Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 16

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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 16
The moment Isidore’s name left someone’s lips, their faces flushed with excitement. What had been a pleasant, measured conversation moments before transformed into a stampede of frenzied enthusiasm.
Much like my own obsession with my favorite character.
“I’d sell my very soul just to lay eyes on Isidore’s face before I die!”
“Every woman must see him. They say one glimpse of that beautiful face is so unforgettable it haunts your dreams.”
“It haunts your dreams? Oh my, I wouldn’t want to wake up.”
“I hibernated like a bear all winter just for the chance to see him.”
The ladies’ gossip, bordering on obsession, showed no signs of stopping. Dazzling golden hair, a chiseled jawline sharp enough to cut, shoulders broad as the sea—a torrent of clichéd flattery poured forth endlessly.
‘He must be incredibly handsome.’
But why doesn’t he appear in the novel?
Despite the grandiose epithet “Golden Visconti,” that family’s eldest son never appeared in the story. Readers had secretly hoped he’d serve as the Harlequin hero in this otherwise dreary narrative.
‘A blonde pretty boy would be the real deal. How strange.’
The young ladies debated Isidore’s beauty with fervent intensity until a shop attendant arrived with cake and beverages, finally allowing them to cool their flushed faces with fans.
After satisfying their appetites somewhat, the conversation resumed.
“Oh, have you heard that story?”
“Which one?”
“The pink diamond was apparently purchased at auction by House of Simour.”
“Then the owner of that diamond must be….”
Everyone seemed to grasp who owned the pink diamond, and the atmosphere grew awkward.
‘That’s me.’
“Lady Deborah Simour must be absolutely insufferable. Her arrogance must know no bounds.”
“Honestly, just thinking about her makes me sick.”
“Pearls on a pig’s neck….”
At someone’s murmur, they all laughed cynically in agreement.
‘They’re being quite harsh.’
This was my first time hearing such brutal criticism of the body I now inhabited. My surroundings had always been filled with nothing but flatterers.
“What does it matter if her clothes and accessories are the Empire’s most extravagant and expensive? Her character is rotten.”
“I heard Lady Deborah Simour stole Helen away from designing clothes for Lady Seyrin.”
“Because of Lady Deborah Simour’s outrageous behavior, Lady Seyrin had to rush to another dressmaker for her gown. And her birthday was coming up too.”
I had no idea such a backstory existed.
But Deborah Simour was completely unaware of it. Helen had simply cowered in fear and complied on her own.
‘While Deborah Simour certainly wouldn’t have shown Seyrin any mercy, there’s something unfair about this.’
“She’s truly rude.”
“Rude? No matter that she’s the Duke’s daughter, she’s absolutely arrogant and presumptuous. You can’t find a shred of noble dignity in her.”
“Uncultured and incompetent too. Isn’t Lady Deborah Simour the only person with Simour blood who can’t handle mana at all?”
As if this fact were delicious gossip, they all laughed behind their fans, but I couldn’t bring myself to join them.
‘There’s no need to mock her complexes so deliberately.’
“And yet she struts about relying on her family name, pulling every trick in the book. It’s absolutely revolting.”
“Apparently these days people’s teeth chatter just seeing purple hair.”
As I listened to their cutting remarks with growing discomfort, the conversation that followed made my feelings even more complicated.
“Why would Duke Simour gift a pink diamond to Lady Deborah…”
The young lady, who had been speaking with an undertone of bewilderment at Duke Simour’s gesture toward me, hastily closed her mouth and sipped her tea.
‘So she couldn’t touch Duke Simour, but felt comfortable openly criticizing the relatively defenseless Deborah. How transparent your hypocrisy is.’
“Lady Deborah might… be a good daughter at home, you know?”
“Good?”
“As if!”
The awkward atmosphere created by the young lady’s near-slip of the tongue shifted to gossip about me, and the mood softened once more.
“Well, I’ve heard that Lord Velek despises even mentioning Lady Deborah. How utterly ruined must she be at home if he refuses to speak of his only sister?”
“No matter how magnanimous Lord Velek is, a younger sister who brings shame to the family name could never appear respectable in his eyes.”
“Lord Rozad likely shares Lord Velek’s sentiments.”
They seemed thoroughly displeased that I had claimed the pink diamond, and they went so far as to mention the twin siblings at home, desperately trying to diminish me in every way.
All these pretentious nobles spouting such trivial gossip in broad daylight—it was pathetic.
‘I’m fed up. Let me just go home.’
Crash!
That was when, as I rose to leave, I pushed my chair back with an irritated gesture, causing the table to shake, and the coffee cup I’d set on the edge tumbled to the floor.
At the loud shattering sound, all the young ladies’ gazes turned toward where I sat.
And as if by cruel fate, a sudden gust of wind swept across the Terrace, and the hood I’d pulled low was violently torn away.
“Gasp.”
“L-Lady Deborah…”
As my face, hidden beneath the hood, was revealed, a suffocating silence blanketed the Terrace.
The young ladies who had been gleefully insulting me moments before went deathly pale, their faces draining of all color. Some trembled as though they might faint at any second.
I had only meant to go home, but I had inadvertently exposed my identity to everyone. I was equally taken aback.
I froze momentarily at the unexpected turn of events, then belatedly realized I couldn’t simply stand here dumbfounded. I had overheard every word of gossip these lower-ranking ladies had uttered about me. I’d been insulted—was I really going to let it pass quietly?
That would make me look far too easy to push around.
‘That’s not happening.’
Before I died, I had sworn that if there was another life ahead, I would never live as a fool, meekly accepting humiliation. It was a resolve so bitter it could freeze frost in the height of summer.
Clenching my teeth, I opened my eyes as wide and sharply as I could, glaring at them.
“Are you finished? You’ve had your fill of gossip, and now you’ve finally gone quiet. How entertaining.”
My voice came out rough and fractured from tension. Fortunately, my low, raspy tone sounded sufficiently threatening, and the young ladies’ already pallid faces grew even more ashen.
I fixed my gaze on each of their faces, pressing my eyelids hard, then felt the need to shift my line of sight. Determined to look down at them arrogantly from above, I abruptly stood—only to catch my breath as my legs tangled beneath me from the tension.
I swallowed an internal scream as my body swayed.
Boom!
The round table in front of me toppled under my weight toward where the young ladies were gathered, and simultaneously, the vase sitting on it crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces.
“Eek!”
In an instant, the area descended into chaos, and shocked stares from onlookers fell upon me. Everyone seemed to think I had deliberately overturned the table.
‘I never intended to break the furniture…”
It was startling, but the milk was already spilled.
Deciding that overturning everything would actually appear more intimidating, I walked toward the petrified young ladies with deliberate slowness, buying myself time to think of what to say next.
Having seen plenty of such scenes before, I stood before the cluster of young ladies, shifted my weight to one leg, and slowly tilted my head.
“Now every dog and cat feels free to gossip about me.”
At the mention of dogs and cows, a faint humiliation flickered across their faces.
“Why that expression? You had the audacity to call me a pig despite being a lady of House of Simour, yet now that you’ve become dogs and cows, it offends you?”
Pearls before swine, as they say.
“M-Miss Deborah Simour, we… we didn’t mean…”
“Why the sudden stammering? Your tongue was so slick and smooth moments ago, as if oiled—has it broken already?”
As I lashed out, the eldest-looking young lady among them quickly stepped forward.
“W-we sincerely apologize. We’ve committed a grave offense against you, Miss. We’re truly sorry.”
“When you called me a pig, you barked like dogs who’d encountered a tiger, yet now you lower your tails so easily. How disappointing. If you lack the courage to bark to my face, you shouldn’t have yapped behind my back. I’ve heard quite clearly how you, so cowardly and base, dare to judge the aristocratic dignity I possess without understanding your place.”
Even as I spoke, I was astonished at how eloquent I could be.
“We’re truly sorry.”
“We have nothing to say even if we had two mouths.”
The other two young ladies trembled finely, their faces drained of color as they bowed their heads repeatedly.
“Mind that mouth of yours. Don’t prattle on so carelessly.”
After securing their silence and extracting one more sincere apology, I was about to end it when one of the young ladies, seemingly aggrieved at receiving one-sided criticism, bit her lip and rashly stepped forward.
“…But Miss Deborah Simour. Taking Seyrin’s costume designer by force before her birthday—everyone believes that was crossing the line.”
She was suggesting I’d violated an unspoken pact among noble ladies. It was a rule among ladies that even if you fancied a dress being made for someone who’d claimed it first or had an important event coming, you didn’t take it.
I tilted my head even more mockingly.
“Is Seyrin also one of those who keeps her tail tucked in front but barks loudly behind, like the rest of you?”
“…Pardon?”
“If she wants to protest my actions, tell her to come directly to House of Simour. We’ll settle it between us like proper aristocrats.”
I picked up the cold juice sitting on the table.
“Do you know what truly crosses the line?”
“…!”
“Your mouth, speaking carelessly when the person in question isn’t here to defend herself.”
I splashed the crimson cherry juice directly onto her face.
“And now I’m about to show you exactly what crossing the line really looks like.”
“Ah, gasp!”
Drenched in bright red juice, the young lady gasped in shock, then whimpered an apology before fleeing the Terrace.
The other young ladies used the excuse of comforting her to escape, scurrying away.
‘This much is still within bounds. If I were truly Deborah Simour, you all would…’
Above the empty space where they’d vanished, I gazed at the steaming hot tea and shook my head vigorously to dispel the terrible imaginings.
* * *
“Master, have you made much progress?”
“Can’t you see?”
Isidore replied curtly to Miguel’s question.
He sat upon a massive sheet of flattened oak leather, inscribing magical circles. Creating the spatial magic pouch he’d promised to give Deborah Simour required considerable effort and time.
Since it was a system where three types of magic—spatial displacement, expansion, and tracking—operated simultaneously, the complexity of the magical circle was exceptional. Moreover, the magical circle was one Isidore had personally refined, making it priceless.
‘Perhaps our young master’s ability to manipulate spatial magic surpasses even Duke Simour’s.’
As Miguel felt pride at this thought, Cookie, who’d been tapping her tail nearby, began gnawing on the oak leather with her teeth.
“Cookie! What are you doing!”
“Grrr… Kyack!”
“Damn it. I can’t work with this.”
Ever since Deborah Simour had visited, Cookie—once so docile—had become defiant and willful, as though adolescence had struck overnight. Isidore swallowed a curse and hurled his quill pen down, turning his head toward Miguel.
“What brings you here so suddenly?”
“Miss Deborah Simour visited Maison D.”
At the mention of Deborah’s name, Cookie’s pointed ears perked up sharply. Her eyes began to gleam with something akin to longing.
“Did she come to meet an informant?”
“No, sir. She overturned a table, then smashed a vase and teacups before leaving.”
At Miguel’s report, Isidore let out a cough.
“That’s not all. On the Terrace, she had quite the confrontation with the daughter of Count Eight. Given the standing of the two houses, it appeared rather one-sided.”
“Hm.”
“In the end, she reduced Count Eight’s young lady to tears.”
Miguel recalled the report from Maison D’s informant who had witnessed the incident. Since it had occurred on the Terrace of an alley with heavy foot traffic, the clash between Deborah Simour and Arin Eight had become quite the topic of conversation in High Society.
‘High Society does love gossip among the upper nobility, after all.’
The conclusion was clear: Deborah Simour remained an unparalleled object of fear among noble ladies. In aristocratic circles where invisible blades passed between lips, she wielded her blade openly for all to see.
‘But her backing is far too powerful for anyone to dare touch her.’
The Purple Viper—that was her epithet. Whoever had coined it had been quite apt. Her mother, Marien Simour, was called the flower of High Society, yet she walked a path entirely different from her mother’s.
“Miss Deborah Simour is quite intelligent, isn’t she?”
Isidore, who had been silent until now, stroked his chin and murmured thoughtfully.

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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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