If I Were Reborn, I Wouldn’t Marry You - Chapter 102

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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 102
“Young Marquis Noyen. Let’s have a word in private.”
Emilian Noyen, who had been rubbing his back—which barely hurt at all—flinched visibly at the chill in Leonhardt’s voice.
“Right now?”
Emilian Noyen asked with a desperate expression, clearly hoping for a reprieve.
“Yes. This instant.”
But Leonhardt’s reply was unwavering.
“Come to my room for a moment.”
Still, Emilian Noyen was the heir to a prestigious noble house.
As we moved toward the room to preserve his dignity, Emilian Noyen stood firm like an ancient tree with deep roots.
“Couldn’t we talk here instead?”
The way his eyes darted about suggested he believed being scolded here was preferable to following Leonhardt away.
‘Clever little schemer.’
Leonhardt glanced toward me and exhaled a silent sigh.
He had intended to scold him thoroughly enough to bring tears, which would be impossible with me present.
He was making a concerted effort to appear considerate and affectionate toward me, and he couldn’t afford to show that side of himself.
Emilian Noyen, whose mind worked with remarkable agility when his own interests were at stake, immediately caught on to Leonhardt watching my reaction.
“I absolutely must insist we talk here!”
Emilian Noyen declared boldly, then threw himself flat on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum over an unpurchased toy.
Though he squeezed his eyes shut in fear that Leonhardt might lose his temper, he showed no sign of budging from the ground—like a pancake burnt and stuck to the pan.
The Servant’s face had turned as red as a tomato from sheer embarrassment, and he stared blankly into the Sky as if attempting an out-of-body experience.
He wanted to escape this moment, but professional ethics prevented it, so he seemed to be trying to transcend his physical form.
“Hey, this is my room!”
I kicked Emilian Noyen lightly with the tip of my foot in indignation.
It was a breach of etiquette that would have shocked Lady Grace had she witnessed it, but no one present thought my reaction was excessive.
Emilian Noyen was simply that much of a nuisance.
The Servant, apparently deciding this had gone far enough, attempted to forcibly lift Emilian Noyen, who had become one with the floor.
“Good heavens, Young Master. What is this spectacle!”
Yet Emilian Noyen—a child with an extraordinary lifestyle of skipped meals, minimal exercise, and reversed sleep patterns—somehow possessed enough strength to resist the adult Servant’s efforts.
“Does he have suction cups on his back or something?” I muttered with a hollow laugh.
I shook my head in disbelief and suddenly suggested with the expression of someone developing a headache.
“Just do it here.”
The moment I, as the room’s owner, gave my permission, Emilian Noyen—previously in human slime mode—sprang to his feet with unbridled joy.
“Yes, yes! Since Miela approves, let’s do it here.”
“Here?”
Leonhardt’s brow furrowed with displeasure instead.
I turned away from Emilian Noyen, who was running through hopeful scenarios in his mind, and smiled sweetly at Leonhardt.
“Yes, we’ll step out.”
I waved cheerfully and left, saying I’d take a stroll through the Garden and return.
Miela waved her hand cheerfully and left, saying she would go for a walk in the Garden and come back.
I made sure to attend to the Maids and Emilian Noyen’s Servant with equal care.
“Miela.”
Emilian Noyen reached out desperately, grasping for Miela—his only pillar of support.
‘Not a chance.’
But just before his hand could reach her, Leonhardt struck the back of it sharply, forcing him to withdraw.
Crack.
The blow rang out with an almost cheerful sound.
At that noise, the Servant who had been the last to leave the room glanced back at Emilian Noyen for the briefest moment before firmly closing the door and departing.
Emilian Noyen realized there was no escape left and fell into despair.
“Young Marquis.”
Leonhardt called out to Emilian Noyen in a sinister voice.
“Y-yes! Yes, sir!”
Emilian Noyen, blessed with sharp survival instincts, responded like a freshly enlisted soldier whose discipline had been properly instilled.
…And after some time had passed, Emilian Noyen witnessed Leonhardt venting his fury without restraint—seizing the moment when Miela was absent.
Thanks to that brief but enlightening session, Emilian Noyen took several steps closer to the path of redemption.

* * *
The moment Emilian Noyen left the room with his spirit thoroughly deflated and his eyes bloodshot, Miela returned as if taking over a shift.
Having apparently crossed paths with the departing Emilian Noyen, Miela returned with a smile and began sharing her observations.
“Wow, our birthdays are so close that we basically became friends right after birth, but I’ve never seen him look so disciplined before.”
Miela chattered on about how surprised she was by his sudden transformation, how the loose screw that was always rattling around seemed to have finally tightened properly.
Though Leonhardt had done nothing more than talk to Emilian Noyen, he flinched nonetheless and quietly exhaled a breath of relief.
Since Miela was known for her kindness toward children and the weak, he had been somewhat anxious about her reaction.
“You did well. He deserves more punishment than that.”
Miela patted Leonhardt’s shoulder lightly in encouragement, offering her praise.
Leonhardt stiffened at the sudden physical contact, and his heart nearly stopped at her next words.
“You’re the only man allowed to enter my room without permission.”
…In other words, this meant he was a special exception to her.
More so than Emilian Noyen, whom she had known since infancy and forgave with mere reproach even for such rudeness.
His heart tingled.
A drowsy, dreamlike sensation washed over him.
Leonhardt gazed intently at Miela’s profile.
He wanted to confirm this wasn’t a dream, that he had heard correctly.
Then, as Miela glanced toward the doorway and Emilian Noyen’s transgression came back to mind, she clenched her fist and turned to face Leonhardt.
“Next time, don’t just talk! I let it slide this time because he’s still a child. Really.”
Miela pouted her lips.
The sight was so vivid and full of life.
This was definitely not a dream.
Upon realizing this truth, every nerve in his body seemed to heighten with exhilaration.
Miela seemed unaware of what she had just said, but Leonhardt felt tears welling up in his eyes at the unexpected opening she had given him.
Winning Miela’s heart was the sole objective of his life, yet it had always felt impossibly distant.
It was as though he’d been walking forward with his eyes fixed on the destination, only to realize he’d come far closer than expected.
Though the distance still yawned before him, a delusion seized him—that if he merely reached out his hand, he could touch her. His entire body trembled with the sensation.
Unable to bear the overwhelming rush of emotion, Leonhardt found himself asking without thinking.
“Do you like me?”
And immediately, he regretted it.
The narrow gap he’d so carefully closed threatened to tear open in an instant.
As Leonhardt floundered in confusion, uncertain how to salvage the moment, Miela answered.
“…Yes, I do. Very much.”
Her tone was reluctant, almost sullen, yet her voice carried unmistakable conviction.
It was likely meant in the same way one might say they liked green grapes or the color pink.
A kindness offered so he wouldn’t feel foolish for speaking carelessly.
Yet Leonhardt, knowing this truth, felt nothing but joy.
It was as though delicate petals had drifted down on a gentle breeze into the charred darkness within him, settling softly.
Leonhardt scraped together every last shred of courage he possessed and carefully drew it forth.
“I like you more than anyone in the world.”
His insufficient courage had masked itself as playfulness, yet it was absolute sincerity.
More precisely, it was merely the smallest fraction of that sincerity, barely exposed to light.
His feelings for Miela ran too deep to be captured by something as gentle as the words “like you most.”
The moment he spoke even a fragment of his heart aloud, he felt joy, terror, and sorrow all at once.
Leonhardt trembled with fear, dreading what response might return from Miela.
And the answer that came was something he had never once imagined in his entire life.
“Maybe I…feel the same way?”
Miela’s cheeks flushed crimson as an apple as she coyly ended her words with a question.

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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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