How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly) Chapter 28: How to be stealthy like a cat

The forest slled like sothing alive that had already died a little inside—rotting leaves, brittle branches, and a humid air that clung to your skin like overdue debt. Not that I was complaining.

After nearly getting crushed by a living temple, swallowed by monsters, and manipulated by a goblin who thought he was a king, walking between trees almost felt noble. Peaceful. Almost therapeutic.

Ashveil wasn't far now, and I knew the path by heart.

That was the problem—I knew exactly what was waiting for there.

And honestly, I wasn't in a rush.

Brelgrik trailed behind , half-stumbling, half-dancing, like every root was greeting him personally and every rock was reciting poetry. The creature had a remarkable talent for seeming out of place anywhere, even in places he picked himself.

We were walking through the lesser-used part of the trail—the one rchants avoided and even bandits didn't bother to ambush—and I was thinking. Thinking too much.

What was I supposed to do with him?

I couldn't just march into town and drop the goblin at the newspaperman's feet.

"Hey, Marlow! Here's a dented ex-king full of secrets and allergic to sunlight. Should make for a great headline!"

That, or I'd end up arrested for trafficking unregistered magical creatures.

The only viable option I could think of was Lina.

Not because it would be easy—she was, in fact, the most complicated option possible—but because she was the only person in Ashveil who might, with a bit of desperation and way too much goodwill, agree to hide a talking abomination in her basent.

Granted, her father would probably try to exorcise the thing or throw it in a river, but honestly, that just made the idea more fun.

I just had to convince Lina—sothing that would require more charm than I usually spent forging fake IDs.

The sun moved slowly above the treetops, casting long shadows that swayed with the breeze. The city's sounds were beginning to reach us in the distance, like Ashveil was whispering, reminding us it still existed.

I took a deep breath—not out of relief, but because I knew it was the last peaceful breath before chaos resud.

And as always, I was walking straight into it.

Willingly.

Because, deep down, I was addicted to this kind of trouble.

And because this ti, I had a goblin to hide and a journalistic bomb in my pocket.

There it was—Ashveil.Too alive for my taste at the mont.

Not the exaggerated kind of "alive" the capital liked to put on display, with flags fluttering and heralds shouting out the political weather.

Ashveil's life was quieter, humbler—the rhythmic clatter of carts on poorly maintained cobblestones, the sll of burnt bread from a rushed bakery, and the eternal sound of soone arguing about the price of tomatoes like the fate of the world depended on it.

I knew every corner of that town, every shortcut, every window that didn't creak when forced open.But walking in with a dented ex-monarch goblin made feel like I was trespassing in my own ho.

"The stone is singing again," Brelgrik whispered behind , his face hidden under a brown hood he genuinely believed was an impenetrable disguise.

"The stone is quiet. You're the one who won't shut up," I shot back without turning.

We slipped in through the side of town, near the old mill, where the houses still hadn't decided whether to stand or collapse. It was the safest point, the least populated. Still, there were too many people.

Vendors dragging carpets outside their shops, a vegetable cart that almost ran over, two kids fighting over a bucket, and, of course, a man shouting that the end was near—which, to be fair, was the most reasonable thing I heard all day.

"Dante... Dante... is that a little bird?" Brelgrik pointed.

"Don't point. Don't talk. Don't breathe loudly. Walk."

"But it blinked at . I think we had a mont."

"It's a pigeon. And it's probably dead."

I tried to keep a casual pace. The streets got narrower the closer we got to the old quarter, where the houses leaned on each other and the eyes got sharper.

I yanked the goblin's arm every ti he reached for sothing—a doorbell, a wood carving, a child.

"You're going to get caught," I muttered.

"I won't be handed over. I'm a king. Nobody hands over a king."

"Unless he says that out loud in a city that hates magic."

He laughed. A low, restrained laugh. The kind of laugh that said "I'm about to cause problems"—but in a charming tone. I had to think fast. I grabbed an old newspaper from a bench and shoved it into his hands.

"Pretend you're reading. Better yet—selling. Even better—mute."

"I can mimic a duck. Does that help?"

"For fuck's sake."

The market faded behind us, along with the sll of fish—and, thankfully, most of the curious eyes. As we neared the alley that led to Lina's house, the town got quieter. Thankfully, it was school hour, which took half the neighborhood's gossip committee out of commission.

"Almost there," I muttered, pushing Brelgrik against the wall and motioning for him to crouch as a group of elderly n passed by in silence, puffing smoke. They didn't notice us. Or pretended not to. Either way, I thanked the heavens and kept moving.

When we rounded the corner and Lina's house ca into view—tucked between tree branches like an ancient secret hidden in plain sight—I felt the weight of the world take a five-second break.

"We made it," I whispered.

"And nobody died!" Brelgrik announced proudly, tossing the newspaper to the ground with the elegance of soone finishing a manifesto.

I sighed. Long and slow."That was a win. Tragic, sweaty, uncomfortable. But a win."

And now, of course, ca the hard part: knocking on Lina's door and convincing her to hide a goblin in her basent.

One thing at a ti. I was still celebrating the fact I hadn't been stoned in the town square.

Now, getting into Lina's house wasn't exactly hard.

Getting in with a goblin who breathed like a broken accordion and was attracted to anything noisy, slly, or out of place?

That was another story.

I tid it right—her dad had the habit of napping after lunch. The back door creaked, but only halfway. I pushed it open with my shoulder, holding Brelgrik by the tunic like a cursed sack of potatoes.

"Absolute silence," I whispered, mostly to myself.

He nodded enthusiastically, eyes glowing with excitent that worried . It was like leaving a hyperactive child in a temple made of glass.

His fingers itched to touch everything—curtains, brooms, a spoon in the dish rack. I had to slap his hand when he tried to light the stove.

"If you turn that on, I'm cooking you with it."

We reached the hallway leading to the basent. The wooden stairs complained under each step, but I avoided the three that creaked like the damned. I led him down by the collar. The basent slled of dirt, mold, and broken promises—just like I rembered.

I shut the door carefully. Silence settled. For the first ti in days—maybe weeks—I felt so control again.

"Here. You stay here. Don't touch anything. Don't make noise."

"Understood," he replied, already rummaging through boxes with hungry eyes. "Is this food?"

"That's coal."

"Oh. Crunchy."

I sat on a crate and took a deep breath.

I had done it.

The impossible mission was complete: a real, exiled, talking goblin hidden in a semi-respectable ho in the heart of Ashveil. Everything under control.

For the first ti, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I was ahead of the ga.

That's when I heard the footsteps.

Fast. Firm. Coming down the stairs.

"Dante?!" Lina called from above.

Shit.

Before I could answer, the basent door creaked open, framing her silhouette against the light of the late afternoon.

She stepped down two stairs quickly, her eyes adjusting to the dimness—then she froze.

"What the... what the fuck... is that?"

I turned.

Brelgrik was sitting on a box, chewing sothing furry and bloody.

Next to him lay the body of a headless cat—or maybe just the head, it was hard to tell in the dark.

The goblin looked up, mouth ssy, and smiled sweetly.

"He tried to ow at ."

And then Lina scread. Loud. Really loud. I think the entire block must've heard it.Which ant all my discretion up to that point was officially worthless.

Goddammit, I hate hysterical won.