Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 32 - Change the Plan a Bit

Maira’s eyes widened. Her breath hitched—silent, startled. She didn’t understand how quickly it happened, but suddenly her face was buried against his shoulder, her fingers clenching behind his back, clutching at the fabric of his white shirt like a child afraid to let go.

It was warm.

His embrace was steady—not desperate, not overwhelming—but it surrounded her completely, as if his arms were the only thing keeping her upright now. Her cheek pressed against the curve of his neck, and there, she heard his heart. Faint. Fast. Human.

A strange comfort settled into her bones.

She didn’t know when her eyes began to sting again... but they did. And instead of fighting the weight in her chest, she let herself lean into it—into him.

Her fingers dug unconsciously into his back, nails pressing through cloth into skin. Not to hurt—but to hold. Her breath caught in the hollow of her throat as she felt the strength in his grip, the quiet shelter of it. Something about it was real.

Even as the ache in her body pulsed.

Even as the mess still stained the floor.

Even as the world around her had crumbled—this... this didn’t feel like a collapse.

It felt like being held.

Mirea and Asperia both stared at them in silence, blank expressions flickering between confusion and disbelief.

Then—

"Stop it, you lovebirds. We’re literally still here," Mirea said flatly, snapping the quiet tension like a string.

The words hit like a gust of cold air.

Maira blinked. Her head lifted slightly. Her body stiffened as she remembered where she was, who was watching.

Slowly, she pulled back.

Her hand hovered at his chest—almost unsure if she should release him completely—then she gently stepped away.

Her knees trembled slightly, but she stood.

One hand ran through her loose hair, brushing it back over her ear as her gaze shifted toward the mess on the floor.

Her voice came soft. "Look at what happened to the soup..."

She smiled—small, tired, but still warm. "Let me clean it. I made it with effort. I thought... you might like it."

She leaned forward to gather the broken bowl with careful, unsteady hands, but before she could touch it, Mirea stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder.

"You’re not healthy," Mirea said quietly. "Don’t overexert yourself."

Maira glanced at her, startled—but only for a second. "No, I’m fine."

Her voice was even.

Not stubborn. Not dismissive.

Just calm.

And though Mirea looked ready to argue... she paused.

Because her sister didn’t look fragile anymore.

Worn, yes. But not broken.

And somehow... she stood steady.

As Maira bent low to gather the shards of the bowl, her movements slow but deliberate, Asperia’s sharp gaze followed every twitch of her fingers.

She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as her golden eyes narrowed.

"...What’s wrong with her?" she muttered under her breath, glancing sideways at Mirea. "She’s clearly not just tired."

Mirea let out a slow sigh, arms dropping to her sides. Her expression had cooled, but the concern still lingered beneath her lashes.

"She’s sick," she said plainly. "She has been for years."

Asperia turned her head. "How bad?"

"Blood cough. Fatigue. Constant weakness. Some days she can’t even stand without vomiting. Bleeding from the nose when she’s overexerted. There’s no proper diagnosis... but we’ve learned to survive around it."

Asperia’s brow furrowed. "And this has been going on since when?"

Mirea’s voice dropped lower, eyes drifting toward her sister still crouched near the floor. "Since she turned eighteen."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Vex, crouched beside Maira now, quietly helped gather the scattered ceramic pieces while his ears perked up to hear revelations about Maira’s health.

He said nothing. Just reached out whenever her fingers trembled too much to hold a shard.

Their hands brushed once—his calloused fingers grazing the side of hers.

She didn’t flinch.

But her eyes did flick toward him. Soft. Unreadable.

Not a word passed between them... but the quiet between their touch said enough.

He handed her another piece, careful not to cut her, and when her fingers folded around it, her gaze lingered on his profile—half-shadowed by the low lantern light.

He looked calm.

Focused.

But something about him felt distant now. Farther than before.

She reached for another shard—

And he spoke.

"I’ll leave tomorrow."

Her breath caught.

The piece slipped from her grasp, landing gently in the bowl with a clink. Her fingers curled inward.

She didn’t look up.

Not right away.

But the weight of those words dropped through her chest like stones sinking into water.

"...Oh," she said softly.

Her smile didn’t break.

But inside, something else did.

Her heart.

Vex set the last shard into the bowl, his fingers lingering for a second longer. His gaze remained low, as if still watching the curve of the porcelain—but his voice broke the silence.

"...Or at least I thought that."

Maira blinked, head lifting slightly. Her eyes turned to him, confused, lips parting to speak—only nothing came out.

Vex looked at her now. Direct. Calm, but resolute.

"But after hearing that you’re sick..." he said, voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"I’ll stay."

His fingers brushed hers again as he steadied the bowl between them.

"I’ll stay until you’re alright, Maira."

The floor was quiet.

The room, still.

Maira’s breath hitched as she stared at him—eyes glassy, unsure, but wide with something too tender to name.

Her hand hovered near his on instinct, trembling slightly, as if trying to believe this wasn’t another kindness that would disappear by morning.

But he didn’t move.

He was still there.

And for the first time in a long time... so was she.

Her lips trembled, soft and parted, as her eyes lowered to the floor—unable to meet his anymore.

A warmth spread through her chest, foreign and terrifying, yet gentle like sunlight through broken clouds.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t pray for strength. Didn’t plead to be well.

Just this once... she wished for something else.

’I hope I never get healed,’ she thought quietly.

And the moment the thought formed, she felt her heartbeat stutter—ashamed, yet unwilling to take it back.