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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent
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"Sis woke up. Uncle, you're sis's husband, so go see her quick."
Why was he the uncle and Cynthia the sis? Shouldn't it be aunt?
Anyway, following Eugene's order, Masera dragged his exhausted body—deprived of even a wink of sleep—to the bedroom.
It felt like he was a criminal heading to the courtroom.
'I didn't say anything wrong.'
But he had hurt her. That much was certain.
She, who had laughed mockingly at whatever he said as if it were ridiculous, had worn such a painfully wounded expression that day.
The moment he recalled Cynthia's desolate face, he squeezed his eyes shut.
When Major Isaac Rodriguez had asked if Cynthia had ever experienced an air raid, Masera had answered as the count had told him: "Just sequelae from a hunting accident."
Then the damned major had said this:
"Regardless of the severity of the incident that started it all, isn't it true that she's suffering?"
Masera felt a pang of realization.
Wasn't failing to empathize with his wife's pain the mark of a husband worse than a beast?
To realize it only after hearing it from a major, of all people. Guilt welled up alongside frustration at his own inadequacy.
On the cruise ship during their honeymoon, Cynthia had already spoken about what she feared.
"Gunshots or explosions, alarms, things like that..."
After reading the count's letter, he'd thought he'd simply been deceived by her.
He had forgotten that even families viewed war trauma as a defect.
Especially for children put out on the marriage market.
If the liar was the count, then that day's alarms and explosions must have been an enormous trigger for her.
Suppressing his unsettled feelings, he entered the bedroom—only to hurriedly turn and leave again.
"... "
Through the gap in the open bedroom door, Cynthia sat with her head bowed, tears dripping down to soak the bandages wrapped around her hand.
'Did I make her cry again? Because of me?'
Guilty as charged. Sentence confirmed.
He knew how to command troops and devise strategies and tactics, but he had no clue how to comfort a crying woman.
With heavy steps, he returned to his office. Diego spoke up.
"Coming back from seeing the princess?"
"No."
He had seen her, but... Masera shook his head.
Diego, who had been watching the cold war between the two, chided him.
"Shouldn't you reconcile? What if rumors of discord start circulating already?"
Masera stared out the window and said nothing.
As his aide, Diego had a guess as to why Masera had married Cynthia.
'He has no choice but to be cold. It's mostly what everyone expects.'
But Princess Cynthia was someone impossible to treat coldly.
He himself had tried to act professionally in line with his superior's intentions, but...
'It wasn't easy.'
With her kind face and childlike smile, plus her unpretentious personality that carried no trace of noble pretense.
Even the mansion staff who had secretly badmouthed and harassed her had ended up won over before long.
"Actually, I ruined the princess's shoes. I hated you so much back then. I'm sorry."
"Huh? I didn't even know. Thought it was just a defective pair."
For one, Cynthia herself hadn't even noticed the harassment.
She didn't seem to pay much mind to others' negative feelings either.
Of course, there were vicious ones who hid thumbtacks in her shoes or poured slippery detergent on the floor.
But every time, she'd whimsically wear different shoes, or some unlucky senior maid would slip instead and expose the culprit—somehow dodging every trap by sheer coincidence.
It was as if she had some divine protection, an inexplicable something that made her untouchable.
Clutching the "immortal phoenix feather quill" Cynthia had given him, Diego earnestly advised.
"Brigadier General. If I may overstep, how about trying to get along with the princess?"
"Isn't this good enough already? I feed her, give her a warm room. Wanting more is just greed."
Masera shot Diego a cold look.
'Even my aide's saying the same thing as the Media queen.'
Did she have some ability to manipulate everyone into liking her?
At this rate, she'd turn the entire mansion staff to her side and take it over.
'Pretty, kind, sociable, reasonably clever—what else is there to her?'
As his thoughts chased their own tail, Masera's face suddenly twisted in realization. He irritably ruffled his own hair.
"...I got played."
It had to be her brainwashing and manipulation powers. He wanted to believe that.
Snapping out of his reverie, Masera turned to Diego and asked.
"Was I in the wrong?"
"I don't know what the fight was about, but you have to say the husband was wrong."
Right. It felt like he had been.
He had arbitrarily judged the heart of someone who threw her own body to save a child and spat sharp words.
And he had misunderstood based solely on the count's letter without learning the details of her hardships.
Masera believed one should admit their own mistakes no matter who the other party was.
Seeing his superior's deeply furrowed brow of remorse, Diego suggested.
"For reconciliation, how about buying her flowers and a gift?"
"You think I'd do something that embarrassing?"
Masera stood, scowling fiercely.
After declaring he'd never do such a thing as a reconciliation gift, he asked.
"But what would make a good gift?"
"Something the princess likes would be best, but universally, shiny things work. Shall I go?"
Masera sighed and slung his overcoat over his shoulders.
"I have errands anyway. I'll handle it."
Heading into the city, Masera stood blankly in front of the flower shop for a long while.
'Never bought flowers for anyone. Never even been inside.'
This was about as unwelcome as marching into the heart of enemy territory.
"Why hesitate? Enter like a man."
But the florist—a burly man holding a dainty flowerpot—taunted him, and Masera unwittingly stepped inside.
"What kind of flowers are you looking for?"
"Hm, I don't know much about flowers. White ones."
"For a memorial?"
"No."
"Who for?"
Masera cleared his throat with a calm face.
"For my wife."
The florist burst out laughing.
"Turning into a romantic, eh? The beginning's the hardest, but seeing your loved one's happy smile will make you feel like you can command the heavens. There's joy in giving, not just receiving."
'Talks way too much. Never coming back.'
Masera resolved inwardly.
The clerk trailing him and chattering was just as annoying, his discomfort indescribable.
"Sir, how about mist flowers? Their meaning is 'moment of love'..."
"I'll take those."
"What shape ribbon?"
"Please handle it."
Masera hurried him along, eager to leave.
After quickly buying the mist flower bouquet and heading out, Masera stopped by Capital Defense Command to look into the factory gas explosion from a few days prior—only to face extreme teasing from the people there.
"A bouquet?! Man, marriage turned you into a lover boy!"
"Never thought I'd see the day Brigadier General Masera buys flowers. So that's what the princess's man looks like—adorable."
Masera was filled with deep regret.
'Shouldn't have bought the flowers first.'
Enduring the shame and humiliation, he met with the intelligence officer and heard about the explosion.
"The site was a firearms factory where spies were running illegal arms deals. Conflict arose with an arms smuggling ring, and gas exploded in the process. All the sellers and spies got caught in the blast and died."
Masera checked the photos of the identified spy casualties.
"... "
Among them was the man who had tailed them from the Media observation wheel.
He had ordered the man hunted and killed, but he'd gotten lucky and escaped—only to die here.
"Looks like fallen imperial forces are mixed in with the radical Free Society faction."
The intelligence officer in charge of the investigation nodded at Masera's words.
"We issued orders to disband the Free Society after the engagement party attack, but they're still operating in secret."
The officer added some advice.
"They might target your wife, so be careful."
On the way back, Masera paused upon seeing an opal hairpin displayed in a jewelry store window.
"Shiny, huh."
That was what Diego had said.
Opal appeared like a white gem at a glance but held a multitude of colors within—somehow very much like Cynthia.
After buying the hairpin, he stopped in front of a dessert shop.
"Something to eat."
It was something Cynthia liked.
He bought a chocolate cake topped with cherries, remembering how she'd said the cherries were delicious.
Leaving the dessert shop, Masera startled at his reflection in the glass window: himself holding a cute cake box and a ribboned bouquet.
The unfamiliar sight was utterly unbearable. He wanted to hurry back before anyone saw.
After buying materials for building a cat house as the last item, he headed back to the mansion.
And the moment he entered the front garden, he spotted Cynthia beaming brightly at Brigadier General Steve, who was nitpicking every detail of her work.
She was free to smile, but for some reason, irritation surged within him.
