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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Partner
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I watched the back of the child who slapped the back of my hand and scampered away.
That little cutie must be the mascot of this official residence, right?
As I thought that, Masera added,
"I raised him poorly."
What was that supposed to mean? I looked up at him with eyes full of question marks.
"Does that mean you don't discipline him?"
"I don't know how."
Masera handed his overcoat to a servant and continued slowly.
"All the methods I know are too harsh."
His voice was gentle, but it carried a chill like thin ice.
I tried to read between the lines of what he meant.
Maybe he was raised strictly, getting spanked as a kid? He looked like a pampered young noble on the outside, but who knew what hidden tragic backstory he had.
I shook my head.
"It's fine. He was probably just startled by my appearance."
I flashed a bright smile to lighten the heavy mood.
"Brigadier General, give me a tour of the mansion. I want to see the bedroom we'll be sharing too."
At the part about ♥the bedroom we'll be sharing♥, Masera's eyebrow twitched slightly.
He turned to the man wearing glasses.
A brown-haired man who looked like the textbook definition of a nerd bowed toward me.
"I'm Brigadier General's aide, Diego. I'll show you around the interior."
He must have been signaling for him to take over. Romance fantasy male leads were always standoffish like that.
"Yes! Let's go!"
Touring a house was always fun! And this was going to be my home now!
As I got all excited, bewilderment flickered across the servants' faces.
Oh, should I have pretended to be upset?
"Tch."
I pinched Masera's arm lightly to feign offense, then followed Diego with bouncy steps that anyone could see were full of excitement.
"There are a few things to keep in mind while staying in the official residence."
Diego began speaking in an admonishing tone.
"Is it the Neapolitan ghost story?"
"Do you mean the pasta?"
"Exactly. Right answer."
Looks like there's no Neapolitan ghost story here.
Diego, wearing an expression like 'Why the heck would you ask that?', resumed listing the precautions.
"This is a mansion, but it's also the official residence of the military chief of staff, as well as a military security zone and base. Taking photos or drawings and leaking them outside is prohibited, and..."
It was basically an explanation that the house had strict security befitting a high official's home. No wonder there were so many soldiers around.
"And you must not enter the Brigadier General's office or private quarters without permission."
Saying it like that practically guarantees I'll end up going in someday, right? I'd better make sure I never do.
Diego grasped the doorknob of a certain room and said,
"This is the bedroom you'll both use after the marriage."
I peeked through the opening door with eager anticipation.
The spacious room was completely empty—no bed, no furniture, nothing.
"Wow."
They're practicing non-possession in the bedroom, huh.
At my deflated exclamation, Diego pulled out what sounded like a prepared response.
"There's still time until the wedding, so..."
"Ah, so you're giving us the benefit of decorating the bedroom?"
Like a 'Let's test your worth' quest where I have to fill it with wedding gifts befitting a wealthy family?
This'll be fun.
After touring the vast official residence, Cynthia headed to the dining hall with Diego.
She saw Masera sitting at the long marble table, pouring wine.
"Brigadier General, did you come ahead and wait?"
He's at least joining me for dinner on the first day.
But Masera wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. As he moved with quiet grace, the chandelier light filtering through his platinum hair shimmered like ripples.
"I've already finished eating."
After his soft voice, a brief silence fell.
Cynthia's red eyes blinked a couple of times in a daze.
"My, you must have been starving..."
Masera said nothing.
Cynthia smiled amiably back at him.
"Go rest then. Thanks for coming all the way to pick me up."
"..."
Was that smile the ignorance unique to those raised in luxury, or pure malice disguised as innocence?
His gaze fell on her slender fingers clad in silk gloves.
She seemed like the only one with color in a world drained to black and white. And yet, all she really had was red.
He felt an urge to make this woman—who smiled radiantly as if she knew nothing of the world's ugliness, as if she'd never been tainted—break down crying.
Diego swallowed dryly upon witnessing the cold glint in Masera's eyes as he left.
'How long can the lady endure that kind of treatment...'
To him, Cynthia looked like a house rabbit tossed onto a snowy mountain.
Just then, a maid brought Cynthia's meal. Not content with her curt attitude, she set the plate down with a clatter.
"Slamming the dishes like that—what kind of rudeness is this? And top blade steak? Serving such cheap garbage. This is an insult to royalty."
These weren't Cynthia's words.
Roze, one of the Queensguard Count family servants who had come with her, scowled and complained.
Though it was a disguise, Cynthia was publicly of royal blood.
"It's delicious, though. And plenty of it."
Unlike Roze, who was trying to assert authority, Cynthia was slicing into the steak with a look of utmost satisfaction.
No matter how cheap the cut, meat was meat. To her, who hadn't even glimpsed meat while living as a maid, it was a delicacy fit for emperors.
The maid who brought the food sneered at Roze.
"Are you the lady's proxy complainer?"
Roze crossed her arms and shot back sharply.
"My lady has such a delicate personality that she can't even say a harsh word to others. Isn't the problem people who take advantage of that?"
A fierce war of words erupted between the two.
Cynthia slowly rose from her seat with a poignant expression.
"This is making things uncomfortable because of me. I'll leave first since I'm the cause of the conflict..."
"But Miss Cynthia, because of this insolent servant, you couldn't even eat properly—!"
Roze stared in shock at the now spotless plate.
'When did she scarf it all down?'
Cynthia, blissfully full for the first time in ages, whispered in Roze's ear as she passed by.
"Miss Roze pasta. If you really want to help me, shouldn't you start by unpacking my neglected luggage? Half-hearted royal maid act isn't helping."
Though her tone was soft and kind, it made Roze's breath catch, her face stiffening.
Cynthia walked down the corridor, lost in thought.
The romance fantasy trope was to scold rude servants and establish discipline, but she didn't have the moral high ground.
Lies weren't eternal; they'd be exposed eventually.
'I need to build a good image, thinking ahead to when the truth comes out.'
Everyone spoke in military clipped tones, their precise movements screaming they weren't ordinary servants.
More importantly, Diego said this was a military security zone—no way just anyone could work here.
'Most of them must be military.'
She could tell from the calluses typical of gun handling.
Having experienced war in her previous life, Cynthia quickly spotted soldiers' tells.
At that moment, the white-haired butler Milchenko passed by, greeting her. His wrinkled face bore a long scar.
'I can see why they're treating me this way.'
Soldiers were victims of war too. They probably harbored hatred for the royals who waged reckless wars in the past.
Thud.
Lost in thought, Cynthia's head bumped into something hard.
"Sorry..."
Rubbing her head, she looked up at the taller man.
Masera, in a shirt with suspenders, gazed down at her with a blank expression.
"Ah, Brigadier General. I had something I wanted to ask. Are most of the people working here former military?"
At her question, the corner of Masera's mouth twisted in a mocking smirk.
"Why do you ask?"
"I want us to understand each other and get along. With war trauma and all..."
"Don't bother trying."
"Pardon?"
Cynthia's eyes widened in surprise.
"What could someone like you—who's lived comfortably without knowing war—possibly understand?"
Masera added in a frosty tone.
"This marriage is just a matter of mutual interests anyway, so don't make excessive demands of me, Lady."
He expected her to burst into tears and run away.
But far from crying, Cynthia just smiled with her eyes and stared at him.
"Aha, got it!"
From Cynthia's perspective, it was a useful conversation for grasping the male lead's traits.
'Sigh, so predictable. He'll regret it later and come crying and clinging, no matter how much he resists now.'
