Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 21 - Mirea is my type?

The town wasn't grand.

It was quiet. Modest. A cluster of sunburnt homes with thatched roofs and stone walls, nestled between sloping fields and winding dirt paths. Chickens clucked from courtyards. Dogs napped in the shade.

The scent of barley loaves and roasted root vegetables lingered faintly in the air like smoke after a campfire.

But what wasn't quiet... were the eyes.

They came slowly—then all at once. Gazes from windows. From behind carts. From doorsteps, porches, and laundry lines.

People paused mid-conversation, mid-movement, turning toward the three strangers stepping into their quiet corner of Mehan County.

Vex noticed first.

The way old men leaned forward with narrowed eyes. The way teen boys whispered behind palms.

One blacksmith's apprentice even spilled his pail of coal, cursing under his breath without looking away.

A scene out of an illogical fantasy story where just the presence of the hero's charm attracts the gazes of too many people as if magnetized, women getting exhilarated just by a look from him, men turning to ash due to jealousy, and children calling them angels or gods. freewebnσvel.cøm

Overall, something which Vex would have personally loved.

Only if it was him whom they were looking at....

His brow twitched. He glanced sideways.

At her.

Asperia walked beside him in silence, head held high, fabric pulled tight around her shoulders. The way Vex had tied the coat at her waist gave the illusion of a snug black pencil skirt.

The shirt he'd offered earlier clung perfectly to her chest—simple, tight, darkened in parts from drying seawater.

The makeshift outfit, haphazard as it was, looked like something pulled from a boutique window. Clean lines. Sharp curves.

She looked... expensive.

Even he had to admit it.

"...Are you always this beautiful, or is that just a side effect of magic?" Vex muttered quietly.

Asperia didn't stop walking.

She didn't even look at him.

But her brow twitched. Her lips pulled flat.

And she gave him a glance that could've frozen wind—sharp, irritated, and utterly unimpressed—at least she tried to look that way from the outside.

Then feeling influenced by his compliment—although she had heard it several times—she adjusted her shirt as if suddenly cold and straightened the coat at her hips, clearly displeased with not the attention..., but how it made her feel.

Vex blinked. "Okay, noted," he said under his breath, taking her gesture as annoyance. 'Don't compliment her.'

In front of them, Mirea kept her pace steady, though she clearly heard everything.

"We're in Rinehold," she said finally. Her voice was calm again—measured, if still worn. "Western Mehan. My family's house is just beyond the grain tower. It's not much."

"Looks peaceful," Vex replied, eyes scanning the low rooftops and turning windmills.

"Sometimes," she said, and didn't elaborate.

They passed the market square. Wooden stalls half-covered with bright cloth. Vendors hawked root vegetables, fish, and threadbare tools.

A flower vendor blinked twice, then called out as they neared.

"Mirea? Mirea, child—is that you?"

The old woman stepped from behind a bucket of daisies, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes scanned Mirea first—then froze as they landed on the other two.

She took one look at Vex's broad frame, then at Asperia's long legs and tight outfit.

Her lips parted.

"My stars... who are these people?"

Mirea didn't hesitate. "Relatives," she said. "From the eastern side. Came to help with... family things."

The woman squinted. "Relatives?"

"Distant," Mirea added, walking forward.

But the flower seller wasn't done. Her eyes lingered on Asperia now, and the awe in them was genuine.

"Oh, heavens," she breathed. "You're a looker, aren't you? Like someone out of a noble family painting. What skin! Are you some kind of duchess?"

Asperia blinked.

"...No," she said, in her usual flat tone.

But Vex noticed the subtle shift—the slight tilt of her chin, the way she brushed a strand of blonde behind her ear.

Another woman from a vegetable stall leaned in. "What a figure... dear girl, you could marry into the royal court with that face."

A third muttered from behind a fabric stand, "She even walks like a noble. What is this family Mirea's been hiding?"

Vex didn't speak. He only looked again.

Really looked.

The shirt hugged her chest in a way that didn't seem forced. Her waist cinched perfectly under the tied coat and scarf, and the way her hips moved when she walked—slow, balanced, and composed—made it impossible not to stare.

Her blonde hair, still drying, glinted faintly in the light, and every drop of seawater that slid from her skin added an ethereal gleam to her movements.

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was crafted.

Sculpted like a forgotten statue left on a beach to glisten under the sun.

"...Yeah," Vex said softly to himself. "Okay. She's damn gorgeous."

But then he turned his gaze toward Mirea.

And blinked again.

She was arguing with a carpenter now, arms crossed loosely. Her blouse still clung to her skin from seawater and sweat.

Her braid hung damp behind her shoulder. Her eyes—those green eyes—had regained some of their original sharpness, and when she pointed toward the road with a faint frown, Vex caught it:

That quiet bold appearance.

That rough physique of a housewife-type woman who even did outside work.

She wasn't polished like Asperia. Wasn't delicate or elegant.

But there was... something.

Her skirt brushed against her thighs with every step. Her chest heaved slightly when she spoke, unafraid of her voice.

Her posture wasn't soft—it was firm, practical, yet there was a curve to her tight hips, a strength in her arms, a reality to her.

"She's my type," Vex murmured without thinking.

Asperia heard him.

She gave a subtle side-eye, but said nothing. Her silence was loud.

They walked on.

Eventually, the road opened beyond the market and passed a low wooden fence.

Mirea reached forward and unlatched the crooked gate. The creak it made seemed louder than it should have.

A modest two-story house waited beyond. Paint chipped. One shutter half-hanging. But smoke trailed from the chimney and a blue wind-chime tinkled gently by the porch.

"We're here," she said quietly.

And for the first time since the beach... her voice didn't sound afraid.

It sounded like someone coming home.

"I am here, sister!?"