Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 19

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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 19
‘What’s she scheming all of a sudden? Could she be trying to capture my attention this way?’
The moment Deborah Simour deviated from my expectations, something felt off.
She’s a woman who yields to no one in vanity and showmanship. This would be the perfect moment to boast—so why is she being so quiet?
Philaf, who had been watching Deborah Simour’s back without realizing it, furrowed his brow and turned away. Something about this felt like a warning.
“Wow.”
Just then, Miya, standing beside him, let out an exclamation of admiration.
“What’s wrong?”
“That woman with the purple hair is truly beautiful. There are so many elegant and refined ladies in the Capital.”
Elegant?
If she knew Deborah Simour’s true nature, she’d never say such things. Being from a humble family, she really knew nothing of the world’s ways.
Well, appearances aside, Deborah Simour was indeed refined. Whether it was her outfit that matched her hair color or something else, there was something about her that drew the eye. The black pearl at her throat made her long, pale neck stand out even more, and her figure was certainly….
‘Damn it. What am I thinking? Have I lost my mind?’
No matter how weak men are to visual stimuli, this was too much. Philaf felt the urge to gouge out his own eyes as he hastily spoke to Miya.
“Miya, you’re far more beautiful and elegant. There’s no comparison between you and someone like her.”
“Please don’t say such things.”
Miya waved her hand, flustered.
“You alone possess such humility, unlike others.”
Philaf laughed deliberately louder, as if to prove a point to someone.
* * *
‘Time really isn’t passing. At this rate, I’ll be here tomorrow.’
Staring intently out the window had left my trapezius stiff.
‘By now, he’s probably lost interest in me.’
After an appropriate amount of time had passed, I glanced sideways to find Philaf and Miya lost in their own world, engaged in conversation.
‘How sweet. Absolutely dripping with honey.’
I wished them well in their budding romance and prayed they wouldn’t cause me any trouble, then turned my attention to the professor at the podium.
The first class was Political Science. I pulled out a book labeled “Understanding Politics” and a fountain pen from my bag.
‘What’s with this princess-like fountain pen?’
A pink fountain pen embedded with jewels? I wondered why I’d bought such a pretty writing instrument when I wasn’t even studying.
‘Wait? This is incredible.’
Perhaps because it was expensive, but the way it glided across the paper was absolutely sublime. Unlike the fountain pens kept in the Study, it was lightweight with a perfect length, and the way it fit in my hand was pure artistry.
Now that I had a writing instrument that actually fit my hand, my old habit of doodling from my undergraduate days resurfaced, and I discovered another skill Deborah Simour possessed.
‘I really do have the golden touch.’
In my previous life, I was hopelessly clumsy, so I could clearly feel just how skilled Deborah Simour’s hands were.
With these hands, I rendered the Academy building visible beyond the distant window with far greater precision than I had drawn it back in my undergraduate days. Had I possessed such remarkable dexterity in my previous life, I might have even majored in architecture.
After completing a masterpiece in the corner of the textbook, I surrendered myself to the stream of consciousness and rubbed my heavy eyes.
‘I’m so tired….’
Perhaps because I’d lost sleep the night before the semester began, the letters in the book split into three or four. The professor’s voice had no inflection, sounding like a lullaby, and my seat had far too much natural light.
‘Ah, whatever. I’m not supposed to be a studious character anyway.’
My thoughts ended there. Slumped over and unconscious, I drifted into the dreams of my previous life.
Even in my dreams, I was sitting in a classroom.
Come to think of it, I’ve spent most of my twenty-four years of life in classrooms. Twelve years of middle and high school combined, four years of university. And now, right before graduation, I’m thrust into this otherworldly Academy.
It’s like some never-ending story.
I was lamenting whether a vengeful spirit of a failed student had attached itself to me when I heard the classroom door handle turning.
“Yoon Do-hee.”
I ground my teeth. The person who appeared through the door was none other than Kim Han-jun.
His appearance was impeccably handsome, but his behavior was that of a complete hooligan.
“Senior Han-jun. What brings you here?”
I should have unleashed a barrage of curses first, but the me in this dream was speaking in a gentle voice like someone under a spell, spouting nonsense.
“Have you eaten?”
“Oh, no.”
“Let’s go eat together. This time, it’s on me.”
“Thank you. I was getting hungry anyway.”
Stop it! Don’t take me to the student cafeteria like you’re doing me a favor when you’ve been freeloading expensive meals off me every time.
And why am I getting moved by a five-thousand-won pork cutlet?
“Do-hee. Now that I’ve eaten, I want some coffee.”
“Oppa, let me buy you coffee!”
Shut up! Stop this.
“Can I try the new menu at Star Coffee?”
“Of course.”
“But I just need two more stamps to get a diary.”
“Oh, then I’ll give you all my stamps, oppa.”
I even gave away my stamps? How pathetic.
As I watched the embarrassing memories flash past with a sense of shame, I jolted upright at the sensation of a hand gently tapping my shoulder.
‘What? Am I still dreaming?’
The moment I opened my eyes, a blonde beauty entered my field of vision.
Looking at the man’s face, I furrowed my brow. I couldn’t believe someone could be so absurdly handsome. He must be an angel sent from heaven to comfort me, who was so pitiful as to be having nightmares about Kim Han-jun.
I stared at the angel who had suddenly intruded into my dream with reverent awe. The sight of sunlight scattering brilliantly across his golden hair was utterly mesmerizing.
If his hair was like the sun itself, then beneath his refreshingly sharp eyes, his irises held the emerald hue of the sea. His smoothly defined nose seemed carved with meticulous craftsmanship, and his soft lips were as beautiful as if a goddess had lovingly sculpted them over three days and nights.
His facial contours were sharp yet delicate, and his elongated jawline with its prominent Adam’s apple exuded masculinity.
It was a beauty that made it impossible to look away. Time seemed to flow slowly around him, creating an almost dreamlike illusion.
That was when the angelic-looking man drew closer and opened his mouth.
“Class has ended, Miss Deborah Simour.”
His soft voice, which resonated through my eardrums, suddenly snapped me back to reality.
‘It wasn’t a dream?’
Even after rubbing my gritty eyes once, the surreally beautiful man was still standing before me.
“…Who are you?”
I mumbled in a drowsy voice.
“You don’t know me?”
A flicker of bewilderment passed through his emerald eyes.
“Do I need to know?”
That’s what I said, but honestly, I was just as flustered. How could Deborah Simour possibly forget such a handsome man? This was truly a grave oversight.
My memory tends to retain only the most striking impressions, yet this blonde man apparently made no impact on her whatsoever.
‘Is that even possible?’
I had to finally acknowledge Deborah Simour’s genuine devotion to Philaf. Just how much did she care for him to overlook a man like this entirely?
While I was lost in these idle thoughts, the strikingly handsome man before me—having regained his composure—flashed a gentle smile. The moment that beautifully shaped mouth curved upward, I felt a warning signal. My carefully maintained composure wavered.
‘Is this what they call a face attack?’
“Ha, you might not know. I’m Isidore Visconti. That’s my name.”
The man, having quickly recovered his composure, introduced himself with remarkable coolness.
Isidore Visconti.
The name sounded familiar, and as I searched my memory, I recalled it being the most frequently mentioned name in the gossip of young ladies I’d encountered at Maison D.
‘The universal favorite.’
Seeing his face, I understood completely. If he were in Korea, he’d be wealthy enough to build entire skyscrapers just by breathing in front of a camera.
“But what brings you here?”
In response to my question, the man extended something with his white-gloved hand.
‘What is this…?’
It was a handout related to political science.
‘Did he set mine aside separately?’
It seemed he’d kept the handout and waited until I woke from my nap.
But this was strange. Anyone with ears would know I’m the crazy woman of this district—so why was he suddenly approaching me and looking out for me?
I regarded the blonde beauty with suspicion. Already wary, the dream about Kim Han-jun that had just occurred made me suddenly recall my first meeting with him.
Kim Han-jun had also waited for me to wake while I was sprawled out sleeping, then handed me a handout that the teaching assistant had distributed. After that, he kept pretending to look after me while systematically draining me dry like a corrupt official.
“I don’t need this.”
I coldly refused the handout he offered. The political science class at the Academy was easy enough to make me yawn anyway. Compared to the difficulty level of fourth-year major textbooks from university, it was child’s play. The handout was probably just a summary of the first section—memorizing the textbook was all I needed.
“Still, it doesn’t hurt to have it prepared, does it?”
“…What’s with the meddling?”
“You just had a nightmare, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Seeing you frown while sleeping made me want to meddle. Oh, are you not hungry? It’s lunchtime now.”
At his smooth topic change, I felt inwardly flustered.
What kind of slick operator was this guy?
“Not hungry.”
“Perfect. Actually, I’m not very hungry either. So why don’t we just go have some tea?”
“No time. I’m leaving.”
I firmly declined in four words and quickly distanced myself from him. I felt his bewildered gaze boring into the back of my head, but I hurried away as if being chased.
Because a warning alarm had been blaring in my mind since just moments ago.
‘Dangerous.’
If I continued facing that face, regardless of his intentions, I might end up giving him everything without question.
In other words, this blonde man was awakening the foolish pushover instinct that lay dormant within me.
I was a hopeless face-lover, weak to men who matched my taste just like I’d been with Kim Han-jun. But this Isidore had a ruthlessly beautiful face that shattered the walls of preference entirely.
‘There are people I need to be wary of scattered all around.’
Thinking that I couldn’t afford to let my guard down in this tragic novel, I gnawed at my fingernails.
* * *
My master had approached Deborah Simour with overconfident swagger, relying on his face to win her over, yet he returned alone without fail. Was it just my imagination? That face, which always exuded composure, seemed somehow deflated now.
For some reason, I found myself developing a favorable impression of Deborah Simour.
Miguel struggled to keep his cheeks from rising in amusement as he asked with the most innocent eyes he could muster.
“My lord. Didn’t you say you had a lunch appointment and told me to return early?”
At Miguel’s artful question, Isidore narrowed his eyes.
“Are you asking because you know, or because you don’t? Either way, it’s a problem. It means my right arm—my retainer—is either insolent or stupid.”
“My lord. It seems your handsome charm didn’t work this time. You appear to be getting irritable?”
“You’re becoming quite the loose-tongued one.”
Isidore kicked Miguel’s shin hard, and he yelped and jumped back dramatically. Having vented his frustration on an innocent bystander, Isidore gazed at his reflection in the window glass, lost in thought.
“This face should never fail. I don’t understand it.”
“Perhaps Deborah Simour simply doesn’t have that preference.”
“This isn’t a face where tastes diverge. Golden ratio. Do you not know?”
“Exceptions exist everywhere. It seems Deborah Simour’s preference lies far more with Philaf than with you, my lord.”
At the mention of Philaf’s name, Isidore’s brow furrowed sharply.

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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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