Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 20

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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 20
‘That’s right. The Simour Family once proposed a marriage arrangement to the Montes House.’
Now that I thought about it, the two of them had nearly been engaged. Everyone knew that Deborah Simour had harbored an obsession with Philaf for quite some time.
I was merely recalling facts I’d already heard through rumors, yet the feeling in my chest remained decidedly unpleasant.
As Isidore grappled with an indescribable tangle of emotions, raucous chatter erupted from the corridor ahead.
Three young ladies dressed in vibrant attire approached him.
“Oh my, Isidore!”
A young lady with her hair pinned high feigned surprise as though they’d met by chance, her expression exaggerated. Another gently waved her fan while casting her eyes down shyly.
They naturally closed the distance and encircled him with practiced ease.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
Isidore offered his customary gentle smile.
“We were curious whether the social club you operate is accepting new members this year.”
“I’m afraid it will be difficult to expand Epsilon’s membership this year.”
Isidore declined indirectly and took a step back, as Siron had begun pressing her body against his arm. The perfume was overwhelmingly cloying, making my stomach churn.
‘She’s being so blatant about it.’
‘How unseemly.’
Siron paid no mind to the sharp glares from the other young ladies and continued her advances enthusiastically.
“It’s such a shame. I’ve already rejected three membership requests from other clubs because I wanted to join the one you run, my lord.”
Isidore found the conversation too tedious to engage with and flicked his index finger slightly.
“Oh!”
Suddenly, Siron’s hair ornament snapped, and her carefully pinned hair tumbled down in disarray. Her face flushed crimson with embarrassment as her appearance became disheveled—precisely when she’d wanted to look her best before Isidore.
Seeing Isidore’s subtle wink, Miguel suppressed a sigh and bent down to retrieve her fallen hair ornament from the floor.
“Miss Siron, your hair ornament has fallen.”
“I’m aware.”
She snatched the ornament from Miguel’s hand with a curt expression and hurried away.
“She seems to be your friend. Should I not follow her?”
At Isidore’s question, the two other young ladies reluctantly departed. Though they weren’t particularly close to Siron, they felt an inexplicable pressure to do so.
“My lord, you’re abusing magic quite shamelessly.”
The moment they disappeared, Miguel grumbled.
Using magic to send a handkerchief flying, dropping a hairpin, or snapping a necklace—these were tricks Isidore frequently employed when he found dealing with noble young ladies tedious.
Since Isidore was counted among the Empire’s finest swordsmen, no one would ever imagine he’d resort to such underhanded tactics with magic.
“Abundant ability. What’s wrong with abusing it a little?”
“As you say, my lord.”
“Come to think of it, with so much in my possession, there’s no reason to fixate solely on the Handsome Man’s Club. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Aren’t you modifying your strategy rather hastily after a single setback?”
“Setback? The Handsome Man’s Club hasn’t even begun yet.”
“….”
“The more strategies, the better, wouldn’t you say?”
Isidore rubbed his sharp jawline and murmured in a serious tone.
The composure that had graced his face moments before had vanished without a trace.
* * *
“The High Society clubs…”
As I walked across the Academy grounds, I exhaled a sigh while scanning the bulletin board displaying introductions and promotions for the social clubs.
‘Another obstacle I hadn’t accounted for.’
The reason I found myself lost in thought was that social clubs weren’t the kind of organization one could join based on personal preference, like university clubs.
Pangaea Academy existed for the sake of social networking rather than academics, and the social clubs had formed and flourished within that very institutional culture.
As one’s debut into High Society drew near and one reached an age of accomplishment in various fields, invitations from social clubs would begin to arrive.
‘It’s practically mandatory.’
Because the tradition had persisted for so long, those who didn’t join a social club were treated as outcasts, and they faced particular disadvantages when engaging in High Society activities after graduation.
‘Without an affiliation to boast of, one naturally becomes isolated…’
Around last year, Duke Simour had even urged Deborah to join a social club beforehand.
Since the quality of one’s subsequent High Society activities depended on which club one belonged to, joining a prestigious social club was the aspiration of all nobility.
A club’s standing was determined by the caliber of its members, and nobles mobilized every connection they possessed to gain entry into clubs operated by the royal family or high-ranking nobility.
For reference, in the original work, Deborah joins a social club called Aracron. Aracron is a traditional club that has existed since the Academy’s founding, and it’s also where Miya will eventually join in the near future.
‘It was the epicenter of incidents and scandals.’
Within the club, there existed separate male and female divisions—a Fraternity and a Sorority—and in Aracron’s Sorority, Deborah relentlessly bullied and ostracized the female protagonist, only to face severe backlash.
‘I should avoid that place.’
I made my decision quickly. Even if it meant distancing myself from the female protagonist, I had no desire to join Aracron.
‘But then, is there any club suitable for me to join?’
Aracron values family lineage and bloodline highly, so Deborah’s admission was relatively straightforward. However, clubs like Epsilon, Tau, and Stigma—which boasted prestige comparable to Aracron—placed considerable emphasis on ability, character, and reputation as criteria for selecting members.
‘Deborah’s ability, character, and reputation are all abysmal, so all three would be difficult.’
Of course, beyond the Academy’s four major social clubs, there were other more accessible clubs. However, as a direct descendant of Simour, joining a club operated by a leader from a house of lower standing than mine would look unseemly.
If I joined a shabby club, Duke Simour would certainly berate me for bringing shame upon the family.
Being scolded alone would have been a mercy. The real problem was that being associated with an inferior club meant facing subtle contempt in High Society.
‘I don’t mind being feared, but I despise being looked down upon.’
The weaker my standing in the Capital’s High Society, the more it would embolden Velek’s plan to send me far away to the western frontier regions.
‘Ugh. This is giving me a headache.’
The bizarre settings within the novel were causing me a migraine, so I pressed my temples firmly.
Beyond Aracron, the very existence of a social club willing to accept me was questionable, and my current circumstances were equally problematic.
‘How am I supposed to be a magic major when I can’t even manipulate mana?’
The absurdity of it all drew an involuntary laugh from me.
Perhaps because Deborah was from the Simour Family, her longing and fantasies about magic were abnormally intense. She had stubbornly insisted on majoring in the School of Magic because of it.
In principle, those unable to manipulate mana couldn’t take magic-related courses. However, I had a powerful backer in my father, the Magic Tower Master. Moreover, since Bert Marquis—Duke Simour’s twin brother—was the Academy’s chancellor, Deborah was able to enter the School of Magic through nepotism.
‘This is practically a state-of-the-art hang glider…’
Such an absurd privilege bred considerable resentment internally, and there were those who made no effort to hide their displeasure toward Deborah.
“My roots are fundamentally different from commoners like you.”
Whenever Deborah felt slighted, she would flare up in rage and hurl expensive mana stones about like cobblestones. That wasn’t all. She even resorted to physical violence against lower-ranking mages from minor noble houses.
Deborah’s notoriety had spread to every corner of the Academy, but the students of the School of Magic were likely the ones trembling most in her presence.
‘I don’t want to go.’
My steps toward the Magic Research Institute grew heavier with each passing moment. As I dawdled across the grounds, I spotted a man surrounded by people in front of the fountain where the Clock Tower stood.
‘Isidore… what was his name again?’
With such striking features and impressive height, he stood out even from a distance.
‘A squid boat?’
The man looked so inherently selfish that everyone around him—regardless of gender—appeared as squid to me. It wasn’t just my imagination; the young ladies passing nearby couldn’t tear their gazes away from his face.
“So that’s Lord Isidore.”
Ah, yes. Isidore.
“He’s far more handsome than the rumors suggested.”
“It looks like there’s a halo shining behind him.”
Praise for his appearance drifted from all directions. Of course, I found myself in complete agreement.
‘Today’s styling is absolutely perfect. Ten out of ten.’
Nothing could look bad on that face, but the uniform—that’s truly a work of divine genius.
The last time I saw him, he wore a white shirt that made him look innocent, but today he was dressed in a black frock coat that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist, giving him a distinctly sensual appearance.
The pomaded hairstyle accentuated his well-proportioned forehead and refined features, further highlighting the sensuality he naturally possessed alongside the uniform.
‘Absolutely magnificent.’
The novel’s settings were generally mediocre, but the visual appeal was genuinely exceptional. I was mentally giving a thumbs-up when our eyes suddenly met, and I bit my tongue.
‘Please don’t let him have caught me staring like some lovesick fool.’
Even as I chastised myself for being so weak-willed over a handsome face, the young ladies near me were frantically nudging each other’s arms and making a fuss.
“Oh my. Did he just look at me?”
“He smiled at me.”
Our eyes hadn’t actually met. I’d almost made a mistake.
“Lady Deborah!”
But just as I was relieved, Isidore called out my name precisely. Everyone around him turned toward me with bewildered expressions.
I was equally taken aback.
‘Why does he keep talking to me?’

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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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