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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent
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"By the time you read this, I won't be in this world anymore!"
"Damn it."
Masera, with a hunting rifle slung on his back, ran through the snowy forest, breathing heavily.
In the midst of a blizzard at night, there was no way a civilian like her could survive. Moreover, starving beasts must have come down from the nearby mountains.
"Don't grieve too much or feel too sorry for me. I can say it was a very happy life. I had a house to warm my body, the warmth of people, and delicious meals. It was a wonderful life.
And above all, it was a peaceful world after the war ended.
Thank you all. Brigadier General, who was always prickly but seems to have a warm heart..."
That was all there was to the unfinished will she had left behind.
Why had she left behind an incomplete will and departed?
For war victims and those suffering from depression, most ended their lives by their own hands.
He was fed up with that reality.
"I..."
Masera climbed a high hill, exhaling a puff of white breath.
He had once thought of making her unhappy, but this was not what he wanted.
"Even if you hate me, I don't want you to die."
He rubbed his face and caught his breath.
"If only I'd told her that I wasn't angry at all, that I trusted her."
He knew well that a casual word to someone could pull the trigger.
"Colonel Giz. The war is over now—what should I do to live?"
"Do what you want to do."
He had answered carelessly, unaware it was her final question as a subordinate.
"Then, I think I'll set off on a long journey."
He hadn't known that his always-smiling subordinate was suffering.
That regret and self-blame lingered as his trauma.
He didn't want to regret anymore.
Masera looked around the entirely white forest.
"That's..."
In the distance, through the dense fir trees, he spotted smoke rising.
Recalling there was a hunter's cabin inside, he pushed through the deep snow.
By now, it was full night.
Enduring the harsh blizzard, he finally reached the cabin where smoke billowed.
Creek.
He flung open the heavy wooden door and let out a sigh mixed with absurdity, his shoulders slumping.
"Huh? How did you know to come here?"
Cynthia asked casually.
She was bundled up in oversized winter gear, earmuffs on, looking snug.
Not content with that, she was grilling skewers over the bonfire in the center of the cabin.
She looked less like someone seeking death and more like a survival expert specialized for wild winters.
"...Why."
The snow piled on Masera's shoulders crumbled off.
"Why are you here?"
Cynthia, oblivious to the anxiety he'd felt on the way, just smiled brightly.
"A cat being chased by an eagle fled this way, so... after the chase, we ended up here. We almost both froze to death. Anyway, I was planning to head back tomorrow morning."
A yellow cheese cat poked its head out from her arms.
"Ah."
He had no energy left to scold her for this unexpected winter training. She wasn't someone easy to get mad at anyway.
Masera, with a hollow expression, said,
"Cover your ears until I return."
He stepped out, closed the door, and fired a flare to signal he'd found her.
Returning to the cabin, Masera plopped down by the bonfire.
Cynthia, who had been covering her ears, smiled gently and lowered her hands.
"...Well done."
Masera rarely praised her.
He decided not to mention the will to Cynthia. He'd even told the maid to pretend it was still in place and ignore it.
Seeing Masera's exhausted look, Cynthia asked,
"Did you... come looking for me by any chance?"
"It was nice weather for a walk."
"Come on, that's a lie."
She offered him a perfectly roasted skewer.
"I'm an expert at camping. Great at outdoor stuff too. Hunter cabins like this usually stock firewood, winter clothes, and food. They're basically emergency shelters for sudden blizzards."
"You know your stuff."
He asked her, who was cutting meat into tiny pieces for the kitten,
"Have you named the cat?"
"Of course. All five of them."
"What's the troublemaker's name?"
Cynthia held up the cheese cat and answered,
"Marius Serawdis Laverus Cheese II."
It sounded grand, like a founder's name.
He didn't catch that it shortened to "Masera Cheese the Second."
Masera glanced at the door rattling in the wind. As Cynthia said, they'd probably have to wait until morning to head back.
"By the way, aren't you cold?"
She approached with a floral scarf and wrapped it around his neck. He didn't resist. It was cozy, infused with her scent.
Masera looked at her face as she focused on tying the knot.
"I."
"Hm?"
Masera sighed, brushing snow from his bangs.
"I'm not mad. I know you're not."
Cynthia tapped the neatly tied scarf.
"I know."
She blew on her hands in wet gloves and continued,
"It's because you trust me, right?"
Masera unwittingly removed her glove and gripped her bare hand.
Cynthia flinched, trying to pull away, then widened her eyes.
"Whoa! Your hands are so warm!"
"You'll get frostbite."
"Can I sit right next to you? You're super warm, Brigadier General."
"No... I mean, do as you like."
Cynthia curled up beside him. She looked so small like this.
Masera gazed quietly at her carefree face.
'Why did she write that will? Is being with me actually making her unhappy?'
It gave him a headache, but he decided not to ask first. He didn't know how she'd take his words.
'I need to read her mind.'
She was skilled at wearing masks.
Before long, her head bobbed slowly up and down. Exhausted or cozy, she was dozing off.
He rested her head on his shoulder.
Suddenly, he felt an impulse to wrap his arms around her small, fragile shoulders, but he squeezed his eyes shut.
And murmured a military song under his breath.
The next morning, fortunately, the snow stopped, and soldiers arrived on snow sleds to pick them up.
Cynthia was inwardly touched that Masera had come searching for her out of worry.
She said to Masera, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink,
"Brigadier General, tennis. If I win, one more wish."
Even if he learned she was a weed destined to be uprooted someday, not a greenhouse flower... would he still be on her side?
"Of course."
He said it indifferently, but his voice was kind.
In any case, the short but intense commotion ended.
After that day, Masera's attitude toward Cynthia subtly changed.
Cynthia was busy preparing her first social party, but he kept appearing before her, striking up conversations or hovering like he was watching over her.
After circling like reconnaissance, he approached Cynthia, who was making tea party invitations with Mary and Ginny, and said,
"Meals—we'll always have them together unless something comes up."
"Got it."
Cynthia agreed readily and dove back into making invitations.
Watching her, Masera added,
"And once a day, we'll have a short tea time."
Had he eaten something weird? Why say things he never did before?
Cynthia shot him a puzzled look.
Sensing the odd vibe, Mary and Ginny, colored pencils in hand, hesitated and stepped away.
"Some good beans just came in."
"Oh, nice."
"Then let's go now."
He pulled Cynthia to the outdoor garden and settled in a sunny spot.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and explained his intent.
"I thought warm coffee in the sunlight would be nice."
But the coffee cooled to iced Americano in 10 seconds, and Cynthia was weak to sunlight.
'Is he trying to cheer me up?'
She savored the rare sentimentality.
As he sipped his coffee, he asked cautiously,
"Is there anything you want to tell me? Like your mood lately, or things that need improving..."
He wanted to hear about her depressed inner thoughts, her true feelings, her grievances...
"Plenty. I haven't finished telling you about the village chief who got tangled with an arms smuggling ring while trying to get a gun to fight the wild boar that wrecked the fields?"
Cynthia had endless chatter.
"On the way to complain about a missing order, I snagged an organization member's briefcase... and it happened to have plans for taking down an executive!"
Mid-story, she was startled when Masera grabbed both her hands on the table.
"What? It's not even a scary story."
"Ah, this is."
"Have meals together always, don't leave her alone, get some sunlight even if just for a short walk or tea time, talk a lot, and hold hands often."
He couldn't say he was faithfully following the psychiatrist's advice. Nor did he know how to explain it.
"Worried your hands might get cold."
"...?"
Cynthia pondered briefly, then intertwined their fingers.
"This way, they're thoroughly warm."
He looked down at her slender fingers wiggling. Sharing warmth in the cold felt better than expected.
