I’m Just a Background Character, But I Used to Be a Delinquent, So Why Are the Girls Falling for Me?!

I left the dining hall, certain that if anyone knew information about the household, it would be the servants and Lira was my best chance.

I didn’t bother to go to the kitchen, knowing where she usually was. I walked toward the laundry yard, a large, stone area behind the kitchens where washing was done. I spotted her there, hanging some laundry’s.

I walked up quietly. “Lira.”

She jumped, dropping a wet cloth into a basket. She quickly turned around, her eyes wide with surprise, then lowered her head right away. “Young Master Callen! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, keeping my voice low so the other servants nearby couldn’t hear us clearly over the flapping laundry. “I need to ask you something important.”

She looked up again, her expression going from fear to serious worry. “What is it, young master?”

“I need to know about the cellar,” I said. “The wine cellar, where the Duke keeps his private reserve, for this upcoming Banquet.”

She frowned, confused. “The cellar? Only the Butler Thomas has the key for the main door. And the Duke keeps his own wine locked behind a heavy iron gate inside.”

“Who has the key for the iron gate?” I asked.

“Only the Duke, I think,” she whispered. “Or maybe Butler Thomas has a spare. But nobody goes down there. Only when a delivery comes.”

“A delivery,” I repeated. “Did you see a delivery of wine recently?”

She thought hard, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Yes. I did. It was about four or five weeks ago. A man, not from our usual suppliers. He looked… shifty. He wore a fine cloak, but his eyes were too quick.”

“Did you hear his name?”

“They called him Leron,” she confirmed, matching the name I found in the ledger. “He brought large crates, heavy ones. He spoke quietly with butler Thomas.”

I nodded slowly. Conforming my suspicion. Leron was once mentioned in the story and the wine was the perfect match.

“Thank you, Lira,” I said. “This is important. If you ever hear some more news about the cellar, tell me.”

“I understand, young master,” she answered and gave me a smile with determination in her eyes.

She’s cute. I patted her head and she blushed, her cheeks turning red.

‘THIRD PERSON POV’

The sudden and personal touch was clearly unexpected. Lira’s eyes, already shining with a mixture of loyalty and nervousness, widened slightly, and a deep blush instantly crept up her neck and across her cheeks.

She was momentarily stunned, dropping her gaze back down to the damp linens in the basket, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. The tips of her ears were almost crimson, a sharp contrast to the pale stone of the laundry yard. The quick, paternal-like gesture seemed to have short-circuited her composure entirely.

“Y-young Master Callen…” she managed to stammer out, clutching a linen cloth tightly against her apron. She couldn’t meet your eyes, but the determined look was replaced by a sweet, flustered shyness. “I… I will certainly tell you if I hear anything.”

She dipped her head in a quick, formal curtsy, clearly eager to return to her work and hide her embarrassment from the other servants, who were now stealing curious glances.

‘CALLEN’S POV’

I left the laundry yard with information in mind, thanks to lira help. The wines that were delivered by Leron were suspicious, and Thomas, the household official, was involved. I knew the next critical step was obtaining the key to the main cellar door, as the Duke’s private reserve was the likely target.

Based on my memories, Thomas was a difficult man. He was careful, and never let anything important leave his sight. Getting the main cellar key from him would be risky, but going through the man directly was the fastest way.

First, I just needed to know his habits.

For the past 7 Days, I spent time watching Thomas from the shadows. He was short, wore black clothes, and carried a thick ring of keys at his belt, always jangling. He ate dinner early, handled the books right after, and checked the kitchen inventory around noon.

I needed him to be busy and focused on something else. The perfect time was noon.

I moved to the kitchen area just before the noon meal. The kitchen was busy and had a loud, perfect cover. Thomas was standing by a table, shouting numbers at a cook about a missing bag of flour. He was stressed and distracted.

I wait for the perfect moment for Thomas to bend over to check a ledger on the table.

I didn’t try to be silent, because the kitchen was already too noisy. I moved quickly, bumping roughly into a young maid carrying a pitcher of water just a few feet behind Thomas.

The maid gasped. The pitcher slipped and smashed on the stone floor with a loud CRASH! Water and glass spread everywhere.

Everyone stopped. Thomas whirled around, furious, staring at the shattered mess. “What was that? Clean that up now!”

In that single moment of chaos and noise, while Thomas’s eyes were locked on the mess, I moved. I stepped closer to him as if to apologize for the mess I caused. My hand moved fast, quick as a speed I wouldn’t have had two months ago. I grabbed the keys ring on his belt, twisted one of the larger keys loose, and slipped it into my pocket.

It was the work of one second.

I immediately stepped back, looking innocent. “My apologies, Thomas,” I said, putting on a worried face. “I tripped. I’m just trying t-“

Thomas cut my words and just waved his hand, too angry about the mess I made “What are you doing here young master Callen?” he asked, irritation plastered on his face. “You’re the Duke’s son, you should behave. Can you get out here?”

I just bowed slightly, and didn’t bother with what he said. I walked away quickly. The keys were a lump in my pocket.

◆◆◆◇◆◆◆

I spent the afternoon locked in my room, faking to be asleep or reading. I constantly checked the key. Thomas would eventually notice it was missing, but with how busy today had been, I had a few hours at most.

I waited until the manor fell completely silent.

The clock tower chimed twelve times. Midnight.

Most of the servants were asleep, and anyone still awake was probably drunk by now.I slipped out of my room and moved silently through the dark halls, relying on the mental map I had constructed of the estate. Callen’s old fear of the dark tried to surface, making my skin crawl, but I pushed it down. I’m Ren. Fear is not in my vocabulary.

The entrance to the main cellar was in a quiet passage behind the kitchen pantry. I stood before the heavy, wooden door, inserted the large, stolen key, and turned it. It clicked loudly in the silence, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

I pushed the door open. A rush of cold, damp air hit me, smelling strongly of old wood and earth.

Just as I took my first step inside, a sound froze me.

Tap… tap… tap…

It was the slow, heavy footsteps of a night guard, making his rounds. The sound was coming from the end of the very passage I was in, getting closer with every beat. My heart slammed against my ribs.

No, not now!

The cellar door was still slightly opened. I didn’t have time to risk the noise of shutting it. I looked around wildly.

Right beside the door, almost obscured by a large, heavy curtain covering a broken window, was a narrow, dusty gap. It was just wide enough for me to squeeze into.

I moved fast and low, throwing myself into the tight space and pulling the heavy drape around me. I pressed my back against the cold stone, willing myself to become invisible.

The footsteps grew louder. Tap… tap… tap… A faint, wavering light from his lantern spilled onto the floor. I could hear his strained breathing. He stopped right in front of the cellar door.

My muscles tensed, ready to spring if needed. I felt the sharp point of the small oil lamp digging into my belt a reminder of my hasty preparation but I dared not move a millimeter.

He stood there for an eternity. I could hear him sniff the air. Did he smell the dampness? Did he see the door was slightly opened?

Then, with a low grunt, the guard moved on. The rhythmic Tap… tap… tap… slowly faded down the passage.

I waited until the sound was completely absorbed by the silence. My lungs burned from holding my breath. I pushed the curtain aside and gently pulled the heavy cellar door almost shut, leaving only a sliver of a gap to prevent the latch from clicking.

I pulled the small oil lamp I had stolen earlier from my belt and lit it quickly. The tiny light pushed back the oppressive darkness.

I walked down the steep stone steps. The cellar was vast a confusing, damp maze of stone and wooden shelving used for roots, salted meats, and junk, not just wine.

I followed the main path deeper, the air growing colder past dusty crates. After a long walk, the small lamp revealed my target, the iron gate.

It was exactly as Lira had described a heavy, black iron cage set into the stone, blocking off a smaller, inner storage room. Behind the bars, I could see shelves lined with dark, glass bottles the Duke’s private reserve.

I gripped the cold bars and tried the key I had stolen.

It didn’t fit.

Damn it.

Lira was right. The master key only opened the main entrance. The iron gate had a different, smaller, and far more complex lock.

I cursed under my breath. The setback was expected, but the sharp surge of panic was not. Three months. The clock is ticking. I am getting closer to my death.

I forced myself to breathe. Look closer.

I stepped back, shining the lamp over the entire structure. The gate was old, and the stones around it were ancient and solid.

Then my gaze dropped to the stone floor. Right beneath the iron gate, the tiles were noticeably rougher and misaligned compared to the rest of the cellar.

In the corner where the bars met the floor, I spotted a small, black smudge, a fresh mark, as if something heavy had been recently dragged across the stone.

I knelt down, holding the lamp close. The air was heavy with the scent of cold rock and earth, but beneath that, I clearly smelled the sweet, fermented aroma of wine. The cold, damp stone immediately soaked into my trousers, but I ignored it.

The tiles here were not set correctly. They felt loose. They weren’t broken, but they looked like they had been moved and quickly replaced.

I ran my fingers over the edge of one tile. There was no cement sealing it. I pushed down hard, and the tile rocked slightly.

My heart started to pound. Someone hadn’t used the gate.

Using both hands, I wedged my fingers into the crack and carefully pulled the tile up. It made a rough, scraping sound against the neighboring stones. I held my breath, listening for any sound from above, but the cellar remained silent.

I moved the lamp. Where the tile had been, a dark, square hole now gaped. It was either a perfect hiding spot or, more likely, a secret way to move things past the locked gate.

To be continued…..