How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)-Chapter 34: How to Flirt, Bribe, and Flee — All in One Visit

It was already getting dark. And the sky was way too pretty for my taste.

You know the kind of sky I mean—deep blue, with delicate clouds like someone blew cotton across an oil painting? Yeah. That kind of sky makes me suspicious. Beautiful nights tend to end in disaster.

And yet, there I was—walking through the streets of Ashveil, clean boots, neat coat, a pouch of coins in my pocket, and a damn improvised bouquet in my hand.

Wildflowers. Picked along the way. Three were yellow, one had a bite mark, and all of them looked like they’d been grown out of pure rage. Perfect.

I arranged them in the least cheesy way possible (according to my personal aesthetic standards) and headed toward Lina’s house.

And before anyone says anything—no, I wasn’t in love. This was strategy.

A symbolic gesture. A subtle and entirely manipulative way to keep her interest high enough to keep helping me. A charm. An emotional trick. An investment, at best.

"She’s already hooked," I thought. "The flowers are just to keep the fantasy alive. Nothing more."

I wasn’t exactly sure why I was repeating that idea to myself.

I sidestepped a cart, waved at an old man who thought I was his nephew, and slipped between two crooked houses with the same caution as always. Ashveil smelled like stale bread and rust, and the sound of hammers on rooftops meant someone, somewhere, still believed in renovations.

Lina’s street was quieter. Her window was open, and for a second, I considered tossing the bouquet through it like a pagan offering—but figured I’d better not risk hitting her dad.

I adjusted my coat, gave the bouquet a little shake, took a deep breath.

Not that I was nervous. Of course not. I was merely strategically committed to the aesthetics of the moment. A well-dressed man, holding flowers, going to visit the maiden who had hidden a cat-eating creature on his behalf. That’s almost romantic.

I knocked on the back door twice. Not too hard, not too soft. Just enough to look like I knew what I was doing.

"If she doesn’t fall for me now, she’s emotionally broken."

And then, I waited. Mostly hoping her father wouldn’t be the one opening the door. freёwebnoѵel.com

The door creaked open slowly, with that tired-wood groan. And there she was.

Lina.

Hair tied back in whatever way it landed, face still bearing the shadow of a rough night’s sleep, and the kind of expression only seen when someone opens the door to find a well-dressed Dante holding flowers like he just walked out of a badly calibrated dream.

She blinked twice.

"What the hell is this?"

"Good morning to you too," I said, offering the bouquet with the elegance of a drunk aristocrat. "Brought you flowers. Rare. Wild. One was bitten by a rat, but that just adds personality."

She hesitated, then took the bouquet like it was a grenade with a half-loose pin. Looked back at me, head to toe.

"You’re... presentable."

"I know. Once a decade, I try to look like a functional citizen. And you were lucky enough to witness it."

She opened the door wider and let me in. The house smelled like lukewarm tea and thinly veiled concern.

We went down to the kitchen in silence, she still holding the flowers like she was trying to figure out what kind of alternate universe this made sense in. I sat at the table like it was mine—because by now, it practically was—and gave her a sideways smile.

"I’m leaving."

"What?" she stopped walking, staring at me with furrowed brows. "Where to?"

"A mission. Official. Document validation, recon, investigation. And maybe a bit of off-the-clock espionage. You know, pretty people stuff."

She didn’t laugh. Which only made me like her more.

"And you’re telling me this why?" she asked, arms crossed.

"Because you’re going to have to take care of Brelgrik."

"No," she replied, without even blinking. "No, no, no. I’m already doing too much charity by keeping a degenerate elf with a taste for cats in my basement. Now you want to leave and stick me with him?"

"Wow, you actually remembered he’s not a goblin."

"Dante!"

"Relax, look on the bright side. He admires you. And he only called you a ’nutritious and radiant form’ three times this morning. That’s basically respect in his language."

She ran a hand down her face, like she was trying to wipe her soul clean.

"You don’t understand. He sings to my wall. He chewed a piece of the rug. He tried to explain a poem to me about ’melted tongues of memory,’ and that was just today."

"And yet, you didn’t kick him out," I pointed out. "Which means, deep down, you like him."

"And I’m liking you less with every second."

I stood up and walked over slowly. The whole house seemed to hold its breath with me.

"Lina..." I murmured, using that voice I reserved for winning favors, avoiding trouble, and occasionally manipulating bureaucratic systems. "I promise I’m going to fix this. All of it. The mayor, the mess, the threats. When I come back, with a published piece, rich and famous, I’ll make sure your problems are gone. One way or another."

She looked at me. And for a moment, said nothing. Just stood there, staring like she wanted to punch me and kiss me at the same time—which, honestly, I’d take as a compliment.

"Do you always talk like that?" she asked, her voice lower, rougher. "Like the world’s a chessboard and you know the next move?"

"Almost always."

"And does it always work?"

"When there’s a smart woman on the other side of the board, it usually does."

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a spoon. But I didn’t move any closer. I knew exactly how far to go. The closeness, the tone, the promise. That was enough.

At least, for now.

She took a step back, like she could finally breathe again.

"Go," she said, turning her back to me. "Before I regret not poisoning your breakfast."

I smiled, satisfied.

"Let me know if he eats another cat."

"And you let me know if you die."

"I always send a letter. Sometimes haunted, but still a letter."

And with that, I left the house.

With the light feeling of having won another battle—even if it was just on the field of ego.

But like I always say: if the world’s gonna knock you down tomorrow, you might as well go out today dressed well and smelling like flowers.

Actually, this is a total lie. I never say that.