Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 18

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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 18
4. Misunderstandings Pile Up
The evening before classes began, Helen’s spring dress collection—crafted with blood, sweat, and tears—arrived at last.
As soon as dawn broke, the attendants selected appropriate garments from the collection, coordinated them with accessories, and I pressed my forehead to my palm the moment I glimpsed myself in the mirror.
When Helen had said the dress was both glamorous and simple enough to wear not only at the Party Venue but also at formal occasions, I thought it sounded like some contradictory nonsense—warm iced Americano, if you will. But now that I’ve tried it on, I understand.
Sexy yet innocent, chic yet elegant. The reflection staring back at me was so breathtakingly beautiful I couldn’t find words. What a life, seeing my ideal face every morning in the mirror.
Overwhelmed by admiration, I punched the wall without thinking, and the masterpiece hanging there swayed back and forth as if caught in an earthquake.
‘This body really does have incredible strength.’
I possessed no magical talent, but my physical strength and stamina were exceptional. Since possessing this body, the chronic fatigue and headaches that had plagued my previous life had vanished entirely. Well, one needs surplus energy to commit villainy anyway.
Good. I’ll live a long and healthy life.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, passing by the trembling attendants, and stepped outside. Two four-wheeled carriages bearing the twin-headed serpent crest hung suspended before the Simour Mansion.
‘One is for me, and the other is… what?’
Ah. That one must be for the boy approaching the carriage from afar. I let out an internal gasp at the sight of the small figure.
During the two months I’d spent here, I’d had no opportunity to see Enrique Simour. The residence was structured with separate quarters, so our paths never crossed, and like a household in a tragic novel, we didn’t gather for intimate family meals without serious reason.
‘Like a baby kitten.’
Enrique, Deborah Simour’s younger brother with his silver hair neatly brushed back, reminded me of a gray kitten.
I understood he was around ten years old, yet despite his youthful appearance, his demeanor was remarkably mature. Perhaps it was those ashen eyes, darkened and settled with gravity.
I found myself gazing at the child’s face as if entranced when our eyes suddenly met. Enrique furrowed his brows as though he’d seen something he shouldn’t have, turned away without greeting me, and slipped into the carriage.
‘Ha. Even this little one dislikes Deborah Simour.’
It was remarkable how universally disliked Deborah Simour was. Well, Deborah herself despised the precocious Enrique just as much.
She even harbored inferiority toward such an adorable child. While Deborah possessed absolutely no mana affinity, Enrique, despite his young age, demonstrated exceptional achievement—capable of wielding third-class magic.
The Academy research institute, a subsidiary of the Magic Tower, operated a gifted program, and I’d heard that Enrique ranked first even among those carefully selected geniuses.
‘When everyone in your family is talented and you’re the only one who isn’t, inferiority is inevitable.’
Good family, plenty of money, beautiful, excellent figure, strong.
I lived with gratitude for what I now possessed, but Deborah obsessed over what she lacked.
Particularly, her inferiority complex regarding her inability to use mana transcended imagination. Among all direct and collateral blood relatives, Deborah was the only one incapable of wielding mana, and her father’s disdainful gaze seemed to wound her further.
‘But does that justify venting stress through violence?’
Deborah had little defense, but when even an adorable child looked at me with contempt, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat melancholy.
‘Still, I’ll just live as a villainess.’
A younger brother is a younger brother. Well. Recalling that wretched creature from my previous life, my illusions about having a cute sibling crumbled to dust.
I steeled myself and climbed into the carriage, casting my gaze beyond the rapidly shifting window scenery.
The landscape visible through the carriage window was the Yones District. Soon, after crossing the arched bridge spanning the river, the Horun District, where the Imperial City was located, came into view.
The Academy, Knight Order, Magic Tower, and Theology School—all operated by the Imperial Court—were all situated in the Horun District. Among nobles who graduated from the Academy, those without inheritance prospects dreamed of receiving salaries from institutions operated by the Imperial Court.
Of course, my dream was to postpone marriage as long as possible while extracting every advantage from House of Simour’s infrastructure, then use the hidden funds I’d accumulated to live as a wealthy idler… or rather, as the head of a household.
“…Still, I can’t focus on anything.”
Inside the city walls surrounding the Horun District, carriages carrying noble heirs were bustling about. I’d anticipated it would take considerable time, but surprisingly, a servant guarding the city gate directed our carriage down a separate passage.
The VVIP exclusive road.
The taste of power was always thrilling and perpetually fresh.
The carriage entered Pangaea Academy with magnificent confidence, coming to a halt before the main building located at the academy’s center.
‘Gasp.’
‘There.’
The moment I descended from the carriage, a suffocating silence blanketed the surroundings. The Simour seal emblazoned on the carriage had essentially announced to everyone that I was the notorious ‘Deborah Simour’—loud and clear.
With each step I took, the parting of the Red Sea unfolded before my eyes. Whenever our gazes accidentally met, everyone flinched and averted their eyes, leaving me feeling like the sole predator among herbivores as I made my way toward the lecture hall.
‘It’s just as quiet here.’
As I entered the grand lecture hall to fulfill my attendance requirement, the previously lively atmosphere froze as if doused with cold water. It was human noise cancellation at its finest.
‘But where should I sit?’
To find a seat, I scanned the surroundings methodically. One spot immediately caught my eye—it was distant from the podium, safely outside the instructor’s line of sight, had a wall on one side that provided a sense of peace and security, and even boasted excellent natural lighting.
‘Prime real estate.’
Naturally, such a coveted seat was already occupied.
“Um, excuse me, Jake. I think I should sit up front. It’s a bit warm here.”
“Oh, uh? Me too.”
Perhaps because I’d stared so intently, the students occupying the prime spot quietly rose and relocated to the front rows.
‘What, am I some kind of villainess with a free pass?’
I plopped down into the seat they’d vacated with a bewildered expression. It was absurd, but there was no reason to decline.
As expected, the seat was comfortable. The sunlight was just right, and the view beyond the window was pleasant. I was admiring the Academy’s beautiful landscape with my chin resting in my hand when the surrounding murmur resumed. I turned my head, and my breath caught.
Philaf Montes and Miya Binoshu.
The moment they both entered my field of vision, my heart suddenly began pounding rapidly. Even breathing felt labored and uncomfortable.
‘Why is this happening?’
It seemed to be a bodily reaction imprinted on Deborah’s body, entirely beyond my control. It was similar to the creeping discomfort I’d felt when confronting Velek.
My expression darkened with confusion, and our eyes met with Philaf’s. As I gazed into his cold, deep brown eyes, a fragment of memory buried deep within slowly surfaced.
Six years ago, at Thanksgiving. Deborah first met Philaf at a party held in the Imperial Palace.
“Ahhh!”
At that time, Deborah had accidentally knocked over a decorative candelabra placed against the wall. The fire caught the hem of her dress, and as she panicked, Philaf used a water spirit to extinguish the flames clinging to the lace, preventing disaster.
Because Philaf’s command of spirits was so mystical, Deborah’s heart was stolen in an instant.
After that day, Deborah openly displayed her interest in Philaf, and at one point, marriage negotiations even occurred between House Simour and House Montes. However, when Philaf firmly declared he would not marry Deborah, the engagement discussions fizzled out.
Upon hearing the rumor that Philaf had rejected the marriage proposal outright, Deborah suffered a severe blow to her pride. She vented her rage cruelly upon her subordinates, and as the incident spread throughout the Imperial City, Philaf grew even more averse to Deborah—a vicious cycle that repeated endlessly.
Despite being soundly rejected, Deborah could not abandon Philaf and nurtured a love-hate obsession alone.
Deborah, who had always obtained whatever she desired through tyranny, would never behave sensibly like ordinary noble ladies to win Philaf’s affection. She tormented any ladies who spoke to or showed interest in Philaf, openly displaying her mentality that if she couldn’t have him, no one else would either.
‘Even if Deborah is terrible, this is too much. There’s no reason to dislike her this intensely.’
Blood runs thicker than water, and I found myself sympathizing more with Deborah than with Philaf. After all, she had shown him genuine devotion over such a long period, yet here he was, appearing with Miya Binoshu at his side as if to flaunt it.
How inconsiderate.
Philaf, whose lips had grown rigid, tucked the heroine Miya even deeper behind him. It felt as though I’d become the villain targeting the female protagonist’s life.
‘What is he doing?’
If this were the original story, overprotecting the female lead would only provoke Deborah’s temperament—it was obvious. The man had the perception of a fool.
Then again, if Philaf had possessed any perception, this novel wouldn’t have been a reverse harem story. It would have ended in a short story, and I wouldn’t have wasted my cash.
Still, befitting a male lead candidate, Philaf Montes possessed a presence distinctly different from the background male characters surrounding him. His features were sharp and defined, and his hair was as vividly crimson as flames—he stood out the most in this entire hall.
“Philaf?”
Lost in thought, I was hiding behind the towering Philaf when the female protagonist peeked her face out, and I swallowed a gasp.
‘This is insane. She’s truly beautiful.’
If one were to personify innocence itself, it would surely be Miya Binoshu.
‘Even a woman would be captivated by that face.’
Flower-pink hair, skin like whipped cream, eyes as blue as embedded jewels, an elegant nose, lips like cherries….
Looking at her face, I immediately understood why every male character in the novels—including the sadistic twins holed up at home—seemed willing to throw their lives away for her.
‘Deborah Simour, who took such pride in her appearance, must have been quite shaken.’
Honestly, the other woman possessed a more universally appealing beauty. Now I understood why Deborah Simour felt such intense inferiority toward Miya Binoshu in the original work.
Once you start comparing, there’s no end to it, after all.
‘But it feels like everyone’s popping popcorn and watching this unfold.’
It wasn’t just my imagination—since Philaf and Miya arrived, far more people had been stealing glances in my direction. Given how obviously Deborah Simour had been displaying her interest in Philaf, they naturally couldn’t help but be curious about my reaction.
‘…I shouldn’t even make eye contact.’
Simply admiring Miya’s face could be misinterpreted as a glare, just like when I’d inadvertently claimed that prime window seat.
I hastily averted my gaze toward the window and pretended to be absorbed in something else.
* * *
Philaf’s mood had soured because Miya wasn’t wearing the necklace he’d given her.
That wasn’t all. Seeing Deborah Simour strutting about the Academy with the pink diamond around her neck made his irritation flare up repeatedly.
‘But… it’s not there?’
Philaf was inwardly flustered when he noticed an ornate black pearl necklace hanging around Deborah Simour’s neck instead. His confusion deepened further because she was turning her face toward the window with her chin resting on her hand, making her expression unreadable.

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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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