Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 175: ’You’re Cashew, Aren’t You?’

The palace halls stretched endlessly, bathed in soft golden light from the chandeliers above. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and lingering traces of perfu from noble passersby. Cashew carefully balanced the tray in his hands, making sure the soup didn’t spill. His small fingers gripped the edges tightly, his mind drifting as he walked.

’What can I do for His Highness?’

The thought weighed heavily on him. He was just a servant—a child. He had no strength, no power. But Florian—Florian had done so much for him. Brought him here. Gave him a na. Gave him a place where he belonged.

Cashew wanted—needed—to do sothing in return. But how?

As he walked, lost in thought, the greetings of the palace staff barely registered in his ears.

"Good morning, Cashew!"

"H-Hello," he murmured shyly, dipping his head.

A maid chuckled as he passed, whispering to another about how polite he always was. Heat crept up his neck at the attention, but he didn’t stop walking. He couldn’t. Not when his thoughts swirled so heavily in his mind, weighing down his tiny shoulders.

He was about to turn a corner when—

’Ah—!’

Cashew barely managed to stop himself, his body jerking back just in ti. The tray wobbled dangerously in his hands, the warm scent of soup rising as he struggled to steady it.

Before him stood a man.

Tall. Imposing. Refined.

His attire was deep blue with intricate silver embroidery—clothes far too fine to belong to a servant. His posture was perfect, every movent deliberate, his very presence exuding an air of nobility.

Cashew stiffened. His heart pounded against his ribs.

"I-I’m sorry," he mumbled, bowing his head quickly. "I wasn’t paying attention."

Silence.

Then—a quiet chuckle.

"There’s no need to apologize."

Cashew peeked up through his bangs, hesitant. The man’s lips were curved into a slight smile, but his expression remained unreadable, as if he saw far more than what was in front of him.

Then the man tilted his head ever so slightly, studying him.

"You’re Cashew, aren’t you? Florian’s servant?"

Cashew’s eyes widened.

’He knows ?’

"Y-Yes," he stamred, voice barely above a whisper.

The man’s gaze sharpened. His eyes—glowing, piercing blue—seed to strip away every layer of composure Cashew had, pinning him in place. A shiver crawled down his spine.

For so reason, he felt cold.

The man’s smile didn’t change, but sothing about it made Cashew’s fingers tighten around the tray until his knuckles turned white.

"We need to talk."

Cashew swallowed. His breath ca quicker, shallower.

"T-Talk?"

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

Florian lay on his bed, his purple hair spilling across the silk sheets as he stared up at the glowing blue butterflies hovering above him. Their delicate wings shimred like fractured starlight, flickering in and out of sync as they darted about the room.

"You guys are more erratic than usual... Are you having problems, too?" he whispered, eyes following their restless dance.

The butterflies didn’t answer. Of course they wouldn’t. But sohow, their anxious movents mirrored the unease twisting inside him.

Lucius had already left to investigate. Lancelot wouldn’t be stopping by anyti soon. And Florian himself—he was trapped, locked away in his room like a fragile piece of glass.

’Anyone could co any mont to kill or... do whatever.’

His arms wrapped around himself, fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeves. The silence of his chamber felt heavier than usual, pressing down on his ribs, constricting his breath.

’To think, if it had been poison inside that drink... I could’ve died.’

But it wasn’t poison.

It was an aphrodisiac.

That was what bothered him.

Why?

If soone wanted him dead, there were far simpler, more efficient ways. A blade in the dark. A poisoned cup. A single, well-placed spell. But an aphrodisiac? That was sothing else entirely.

Florian exhaled sharply, his grip tightening.

’Was that man planning to take advantage of ?’

His stomach twisted at the thought. The ball had been crowded—royals, nobles, and guards at every corner. How would such a plan even work? What was the goal?

And then there was Julius.

Julius, who had forgotten the man’s face. Julius, who was left to die.

Why kill him after he had already lost his mories?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

’Why was Julius relevant? Why go through the trouble of tricking a random servant?’

There were plenty of others on the list—servants who could have been manipulated, bribed, or controlled more easily. And yet, the man had chosen soone outside of that circle.

’If anything, he could have been far more successful if he had used Cashew to get closer to .’

A cold realization settled in Florian’s chest. Cashew was his most trusted servant, always by his side. If soone truly wanted to manipulate him, there was no better pawn.

The re thought sent an uncomfortable shudder down his spine.

But it hadn’t happened. No one had tried to twist Cashew into a tool against him. That knowledge filled him with relief—a rare mont of solace in the sea of chaos surrounding him.

He sighed quietly and ran a hand through his hair, his fingers briefly tangling in the strands before he let them drop.

"Speaking of Cashew..."

His gaze flickered toward the door.

’He’s still not here.’

Cashew was never late. He was quick, efficient, and careful in all his tasks. Fetching a al should not have taken him this long. Florian wasn’t particularly hungry, but that wasn’t the issue—sothing was off.

A faint unease prickled at the back of his mind.

’Should I send soone to look for him? I can’t exactly go out myself...’

His fingers drumd against his thigh. He considered calling for a guard, but before he could make a decision—

Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through the quiet room. Florian’s breath hitched, his body tensing.

His eyes snapped toward the door, heartbeat quickening.

’Now, who could that be?’

Unlike last night, he wasn’t about to make the mistake of being careless.

Florian moved cautiously, his bare feet silent against the floor. His instincts scread at him to be wary.

"Who is it?" he called out, his voice steady but guarded as he edged closer to the door.

A brief pause.

Then—

"It’s , Your Highness."