-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: The Tormented Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Anyway, since he had promised to follow her words, Masera rubbed his face as if dry-washing it, feeling deeply troubled.
“……Understood.”
Masera entered the room and fretted the entire time.
The wine, cake, and fruit prepared for the newlyweds were one thing, but the roses decorating every corner were terribly irksome. The sound of running water from the bathroom was the same.
What does this mean?
Her pleading gaze saying, “Stay with me,” was incredibly stimulating to a robust man like him, regardless of their relationship.
Her face being redder than usual was also strange. And on top of that, she was beautiful.
Silken hair like silver threads, gently drooping eye corners, clear and large eyes, small lips, and a white, harmless smile.
Such a she emerged, drying her wet hair, and looked up at him.
“The hot water comes out great. I was worried I'd have to do cold friction.”
Beautiful?
Am I having such thoughts?
He had endured all sorts of temptations, from naked women slipping into his bed to everything else, but never had his composure been shaken like this.
And over just a single word?
Masera quickly entered the bathroom and, after showering, dressed meticulously.
When he came out, Cynthia had pulled the covers over her head completely.
“I’ll……”
As he was about to say he’d sleep on the sofa, a flash of light streaked outside the window. It seemed the fireworks had begun.
Bang-!
The room wasn’t well soundproofed, so the sound of the exploding fireworks leaked in.
Cynthia, buried under the covers, flinched and curled her body into a ball.
“What’s wrong?”
Only then sensing something amiss, Masera gently lifted the covers to check on her.
Cynthia, who had been crouching with her ears covered, lifted her head, revealing a face filled with fear and terror. Her already pale face had turned even whiter.
It resembled the expression he had seen during the engagement ceremony shooting.
“Are you hurt somewhere? Tell me your symptoms……”
At his question, Cynthia, who had been trembling, buried her face back into the sheets.
“……Scary.”
Could the fireworks sound really be that frightening?
Masera recalled the symptoms of war trauma that people experienced.
It wasn’t just soldiers; civilians and even children suffered from post-war syndrome.
He hurriedly turned off all the lights in the bedroom.
But that shouldn’t be possible. She’s someone untouched by the ravages of war.
As he rose to fetch a sedative from the crew, she grabbed his hand.
“Don’t go.”
Masera turned to look at her.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
A sniffling sound came from Cynthia, her face buried in the covers.
Where was her mind wandering? And who was she seeing, who was she speaking to? Probably the “Oppa” she had called out to during the engagement ceremony.
Masera sat beside her.
There were no signs of hyperventilation or seizures, so staying by her side seemed best for now.
He looked down at her white, slender hand clutching his desperately.
Because she always wore gloves, this was the first time he had seen Cynthia’s bare hand.
“……”
For a hand raised in royalty, it was rough.
Suddenly, he noticed tears staining the sheets where her face was buried.
He cautiously patted the delicate back of the curled-up Cynthia.
Boom-!
With a loud bang, various colors of fireworks crossed paths, illuminating the bedroom. It seemed the fireworks had reached their climax.
“Ugh, ugh…… Mom, Dad…… Sis……”
She was whimpering like a terrified child, ears plugged.
As he pondered what to do, Cynthia pulled his hand.
In the darkness, Masera’s violet-tinted pupils slowly turned toward the ceiling.
“You’re making me worry.”
With a low murmur, his body gradually tilted as she pulled.
On the deck above, some gazed at the fireworks painting the sky, cherishing happy memories, while others crouched in recollections of air raids.
And one embraced the one who was crouching, soothing them.
Time passed, and the surroundings fell deathly silent.
“It’s over now.”
He tried to pull Cynthia, clinging with her face buried in his chest, back to reality.
The head against his chin shook slightly. Soon, her breathing felt much calmer.
And how much time passed after that.
Should I tell her personal physician?
Masera, who had shifted to lie flat, stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Cynthia had her head resting on his broad shoulder, her arm around his waist.
What to do about her clothes.
It seemed her trauma had triggered while she was changing into pajamas after washing. Her buttons weren’t properly fastened, and he could feel her bare skin.
From her body pressed so closely against his came the scent of milk mixed with peaches.
Thud-!
“It’ll be okay, don’t cry.”
Along with Dad’s gentle voice came the siren signaling an air raid shelter.
Was this a dream? A hallucination?
Soon, the scene changed.
In my huddled view under the bed, military boots thudding into sight.
Following Dad’s advice to count to 100, I closed my eyes and counted inwardly.
One, two, three, four.
I counted in time with the fierce gunfire shaking the floor.
One person, two people, three……
The gunshots always came with screams of people.
That day, Dad left.
In my young days when I could only count to 50, after Dad’s funeral, the brother carrying me on his back said,
“Little sis, from now on, Oppa will protect you. We promised Dad to always live smiling, right?”
I was young then, and my much older brother was a soldier.
“Oppa, why does everyone keep dying and leaving only me behind?”
“Just lucky, that’s all. You survived that building collapse before too. Mom and Dad always said your birth was a stroke of luck.”
“When will the war end? I miss my friends.”
My sister, five years older, who taught me to count to 100 in Dad’s place, smiled with sad eyes.
“……Think of it as a play. This war, this pain—it’ll drop the curtain someday.”
“Sis. If I think we’re in a play where everyone’s happy, will I really be happy?”
My brother’s voice echoed: You have to survive for that.
After that, Oppa and Sis died, but I survived.
As always, because I was lucky.
“Don’t leave me alone……”
They say there’s a law of conservation in the world.
If I gain something, someone else loses it.
Wasn’t my luck someone else’s misfortune? I sometimes suffered such guilt. Hearing the resentment from families who lost loved ones made it natural.
Still, I lived on smiling without giving up. That was everyone’s dying wish.
Then, rumors spread among survivors: “The government has abandoned this city.” It was obvious it would fall soon.
What was I fighting for? I never wanted this.
On the thirtieth air raid, I didn’t go to the shelter.
Cold rain drenched the ruined city.
Wasn’t it luckier to leave this world quickly than to send off one by one and be left alone?
The falling rain felt good, as if washing away all sorrow. Refreshing, even.
I sat at a discarded piano by the roadside and tapped the keys. Some didn’t sound, broken.
“I should’ve practiced hard when I could learn.”
Then I could’ve ended like a pianist’s finale, spectacularly.
Just then, airplanes flew overhead in formation.
When did I stop fearing planes?
Before the war, the paper planes Dad and Oppa folded for me soared across the sky in illusion.
“Take me with you now.”
I looked up at the cloudy sky with a smile.
The lights trailing like a meteor shower were dazzlingly beautiful as they fell.
“Mom, Dad, Oppa, Sis. I’m coming to see you now.”
That was my last will.
Beyond the light enveloping me, someone’s voice came.
“It’s okay now.”
Only after hearing the kind voice did I realize this was a dream.
I reached toward the voice. Soon, I felt wrapped in warm arms.
