His feelings were complicated; moments ago, he’d thought the villain finally had enough and was about to stone him to death.

Under Dio’s watchful gaze, he bit into the black bread.

His teeth vibrated, as if biting into stone; his mind buzzed, and his eyes spun with stars.

He thought he heard Dio snicker.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he must have accumulated too much bad karma in the previous life, and now this one was set on tormenting him.

The system shouldn’t be called “Villain Torment System” but rather “Torment Small Waste System.”

He could only nibble on the black bread, silently weeping inside.

Dio scolded him: “Are you an idiot? Don’t you know to soak it before eating?”

The naïve little girl looked at him, teary-eyed. “Can I boil water to drink?”

Truthfully, Dio didn’t want to meddle in her affairs, and even felt the urge to throw her out. But he worried that if Mumuye became too hungry at night, she’d try to boil water and burn down the house.

His gaze was full of resentment, like a demon crawling from hell, as he asked, “Can’t you just soak the bread in cold water?”

Mumuye, once from a well-off family and well-educated, explained seriously, “Cold water is full of bacteria. Drinking it might cause illness. In the filthy East End of London, falling sick is very unfortunate.”

Dio replied coolly, “You know quite a lot.”

Mumuye, oblivious to his sarcasm, followed sleepily behind him.

When the water was boiled, she soaked the rock-hard black bread in it, then nibbled it bit by bit, chewing painfully, her neck stretched as she swallowed.

Dio’s mean nature surfaced as he watched Mumuye with leisure, as though this Eastern girl was a criminal from somewhere.

He could see Mumuye’s cheeks were sore from chewing.

But what did that matter to him?

After nearly an hour of fussing, they finally lay down again.

Mumuye, having filled her belly, slept soundly the rest of the night. Dio, who should have slept like a rock, found his rest disturbed and couldn’t sleep at all.

The next morning, not only were his pupils blood-red, but the whites of his eyes were webbed with crimson, and he looked at Mumuye with utter disdain.

He couldn’t stand the sight of the small wastrel sleeping sweetly on the bed, and when he left, he hauled her upright.

The sleepy girl was still groggy, cheeks flushed, her soft black hair slipping across her pale, delicate face.

Dio stared for a moment, admitting to himself that her face was indeed remarkable.

He composed himself and sternly ordered Mumuye to cook for him at home, only relenting when she nodded.

The little wastrel was nearly driven mad by his demands and agreed half-heartedly. Her annoyance chased away the last of her sleep, her small chest heaving with fury.

Seeing her compliance, Dio was satisfied, but at the door he changed his mind, warning Mumuye, “Forget it, wait until I return before you cook. If you dare use the firewood without permission, I won’t forgive you when I get back.”

Mumuye inwardly cursed the villain’s fickle heart, finding his mood swings worthy of his role.

But not having to work, and being able to slack off, was a blessing for the little wastrel.

No longer sleepy, as soon as Dio left, he whispered to the system, “Opportunity knocks but once—quick, get me something tasty. Nothing with a strong smell, or the villain will notice.”

The system, worn out by his pestering, used points to exchange for some snacks. The amount was small, fearing Dio would notice Mumuye’s full belly.

Not enough to fill him, but enough to curb his cravings.

Yet, the little wastrel’s appetite grew with each bite, nearly resorting to a tantrum to demand more.

The system barely held its ground, nearly overwhelmed by his whining. Fortunately, Dio returned in time, or it would have caved.

At the sound of the door, the system vanished instantly, leaving Mumuye no chance to react.

Mumuye: “...”

Why did Dio come back so quickly? Luckily, he wiped his mouth fast and handed the trash to the system for disposal.

When Dio opened the door, the first thing he saw was Mumuye at the table.

She stood out in the dilapidated house, as if glowing, making the shabby room seem much brighter.

Mumuye sat on the chair, resting her chin in her hand, daydreaming. The chair was tall, so her legs dangled, and she swung her slender legs back and forth.

She played happily all by herself.

Seeing him return, she turned and gave him a joyful smile, sweetly saying, “Dio, welcome home!”

She was clearly a child accustomed to pampering, never having suffered or been mistreated. She could even greet those who had been harsh to her with a smile.

But in the Brando household, she was destined for endless hardship.