I Was Just Having Fun With The Time Limit - Chapter 141

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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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Ah, so this is what they call a blanket kick.
It wasn’t something I could control.
Below my navel, my lower body seemed to have a will of its own.
It fluttered like a pigeon’s wings.
“Ah… I’m doomed.”
I thought only my lower body had independent will, but my mouth did too.
I said “doomed” more than ten times over.
“I kept saying everything was fine, fine, nothing was wrong, I was happy.”
I couldn’t fathom what I was thinking yesterday.
When I came to my senses, I was being childish with Mother and Father.
‘Since it’s my birthday, could you indulge me a little?’
When I came to my senses, I was crying in Father’s arms while he stood rigid as stone.
‘Is it okay if I say I want to live? You won’t be angry?’
I remembered what Father said to me.
‘Didn’t you say it was fine?’
‘It’s fine, but it’s not fine, it’s not fine but it’s fine.’
And I couldn’t quite remember what we talked about after that.
If someone asked if I was unhappy, that was absolutely not the case.
I was truly happy, and this vitality brought me joy.
At twenty-one, or rather twenty years old, I had never felt such terror about the approaching death that awaited me.
This life was simply a gift given to me.
But why was I so frightened and afraid yesterday?
Father seemed angry for some reason.
‘I might have looked like a child who was lying.’
At least yesterday’s me didn’t look like ‘a child living a gifted life.’
That much was certain.
Because of yesterday, I felt like I had become a child who lied.
‘Father absolutely despises liars.’
Father said something, but I couldn’t quite remember what.
Yesterday I was just too busy pouting.
Father left my room, and Mother stayed by my side until the sun rose. We even had breakfast together.
She said she had a very important meeting in the morning, but apparently she postponed it or something.
I felt sorry about that, but strangely, I wasn’t entirely displeased either.
‘The Kerin Academy is apparently protesting heavily against Mother for unilaterally skipping the morning meeting?’
This birthday was complicated in many ways.
It was certainly joyful that Karin had regained her strength, but on the other hand, it also meant that the final boss—set as the ultimate villain in the novel—had regained her power.
She was almost expressionless as usual, but I truly couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“I can’t sleep.”
It was past 1 AM, yet sleep wouldn’t come.
I got out of bed.
I should drink some warm barley tea and try to sleep again.
With that thought, I rose from my seat when I noticed something on the windowsill.
‘A letter?’
A piece of stationery lay there.
From the way it looked, it seemed someone had shoved it through from outside.
It had a teddy bear drawn on it, and for some reason, it was unmistakably tacky stationery.
Through that peculiar tackiness, I could tell who had sent this letter.
‘It’s Father!’
Father covered everything with his natural beauty, but truthfully, he had little aesthetic sense.
Well, what does aesthetic sense matter to someone born like that anyway?
I realized this when I got a short haircut last year.
Whether it’s fashion, hairstyle, or taste—whatever it is, the finishing touch is always the face.
Even if Father went around looking like a complete mess, it would become a fashion show the moment he wore it.
If Father carried this stationery around, this tacky stationery would transform into something with a vintage, sophisticated feel through sheer magic.
‘But Father isn’t the type to write letters….’
Even in “The Villainess with a Time Limit Dies,” the only person who ever received a proper letter from Father was Mother.
I opened the letter and examined its contents.
[It was the first time you said you wanted to live.]
My goodness.
I couldn’t understand why such powerful magic emanated from each letter.
How much magic must he have poured into this for the letters themselves to carry such a strong magical scent?
‘He must have written this with tremendous care.’
Like someone who had never written a letter before.
It was filled with such discomfort and suffocation.
Yet strangely, within that discomfort, I could feel a solid love.
[I was grateful for that first time.]
So many words were omitted throughout that it was difficult to grasp the full meaning.
How should I put it.
Yes, this was close to stammering.
I had never seen someone stammer in a letter before.
[How much did you struggle alone?]
As I read the letters, it felt like I could hear Father’s voice.
You suffered a lot, didn’t you?
I understand your heart completely.
That’s what it seemed to say.
I hadn’t really thought I was suffering much in my daily life, but strangely, seeing those words made tears fall.
[All I can do for you now is indulge your whims.
But the future will be different. I, along with many others who cherish you, are researching the Narbidal stigma. Therefore, please do not give up.
When things are difficult, come to your parents’ chambers anytime. A daughter’s parents’ door is always open to her.]
And the final words seemed a bit strange.
[Your father who loves you more than anyone else.]
The handwriting had changed, and there was something oddly forced about it.
The magic embedded in the letters revealed as much.
I couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh.
‘This is Mother’s handiwork, isn’t it?’
Mother must have insisted (?) on it.
Either that, or Father had his letter inspected by Mother.
‘Ah. It seems he had it inspected after finishing the letter.’
If Mother had been involved from the start, the stationery would certainly have been far more refined.
There wouldn’t have been so many omissions that made it seem like he was stammering mid-sentence.
Mother writes with such fluent elegance, after all.
I held the letter close to my chest.
It was a shame to see the magic contained within it beginning to dissipate.
* * *
Dailsa rose from his seat.
“Your Majesty, why have you come in person?”
“Is there somewhere I shouldn’t be?”
“It is my duty to go when commanded and come when summoned. From now on, simply give your orders and I shall go.”
Dailsa had always preferred wearing black, and today was no exception.
Everything from head to toe was black.
“I told you to take some time off.”
“If I were to leave in this state, wouldn’t people find it strange? Viscount Lancer’s death is not a public secret, is it? I am enjoying my leave here.”
“….”
Lancer had died while tracking Wilhelm.
There was bound to be some connection to Wilhelm, and there were political complications in making Lancer’s death widely known.
“Are you managing?”
“There is nothing to not manage. Death has always been familiar to me.”
Dailsa conversed with Ron without the slightest wavering.
Ron, who had come out of concern for Dailsa, looked almost foolish—Dailsa appeared perfectly fine.
Neither Ron nor Dailsa were particularly talkative, so silence often fell between them.
Yet both were accustomed to such silence, so it was never awkward.
Ron spoke again.
“Your spirit has dulled considerably. In the old days, you would have drawn your blade and begun pursuit immediately.”
“My skills have deteriorated greatly for such action.”
The tendons in his wrists and ankles had been severely damaged.
While daily life was unaffected, he had become unable to wield a blade.
“However, should an opportunity come in the future to strike down Wilhelm, I humbly ask that you grant me that chance.”
Ron had spent a long time with Dailsa.
Before being Emperor and servant, they were comrades-in-arms.
Dailsa was like a calm river.
On the surface, the waters appeared calm, yet beneath those depths, a powerful undercurrent swirled with relentless force.
“Promise me.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
“I shall take my leave now.”
“Safe travels to you.”
To any observer, their exchange was mostly silence punctuated by sparse words—an enigmatic conversation.
Yet despite this, both believed they had shared something profoundly meaningful.
Just before Ron rose to leave the room, Dailsa added one final thought.
“It is not merely a matter of my own strength.”
In truth, she too longed to seize her blade and rush forth immediately.
Her mind burned with the desire to find Wilhelm and exact her vengeance by any means necessary.
“Within these palace walls, there is a spring I must protect.”
In her hand hung a single packet of dalgona.
It was the slightly burnt, caramel-colored confection that Isabel had made with her own hands the day before.
“A most precious spring indeed.”
“….”
“Lancer cherished that spring dearly. He was my childhood friend, after all.”
* * *
Several days passed in their own way.
I was now traveling toward the Bladock Duchy to honor my promise with Brother Sermon to visit Lake Yuri together.
I was genuinely moved upon receiving Father’s letter, yet I also felt embarrassed.
It seemed as though all the words I had spoken until now had become lies.
So in some way, I was using this promise as an excuse to escape.
Though honestly, I was also curious about Lake Yuri.
Across from me in the carriage sat Viscount Biatone, maintaining his usual composed posture.
I suddenly became curious and asked him a question.
“Teacher, you know…”
“Yes?”
I had merely spoken a few words, yet he showed me that radiant smile again.
Whenever I was with Viscount Biatone, my heart always grew warm.
“Why am I still so small?”
“Your Highness? Small?”
“I mean, I act so childish and…”
I gazed at my reflection in the carriage window.
I had just turned nine years old recently.
The bloodline of the Vilotian Royal Family grows remarkably quickly.
By the ninth birthday, one typically appears to be in their mid-to-late teens by South Korean standards.
“I’ve passed my ninth birthday, yet I still look so childish.”
“Is that not also true of Prince Michael?”
I had not given it much thought before, but now I found myself curious.
Why are Michael and I growing so slowly?
“Why isn’t Brother Michael growing?”
“Well, you see.”
Viscount Biatonn adjusted his glasses and paused for effect.
Viscount Biatonn had a talent for making trivial matters sound fascinating.
“It’s because he has no thoughts whatsoever.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s something scholars have recently discovered.”
Viscount Biatonn launched into his remarkable(?) explanation.

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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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