Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 109

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

Chapter 109
* * *
“That’s impossible.”
Philaf seized his subordinate by the collar, his eyes bloodshot with disbelief. He could not fathom this situation.
In truth, he had vaguely anticipated positive news in return. He harbored the conviction that no matter how much Deborah Simour feigned reluctance, once marriage negotiations were formally proposed, she would ultimately accept, unable to resist.
He possessed the credentials every family coveted in a son-in-law. Deborah adored luxury and splendor, and he had calculated that she would find it difficult to refuse his background, wealth, and the title of Duchess.
Yet the situation was unfolding in a manner that alarmed him. Deborah strolled through the Commercial District with Isidore, conducting herself as though marriage negotiations were beneath her notice, making a mockery of him.
An unmistakable rejection.
As though struck by a cudgel, his skull throbbed with numbness. Denying this humiliating reality, he bellowed with murderous intent, as if he might throttle his attendant on the spot.
“My father said to stop bringing up marriage negotiations? Are you jesting with me now?”
The attendant trembled as Philaf erupted in rage, his face flushed with wounded pride.
“Here we go again!”
As Philaf raised his fist, Duke Montes appeared with an indignant expression.
“Ah, Father.”
“Jesting? Duke Simour received a letter after three years and joked in private circles that he would respond in six years. It’s Duke Simour who’s making a jest!”
“Duke Simour is a man of considerable pride, but if we persuade him over time….”
“That bastard is mocking me—why should I grovel before that cunning old snake?!”
“If we retreat now, our position will only appear more compromised.”
“The rumor spreading from Simour that he prefers virtuous men—that’s their roundabout way of saying your womanizing displeases them! Our standing is already damaged.”
“…I have resolved matters with Miya.”
“What good does that do? You provided the pretext, and now despite our possession of Simour’s formal letter, our justification has become muddled.”
“But Father, was it not you who first broached the subject of marriage negotiations?!”
Duke Montes’s expression darkened.
In truth, he had not anticipated Duke Simour responding with such resolve. He had assumed, as the saying goes, that parents always yield to their children—that Deborah would capitulate to Philaf. Instead, he received the same treatment in return. His miscalculation had brought him public disgrace.
“You ruin everything and dare blame your father? How is it you grow more pathetic with each passing day! Come to your senses!”
Duke Montes stormed out in fury, and Philaf, left alone and seething, defied the command to exercise restraint and made his way to the Academy the following day.
“…So, does this mean Knight Philaf has been rejected by Lady Deborah Simour?”
“Precisely. Like a ball—poof—”
“Ahem. For all his theatrics. Could it be he lost out to Knight Isidore?”
“Rejected after attempting to reject her. His reputation is in tatters… Ahem.”
“Why the long face? Hup!”
Several senior members of the Frat House, believing Philaf to be under house arrest, had been gleefully gossiping when his sudden appearance silenced them completely.
“Shut your mouths?! Damn it, who said anything about losing out!”
As he hurled profanities at them as though they were servants, the senior members, themselves from distinguished families, furrowed their brows.
“Please, compose yourself.”
“We meant no offense with our casual remarks, but there’s nothing to gain from overreacting to this matter.”
Due to the Montes House’s own blunder, public opinion had completely reversed. Now it appeared that Philaf was desperately clinging to Deborah Simour.
Much as Deborah had once appeared to cling to him.
“Damn it!”
Philaf kicked over his chair savagely and waited for a long time at the location where the Simour Family Estate’s carriage stood, until she arrived.
“Deborah Simour!”
Philaf rushed toward her as she walked past with indifference, but her escort knight blocked his path.
Standing behind her guards, her crimson eyes were utterly vacant. Those obsessive red eyes from before had been repulsive and chilling, but this apathetic gaze drove Philaf to madness. Now, as the situation had spiraled to such extremes, he understood it all the more acutely.
Deborah Simour no longer cared for him.
And Philaf found himself preoccupied with a woman who did not care for him.
He shot her a glare with his rough reddish-brown eyes.
“Deborah Simour, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“…?”
“You’ve thrown away the guaranteed wealth and honor I would have given you. You’ll surely regret this foolish choice later. But it’s not too late even now. If you just admit you were wrong….”
Deborah Simour let out a soft laugh and tilted her head mockingly.
“Those are things I can seize with my own hands—why would I demean myself by extending my palm to you?”
“….”
“Save your fantasies for home.”
Deborah Simour didn’t even acknowledge him. She spoke dismissively, as though addressing a worthless insect, and climbed into her carriage.
“Damn it.”
Philaf watched the carriage disappear like a dog chasing chickens, muttering curses under his breath. His chest burned with bitterness and pain. The Empire’s trite saying about regretting things after the carriage departs echoed in his mind, but he rejected it.
Such a pathetic emotion as regret was unbecoming of him.
“You’re the one who will regret this….”
But his bitter murmur crumbled weakly into the empty air.
* * *
‘So Philaf is the type to obsess over what he cannot have. Just like Deborah Simour.’
I thought the original Deborah Simour and Philaf were remarkably similar. The difference between them was that Deborah Simour was drawn to Philaf—who was identical to herself—as though by fate, while he despised her with a kind of self-loathing.
‘Well, it’s none of my concern anymore.’
Even though rumors had spread that I detested marriage proposals, if he continued to pester me, it would only tarnish his reputation in High Society. Deborah Simour had no reputation to lose, but Philaf had much to protect, so he would surely grow wary of the nobility’s judgment.
‘But did I ever say I absolutely had to be a mage?’
As I reflected on how my father’s opinions seemed heavily reflected in the recent rumors, I felt oddly conflicted.
‘Knight Isidore wouldn’t be able to use magic since he’s a knight… Wait? What was I just thinking?’
I clutched my head at the absurd tangent my thoughts had taken.
‘Ugh, why am I like this!’
It was all because of Knight Isidore’s shy smile.
‘With that face, when he smiles like that… what am I supposed to do, being the scatterbrained fool I am.’
Every time I recalled that sight, my fingertips and toes tingled. After mindlessly tapping my head against the desk, I carefully touched the white ceramic turtle figurine resting on the Study table.
It was a turtle with emerald-green eyes, just like Knight Isidore’s.
Before we parted that day, he had turned my insides upside down once more.
“How about you only drink in front of me from now on?”
“Huh? What? Why?”
“Would you like me to tell you?”
He smiled softly, elongating the corners of his eyes.
“Ah, no.”
“Actually, I think it’s not so bad that only I know the reason.”
In truth, I know it too. Isidore possesses delicate yet distinctly masculine hands, and he practices piano with those hands until his fingers bleed, unable to master a single piece.
…Probably because of me and my love for piano.
“I’m going insane.”
I muttered the words while burying my face in my hands.
* * *
Isidore lay sprawled across his desk, gazing endlessly at a ceramic cat figurine.
The figurine, with eyes as sharp and fierce as Deborah Simour’s own, possessed ruby-red pupils that gleamed like precious gems. He touched the cat with utmost care, as though one careless gesture might shatter it—its posture suggesting it would scratch anyone who dared approach.
Against his bluish-pale bare hand, the ceramic’s smooth, cool surface sent a sensation coursing through him. Strangely, a sweetness bloomed within him, as though he’d bitten into an entire handful of candy.
‘Surely, it didn’t feel like this at first.’
When Deborah Simour had gripped my hand, I’d been struck by a shock as though my senses were being seized by something external. It felt like a fuse igniting. I had never once imagined that someone as fastidious as myself could bare skin against another’s.
The urge to grasp that intense sensation and verify it properly consumed me.
‘Yet I fled as though suddenly coming to my senses.’
The next day, I attempted to touch Miguel with my bare hand, wondering if my fastidiousness had somehow vanished without my knowledge—but the attempt failed.
I became certain: Deborah Simour was the sole exception.
‘It’s severe. Truly.’
The more I dwelled on it, the more that moment of contact became beautified in my memory, and I found joy in knowing the lady was conscious of it, even slightly.
To the point where I smile foolishly while gazing at the ceramic cat. To the point where I sit before the piano at every opportunity, despite my skills improving so slowly.
Moreover, the fact that the lady pays Philaf no mind whatsoever brought me a base, petty joy.
‘I wish she would be more conscious of me.’
Even if not to the degree I am of her.
“Meow-”
Cookie suddenly leaped onto the table, attempting to snatch the ceramic cat figurine—the only object that appeared remotely interesting in this otherwise quiet, empty room.
“That won’t do.”
Isidore flicked Cookie’s nose lightly.
“Arf!”
Cookie bared his small, pointed teeth in protest, but Isidore remained unmoved.
It was the only object he had ever allowed into his private space. It held that much value.
‘At first, it was surely mere curiosity….’
I was curious, driven by stubbornness to delve deeper—yet instead, she crossed into my world without hesitation. As though she had always been its master, she occupies my consciousness and senses.
He exhaled softly.
Now there was no denying it. This unfamiliar yet sweet sensation of floating weightlessly.
On the other hand, the true nature of this relentless emotion—one that had ensnared him even through a casually mentioned marriage arrangement.

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