It was the weekend, you saw a luxury car that you would never see in the countryside parked in front of the rich man's house where you were working. A young man stepped out from there, casually entering the house with the respect of many other servants.

You were told by someone else that he is Scaramouche, was the eldest son of this house, who had just returned from studying abroad. That doesn't change your daily cleaning routine, but it seems Scaramouche doesn't like you very much from his murderous gaze.

One day when you were picking up his clothes that were scattered around the room to wash, suddenly the door opened and a harsh voice rang out.

"Hey, who said you had the right to touch my shirt like that? Do you know how much it costs?"