At first, I thought he was about to ask me one of those weird “Have you heard the truth?” questions.
That would’ve been less shocking.
Why is my name coming out of your mouth?
“Who?”
“I was wondering if you knew a Lady Doris Redfield.”
“You mean the fiancée of the Third Prince? Then... well, as much as anyone else does, I suppose. Why are you asking?”
“Hmm...”
Rick rubbed his forehead, seemingly deep in thought, before he looked up and said, “...Maybe I should sober up and tell you later—”
“Don’t bother. You won’t sober up in a day or two anyway, so just say it now.”
Better to hear it while he’s drunk and honest than sober and calculating.
Rick blinked at me in mild confusion, then grabbed a glass of water and sat down at my table.
“It’s nothing significant, really. It’s just... when I first came to the capital, I heard that she was the most elegant woman in society.”
“People say that a lot. Personally, I think it’s more like, ‘She’s too quiet, so there’s nothing else to praise.’”
“Harsh, aren’t you? But from my experience, not even that seemed true. It was more like...”
“Like?”
This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.
“She didn’t seem like a noble at all.”
I almost spat out my non-alcoholic cocktail.
Well, of course! I wasn’t born a noble.
But I wasn’t doing anything shady, and objectively speaking, there was nothing to worry about. Calm down, Doris.
Even as I tried to maintain my composure, Rick continued speaking.
“No matter how kind a noble might seem when talking to you, there’s always a feeling that they’re treating you as someone beneath them. It’s inevitable—they were born and raised as nobles, after all.”
“...”
“But with her, it felt... different. Almost as if she was hiding something.”
I wasn’t hiding anything, really. It’s just that no one would believe the truth if I told them.
Still, hearing this from the guy who’s closest to being the story’s main villain was unsettling. Was he trying to dig up dirt on me?
‘Does he want leverage against the Redfields?’
My body tensed.
He was still drunk. Time to probe carefully.
“That’s an interesting theory. If she’s hiding something, do you think it’s about her background?”
“Could be. Or maybe not.”
“How can you feel suspicious but be so vague? If you’re going to accuse someone, at least have some evidence—”
“No, no, no.” Rick suddenly shook his head violently. He drained his drink in one go and blurted out, “I’m not trying to dig up weaknesses! Not at all!”
“Then what—?”
“It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“Florentine...”
“...Florentine?”
Wait. Wasn’t that the pastry I gave you at the last hunting tournament?
Don’t tell me this is one of those stories. You know, where the second male lead latches onto the protagonist over some random act of kindness, like “She gave me a sweet when no one else did!” If that’s what this is—
“Who gives someone a sticky pastry without even wrapping it in paper?”
“...”
Rick slumped forward onto the table.
“Hello? Mr. Skeleton Mask?”
No response. Just steady, rhythmic breathing.
He fell asleep?
“Hah.”
After all that tension, he just goes and knocks out.
Damn. I thought I could at least relax around Rick. Pretending to be noble is exhausting.
Just then, a smooth voice cut in.
“My, is this a drunken guest who’s forgotten their limits?”
“Madame Abigail.”
The woman in the black dress tilted her head toward Rick.
“Shall I have him removed?”
“You’re ruthless.”
“Salon guests are here to drink or talk. If they can do neither, they’re just an obstacle to the rest of the patrons.”
Madame Abigail raised her thumb and forefinger, ready to snap, but I shook my head.
“Leave him be. Everyone gets drunk sometimes.”
“How compassionate of you, Lady.”
“Not really. I just treat others the way I’d like to be treated.”
Seeing someone you’ve loved for years end up with someone perfect... How could anyone stay composed after that?
Maybe Rick didn’t want to risk exposing his feelings in a neighborhood tavern, so he came all the way to the Sacred Salon to drink instead.
He’s lost his family, his fortune, and now his unrequited love.
Not that I’d ever drink myself into oblivion like this, no matter how bad things got.
Madame Abigail smiled gently.
“I hope that kindness of yours is returned someday. Will you be participating in the next wager?”
“There’s not much to bet on in July, is there? It’s the middle of summer, and most people just take it easy.”
There are small festivals, sure, but nothing like the hunting tournament. It’s mostly a time for locals to enjoy themselves.
“At most, people will bet on trivial things, like who can drink more,” I added.
But Madame Abigail shook her head.
“It may seem like a time to rest. Lovers who met in spring and merchants who struck deals will be strengthening their bonds. But those are the most dangerous times.”
“Dangerous?”
“Relationships tend to fall apart once people think they know each other.”
“That’s true.”
“There may not be grand wagers like the hunting tournament, but by late July, there will be plenty of small opportunities for intrigue. I’m looking forward to seeing your insights.”
“Um... don’t expect too much.”
The only reason I won any bets earlier this season was because I knew the original story.
“Besides, my predictions for the hunting tournament were a complete disaster.”
“Results aren’t everything. I found your guesses fascinating. They were like glimpses of an unwritten future, painted like a story.”
“...”
“I believe in your abilities. Now, enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Madame Abigail snapped her fingers, and staff members approached. They set down a glass of fruit juice in front of me and an intense-looking herbal cocktail in front of Rick that seemed designed to snap anyone out of a drunken stupor.
“Hah...”
She thinks way too highly of me.
I’m just someone who can’t even follow the script of a novel I know by heart.
I can’t even manage to visit my idiot fiancé in the infirmary.
Sighing internally, I sipped my juice.
The only thing certain about this moment?
The steady rhythm of snores coming from behind Rick’s skeleton mask.
“Sleeping soundly, Rick Ray?”
Snoooore.
“You hear that?”
Snoooore.
“They say a lot of relationships will change in July.”
Snoooore.
“Maybe something will change for you, too.”
Snooooore.
“...What’s the point of saying anything?”
The second male lead isn’t supposed to fall in love with anyone other than the heroine. If he does, he’s not the second lead anymore. Just a side character trying too hard to stand out.
Of course, this world isn’t that novel anymore...
Whatever Rick Ray was dreaming about, he mumbled in his sleep.
“It was so sweet... Too sweet for me...”
***
“It was an honor to cross swords with Your Highness today!”
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
The young men who had sparred with Tristan in the royal training grounds bowed deeply. Tristan offered them a polite wave before climbing the stairs. Servants quickly gathered his sweat-soaked clothes and opened the door to a prepared bath, where hot water was already waiting.
It had been two weeks since the hunting tournament.
The satisfaction of wrapping up the event and the terror of facing a monster for the first time had both faded into faint memories.
But not everything had disappeared.
“This... might stay forever.”
Tristan examined himself in the mirror, focusing on the long scar that ran vertically from his left nape, across his collarbone, and down toward his chest. The claw marks left by the monster were unmistakable.
Yesterday, the royal physician had removed his bandages and assured him, “It’ll fade gradually.” Tristan could tell the words were a mixture of exaggeration and consolation.
From the days he first picked up a sword to the times he sneaked out of the palace to join rough brawls, Tristan had his share of scars. And with that experience, he knew—this one was bound to remain.
“I’ve never had a scar this large before... but there’s no helping it.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t entirely mind.
Scars were marks of survival.
This one was proof he had faced the monster—and lived.
He recalled the expressions on his parents’ faces when they had been briefed about the incident.
“Who caught it? Tristan? Not someone else?”
Of course it wasn’t his older brothers. The same brothers who only claimed victories handed to them at tournaments weren’t about to defeat a monster.
Their expressions hadn’t been joyful, either. It was more like hearing that a pampered pet had taken down a wolf.
“It’s fine.”
I’m not your surplus resource.
“We all need to understand that.”
The adrenaline coursing through Tristan after a morning of sparring fueled his combative spirit. He considered grabbing a quick meal and heading back to the training room for another round when a maid’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Your Highness, Lady Doris Redfield is here to see you.”
“...”
“She says she’s willing to wait as long as it takes this time...”
The adrenaline took a sharp backstep.