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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Partner
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“...You respected me?”
The duke muttered with a dazed expression.
‘Even my wife doesn’t acknowledge me... For a stranger who’s not even close to say something like that. And Masera’s wife at that.’
Henry Lecanosa Duke, who had become the head of the ducal house at a young age, had lived his life under countless expectations.
In other words, he had lived under the constant scrutiny of people desperate to find even the slightest flaw in him.
Under strict and conservative standards, instead of praise, the only words he heard as a child were, ‘That’s only natural with your excellent bloodline.’ It was inevitable that such a child would develop certain deficiencies.
He grew into an adult with strong pride but low self-esteem, parched for recognition.
“You... why are you suddenly praising me?”
The duke rubbed his forehead and asked.
“It’s not sudden; it’s past perfect tense, isn’t it? You deserved all the praise. Handsome looks, wealth, ability, status—not a single flaw. Anyway, I was disappointed.”
Cynthia planted her hands on her hips and made an angry face.
The duke faltered. Being disappointed meant she’d had that much expectation, didn’t it?
“I’m not that kind of person by nature. The woman followed me into the room...”
Without realizing it, he was making excuses he hadn’t even told Helen.
He harbored resentment toward Helen, who was overbearing and knew nothing of gratitude, and so he had used the incident as an excuse to humiliate her in return.
Cynthia wore an expression of utter disbelief.
“Argh, you bad person. I was planning to visit often to ask for advice on International Foundation matters.”
“Well, you can come anytime.”
The duke spoke urgently, then paused.
‘Why am I feeling this regret?’
He couldn’t fathom why such a desire for approval from a mere pretender was surging within him.
Evening dinner time.
Valeria still felt uneasy but apologized to Cynthia, convinced it had been a misunderstanding on her part.
“It’s fine. There’s this play trending lately called Sister-in-Law’s Dangerous Temptation. That’s how big a social issue it is. I’d have suspected the same.”
Cynthia looked utterly unconcerned.
For reference, the play Sister-in-Law’s Temptation had a twist ending where the younger sister was obsessed not with her brother, but her new sister-in-law—but Valeria glossed over it.
Cynthia added,
“Besides, getting such a beautiful new sister-in-law— I can’t even tell you how thrilled I am. Mind if I tag along on your honeymoon? We can skip boring brother Karos; it’ll be way more fun just us girls.”
Valeria gazed quietly at Cynthia’s sparkling eyes.
‘What is this? It’s absurd, but somehow more appealing...?’
There was something captivating about Cynthia’s affable personality that drew people in.
‘No. People who act this innocently always have the darkest intentions. I won’t fall for it.’
Valeria bristled with caution, like a traveler resisting the sun stripping away their disguise.
Meanwhile, Helen ate in silence, her face as cold as a frozen meal.
A chill hung between Helen and the duke. They seemed utterly disconnected, despite sharing the same space.
The invited Izac Major General and his wife were in equally poor spirits.
They had tried to resolve the villa incident, only for their innocent subordinates to get swept up instead.
Whether to lighten the mood or simply indifferent, Cynthia peered at Masera’s plate with a cheerful voice.
“Whoa, the sauce is sprinkled in a heart! I should chant a ‘become delicious’ spell.”
“You just sprinkled it yourself. And what’s this ‘become delicious’ spell?”
To Masera’s question, Cynthia formed a heart with both hands and put on a solemn face.
“Wanna try together? Moe moe kyu...”
“Absolutely not.”
He refused outright, sensing it was beyond his tolerance.
Lecanosa Duke watched the two in silence.
Cynthia chattered nonstop—about how someone had smashed her carefully built snowman, or how the sweater she’d knitted for kittens had unraveled into a mesh from their play. Pointless stories.
Masera gave curt replies like “Yes” or “Ah,” but his eyes held a gentle warmth deep down.
“...”
The duke recalled seeing Cynthia practicing tennis alone at the barracks not long ago.
Her cold hadn’t fully healed, yet she was pushing herself. When he asked why, her cheeks flushed red as she answered:
“The brigadier general likes tennis. I’m practicing so we can play together.”
Suddenly, Cynthia’s past words about “recognition” came to mind. Acknowledging each other’s differences, respecting them, and putting in the effort.
“...”
That was precisely the kind of married life he had longed for all those years ago.
In the duke’s eyes, Masera was making the effort too.
“I like this. Spicy.”
“Mm. Tear gas flavor.”
The man who never touched spicy food was now eating the hottest pepper pickle—that said it all.
They say the one who changes you is your fated partner.
The duke felt a strange jealousy toward Masera.
Cynthia threw herself into volunteer work in earnest.
The schedule was set for twice a week, on weekends.
Today’s volunteer site was Raphael Orphanage on the capital’s outskirts, home to children who had lost their parents to war.
Beyond the six official members, plenty more had shown up to rack up foundation volunteer hours.
This meant Karos Queensguard, Edford, Isaac Rodriguez Major, and others Masera found irksome were all gathered in one place.
Masera, attending with his unit members, looked deeply uncomfortable.
Karos had come with his fiancée-to-be; Edford seemed to be slyly volunteering to scout bridal candidates...
But why was Lecanosa Duke here? And without Helen.
“...Why are you here?”
Masera asked the duke with a reluctant expression.
“I think I more than qualify. I plan to donate quite generously for such a good cause.”
The duke replied shamelessly, then approached Cynthia to announce his donation—prompting her to clap in enthusiastic praise.
“What.”
Masera couldn’t grasp whatever scheme the man was playing at.
Then, something soft and warm gripped his finger. He looked down.
“Papa?”
A three- or four-year-old blonde child gazed up at Masera.
Masera examined his platinum bangs, tugged by the child.
‘Must take after a blonde father.’
Masera knew well that these orphans’ sole hope was “parents coming to take them home”—even after grasping their parents’ deaths.
He offered a gold-foiled chocolate, but the child clutched his hand with both of theirs, refusing to let go. As if vowing never to release it again.
“How adorable. The brigadier general must be a favorite.”
A lady approached to wrap a scarf around the child.
Knowing it was a heartbreaking situation, not just cute, Masera sighed.
That was when Cynthia approached him.
“We’re short on cake ingredients. Wanna go grab some together?”
Spotting the child clinging to Masera’s hand, she smiled brightly.
“You come too. It’s okay not to hold on so tight now. I won’t let you get lost.”
The child released its desperate grip the moment Cynthia spoke.
In wartime, the phrase children heard most from parents was “Never let go of my hand.” That was why so many believed they’d lost their parents because they let go.
How did she understand children’s hearts so well? Masera gazed more comfortably at the child now holding his hand.
Cynthia, out at the market with Masera, buzzed with excitement, peering at stalls everywhere.
“Look at this—swirly lollipops!”
She bought a huge one for the child tagging along.
“What a lovely family. Your daughter’s precious.”
Market vendors fawned over the child, pressing treats into their hands.
Caught in the misunderstanding somehow, Masera glanced at Cynthia and the child holding his hand. His ears grew hot.
He had never even imagined himself with a normal family.
Then came a rough bellow.
“Quit whining! Don’t you know we starve if you slack even a day?!”
A man yanking a woman’s hair by the roots—he looked familiar.
Masera was just stepping forward when—
“Let go of that hand?!”
Cynthia shouted first.
It was Anita and her sleazy husband Hans, from the honeymoon ship.
Cynthia bolted ahead.
Crack-!
The sound of a watermelon splitting rang out.
Cynthia had smashed her giant lollipop over Hans’s head.
“Aaaagh!”
Masera’s eyes went wide.
“You XX XXing XXX of a XX! What kind of lowborn trash is this?!”
Cynthia’s unheard barrage of vicious curses echoed through the market.
Masera hastily covered the child’s ears.
