Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 9

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 09. With Effort, Even a Ruffian Can Become Something (2)
Not long after I sent out the invitations, a reply came from the Count’s household. And at the sunset tea time I hosted under my name, two beautiful sisters from the Count’s family attended.
I thought I could guess who the blockhead’s next lover would be just by looking at their faces, but both of them fell squarely within the blockhead’s strike zone, so I couldn’t tell them apart.
The elder sister was the type of beautiful woman with a bad personality at first glance—the kind the blockhead wanted to capture and keep—while the younger sister had an innocent face paired with glamorous curves, the type that would make him drool.
“Your Highness the Imperial Princess, we are honored to meet you.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness.”
“Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
I greeted the sisters with a gracious smile befitting a legitimate heir of the Imperial Family.
I planned to chat appropriately for a while, then head to the Empress Palace Garden to loiter around when it was time to wake the blockhead up, but then I suddenly realized these two were my age.
Both appeared to be in their early twenties, and before I died, I had been twenty-one years old.
W-what do people my age even talk about?!
I, who had intended to engage in simple Imperial Family talk, suddenly panicked and deeply pondered what had been popular among my peers sixteen years ago.
But there was no way I could remember what topics were trendy back then when I couldn’t even remember the blockhead’s lover’s face from sixteen years ago.
Then perhaps a subject that people still talk about regardless of the passage of time would be good?
Ah, that’s right. There it was. This wouldn’t fail.
I! Could! Have! A! Conversation! With! My! Peers!
“Tell me, what do you think is most important in conquering Loruruje Fortress?”
Yes! This was it!
Loruruje Fortress in the Media Kingdom had never permitted a single breach during my entire lifetime—an impregnable stronghold.
How to conquer this solemn fortress armed with the latest firepower was an excellent topic of conversation for the people of the Empire regardless of the era.
“L-Loruruje… Fortress, you say?”
“Um… Your Highness. My specialty is… family medicine.”
Ah, yes. Attempting conquest from a different angle rather than military methods was also a good discussion topic.
The Count’s elder daughter suggested poisoning the fortress’s food supplies to render the troops unable to fight, but when I asked how she would overcome the fundamental problem of “poisoning the food supplies,” she couldn’t answer.
And if poison were to be used anyway, contaminating the water supply would be more practical than the food.
The idea was good, but the method to execute it was difficult—that’s precisely why it’s an impregnable fortress.
Next, the younger sister, who specialized in history, raised her hand to present.
She opened her remarks by noting that according to ancient texts, there were records of deliberately surrendering in similar situations, then creating internal discord to have the gates opened from within.
“But this isn’t wartime. Surrender itself would be extremely unnatural.”
Setting the premise that it isn’t wartime, how would you even get people inside?
Moreover, we don’t know where the gate-opening mechanism is located or how it operates. How would you solve that?
“That is…!”
The Count’s sisters earnestly proposed various plans, and I refuted them one by one, guiding the discussion to find the best method we could conceive.
Talking with peers my age is so much fun! This is my first time having a conversation with girls for over an hour!
“Right. What you must first consider is timing. You must start by discussing under what advantageous circumstances and conditions to begin fighting. You can’t use certain methods under international law. We must proceed with that as our premise.”
“Huff, huff. Your Highness, couldn’t we do something else and have fun?”
“Y-yes! Sister is absolutely right!”
Aw, just when it was getting fun.
But it’s about time for the blockhead to wake up anyway, so shall we wrap up the tea time and move to a different location?
“Um, well…”
“Yes, Your Majesty! What is your command?”
“I shall obey whatever you decree!”
“House play!”
“House play is the best! Your acting is truly remarkable! Even though you’re studying family medicine!”
“Splendid, Your Majesty! House play is the greatest pastime in all of history!”
Why are you all crying? Do you love house play that much?
So house play has become trendy among twenty-year-olds these days. I had no idea.
“Then I shall be the mother.”
“I shall take the role of father, Your Majesty!”
“Then I shall be the daughter!”
Unlike before, they all seemed suddenly energized. House play must truly be the rage among young adults these days.
When I suggested we relocate, the maidservant and the young ladies of the Count’s household scrambled to gather various props.
Newspapers, dishes, and sundry items—once we settled in the Empress Palace Garden, we scattered the smaller props about and enlisted the maidservants as living scenery.
For props like grandfather clocks, walls, windows, and doors, I had Emily and the other maidservants take on those roles, and as always, they faithfully executed my commands.
Ding-dong.
The second daughter, playing the father, pressed firmly against the maidservant acting as the door and made a doorbell sound with her mouth.
So your household has a doorbell. As expected of a count’s estate—quite the fine home.
“Welcome home, Father!”
Just as my own mother once did, I sat with a pipe between my lips, knitting away, when the eldest daughter of the Count’s house rose gracefully from her seat and went to take the coat from the second daughter playing the father.
It was then that the second daughter’s serene expression underwent a dramatic transformation.
“This woman doesn’t even come to greet her husband when he returns home!”
“Father, please calm yourself! Mother has always been like this, hasn’t she?”
“Enough! Let go of that!”
“Kyaaah!”
Good heavens, what is this?
Do you all live like this at home? Surely not?
Flustered, I quickly rose and hurried over saying, “Welcome home, dear,” but the father—the second daughter—was already so thoroughly offended that she trudged up the stairs muttering about how there wasn’t a single person in this household worth staying for.
“Mother, Mother, couldn’t we just get a divorce? I can’t live here!”
“Oh, oh dear. I can’t even use my powers—how could I possibly support you?”
“I could do chores and odd jobs!”
Eldest daughter, you really do act well, don’t you?
I’m terrified now. Can we please stop this house play?
Playing the mother in a family that seemed to need domestic violence counseling was absolutely exhausting, yet the eldest daughter—possessed by some theatrical fervor—drove the narrative forward, orchestrating her parents’ twilight divorce.
As divorce became imminent, the husband realized his wife’s worth, regret bloomed, sentiment dripped thick, and the mother wept upon receiving an armful of flowers she’d never been given before.
And then came the grand finale: divorce.
“I do hope that if your heart ever changes, you might return to me.”
“I wish you well. Farewell, my dear.”
What is this? What kind of house play has such perfect narrative structure?
Eldest daughter, shouldn’t you have enrolled in the drama department instead of family medicine?
“What is all this commotion!”
The playhouse performance ended, and the maidservants who had acted in the set pieces were applauding with genuine emotion when the blockhead appeared, slouching in.
I knew he’d show up if there was loud commotion here. Honestly, he’s like a stray dog—wherever young women gather and chatter, there he goes.
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Please forgive us, Your Majesty.”
“Hey there.”
When I greeted him casually again, the dim-witted pretty boy stared at me for a long moment before turning his gaze toward the young ladies of the Count’s household.
“Because of you, I cannot rest at ease. You will surely pay the price for this transgression.”
“W-we shall obey any command, Your Majesty.”
“We have committed a grave sin, Your Majesty.”
Ha, blockhead, you’re always playing around anyway. Can’t rest at ease—what nonsense.
As I made retching sounds, the blockhead stared at me for another long moment before linking both arms with the Count’s daughters.
“Ahem. Then let me hear your explanations first.”
When the eldest and second daughters bowed in greeting, I watched the blockhead lead both women toward the Main Palace.
Ah, I see. So his next lover wasn’t just one of them—it was both.
“Good grief, a wretch worse than a dog.”
Even a dog doesn’t cling to every woman it sees like that.
What kind of creature is this?
This empire needs to collapse soon.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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