-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: The Ruined Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Steve Brigadier General, who had planned to pull his funds anyway to throw a wrench in the business, smirked.
He and Masera had a long-standing rivalry.
'Exploring the least promising mountain range first? Do they really believe there's oil buried there? They're jumping into the pit with their own two feet.'
"No need to hesitate."
He said it openly as he rose from his seat. Then he lowered his voice so only those nearby could hear.
"It's bound to fail anyway. They're obviously scheming to drag it out and bleed more money from us."
Those who had been wavering now decided to withdraw their investments too.
Masera's investment from Steve Brigadier General was quite substantial, so it should have been a hit, but Masera's face showed no concern whatsoever.
Meanwhile, Cynthia sneered inwardly at them.
'The moment you'll regret today enough to desperately wish for regression is coming soon, you empty-headed fools.'
After the banquet ended, I trailed after Masera, hesitating the whole way.
'What should I say? Thanks, even though it's just an act to pretend we're a loving engaged couple? Or ask what his real intentions are? Or tell him to stop calling me princess because it's cringey? But why does he trust me anyway?'
Then I slammed my nose into Masera's back as he stopped abruptly.
"Ow ow ow."
Masera's eyes, dark like the evening dusk, looked down at me as I rubbed my nose.
"Are you following me all the way to my room?"
"Yes."
I nodded without thinking, then realized his already expressionless face was hardening into a scowl.
"No, I mean, I have something to say."
"Go ahead."
"It suddenly disappeared."
I still hadn't sorted out exactly what to say. It would've been perfect by the time we reached his door.
"Aside from luck, do you have any other basis? I went all in on your word, so I want some certainty."
Masera, who always ended statements with periods, unusually threw a question at me.
'I'm a modern person from the future, and this world is based on real history and geography, so I'm right.'
Saying that would land me in the psych ward, so I decided to drop some key information instead.
"There's a record in the documents inherited from my mother mentioning a 'hidden legacy.'"
It wasn't a lie.
Back when I was a maid, I'd glimpsed a secret document from the Variesa royal family while cleaning the count's room.
The servants didn't know the refined language, so they hadn't bothered with security.
......The hidden legacy shall be inherited by Princess Margarita. It has been left in a place only she can know.
The count didn't seem to know exactly what it was either.
But I knew that legacy was the oil resources buried in the Knox region.
In the end, after burning through astronomical sums over a decade of surveys and nearly giving up, oil was discovered in that very least-likely mountain range due to an earthquake.
They weren't going to let a valuable asset like me—who could save them that decade's worth of money—slip away! Good luck figuring it out!
I couldn't even take credit for it, which was frustrating.
"With the technology at the time, resource extraction was impossible, so it must have been left for future generations."
"And if."
He stepped right up close to me.
"The results of me fully trusting you turn out badly, what then?"
When this development failed? Or assuming I'd teamed up with the Queensguard family to use him?
Or... when it came out that I wasn't real royalty?
"I'll apologize and say I'm sorry."
I looked down at my toes with a glum expression.
"And I'll take responsibility as best I can."
That's why I told him the location.
If they succeeded quickly in development and ditched me before I could even seduce him properly, I'd have no complaints—as long as they let me live. But I'd snag some money for retirement.
"How?"
His breath from above gently stirred my bangs.
"Work hard and pay reparations, or make it up with my body..."
No sooner had I finished than I saw his military boot retreating backward.
"In the middle of the night, right in front of my room, please refrain from such crude remarks."
"I peel onions in the kitchen too... Huh?"
I looked up at Masera.
He often made expressions during our talks that he never would otherwise, and he was doing it now too.
"Someone of princess caliber using such casual speech."
Again! He was trying to make me cringe.
"The whole princess thing feels a bit awkward to me."
"What should I call you then?"
"Something sweet like pudding or chocolate..."
"Wouldn't that be even more awkward and uncomfortable?"
Everything else was fine, but "princess" felt oddly off. Did it prick at my guilt?
"How about we call each other by name?"
"That feels even more unpleasant."
Deciding further talk was a waste of time, he turned to enter his room.
I grabbed his coattail and tugged.
"Hey, wait! Mr. Masera! I have something to say again!"
"Save it, Ms. Cynthia."
The moment we confirmed calling each other by name was no good.
I grabbed the doorknob as he tried to close it and pulled.
"Ow, my finger's getting crushed! My hand!"
At my frantic cry, the door that had been like a fortress wall slackened a bit.
I, who'd been ramming like a rhino, pressed my mouth to the crack and whispered like a mosquito.
"Thanks for believing me, and thanks for taking my side today..."
Silence hung for a moment.
Through the door crack, I saw three boxes of macarons stacked on his desk.
"Those the macarons I bought? Did you steal them from the other officers? You greedy jerk!"
"...Enough with the thanks and please leave quickly, Princess."
The man behind the door waved his hand as if to shoo me away, then slammed it shut.
'Even if he becomes a regretful man, he'll be a stiff terracotta doormat. I won't leave until I remake him into a fluffy microfiber one!'
I resolved inwardly and turned away.
The next day, the kitchen at the barracks was unusually quiet.
A servant who returned at shift change tied on an apron and sighed.
"See? Does he even care about us? He only says thanks when he needs something..."
Then another servant urgently shushed her, finger to lips.
"Why?"
The puzzled servant jumped in shock upon seeing someone.
It was because she spotted a woman with white hair peeking out from behind the shelves.
"Saw a ghost? Why so startled?"
Cynthia, her eyes bloodshot, asked. For some reason, she was peeling onions.
"N-No... That's not what I meant just now..."
"He must not have taken care of us at all normally. You must have a lot of pent-up resentment."
"That's not it!"
The servant cried out, nearly in tears.
Cynthia, who had come to the kitchen, was excitedly sharing how everyone at the banquet had been amazed, and how Izac Major General's eyes had seemed to redden as he ate the ratatouille and thought of his father.
When Chef Zad, fed up with her endless chatter, sarcastically told her to peel onions if she was bored, she actually started doing it.
"I'm telling you, it's true. What Izac Major General said was..."
As her chatter was about to resume, soldiers suddenly poured in holding cookie boxes.
"These are thank-you gifts from Izac Major General to the chef and kitchen staff. He said last night's meal was impressive and that he'd like to visit again."
The soldier relayed the message, saluted, and they all filed out.
Proof that Cynthia hadn't taken all the credit for the banquet prep.
The entire kitchen crew's eyes widened in shock.
The servants, realizing they'd misjudged her, looked ashamed, and one stepped forward to apologize.
"We're truly sorry for being rude all this time, Princess. I'm ashamed of myself for judging hastily."
Starting with that brave one, everyone apologized to her.
"If you're sorry, help me peel onions. They're too spicy and there are too many."
At Cynthia's words, the servants gathered around her, sniffling as they peeled onions.
It was a tearful scene of reconciliation, but the onions really were brutally spicy.
'Score. Even the kitchen crew's on my side now. Gotta suggest late-night snacks all the time.'
Cynthia, who hadn't been able to enjoy midnight snacks freely due to the awkward vibes, grinned.
Then Dalia entered the kitchen, face flushed from running around.
"Princess, there you are. A guest is here... Why are you crying and peeling onions?"
"I peel onions when I'm sad. Who's the guest?"
"Major Rodriguez."
