Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 3

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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 3
“It is an infinite honor to meet you, Miss. I am Helen, the second daughter of Baron Jigoto.”
Helen, who had visited today, was one of the most sought-after dress designers in the Capital recently—someone I had personally pointed out while shopping in the bustling district.
The moment I saw the dresses displayed in front of Helen’s atelier, I stormed inside and coerced her into creating a dress for me.
Well, I suppose I benefited from it in the end.
“I am delighted to present our atelier’s dresses to you, Miss.”
….
As the silence stretched on, Helen’s cheeks grew increasingly hollow.
In truth, I was deliberately withholding my words. If I opened my mouth, I might inadvertently expose myself as a fool.
It was absurd yet remarkably convenient that everyone simply accepted my silence as befitting Deborah.
“Miss, this dress is in the style that is currently fashionable. I’ve adorned the sleeves with white rabbit fur—would you like to examine it more closely?”
Helen managed a business smile and began explaining the dress she had designed. There was a design with a sapphire the size of a fingernail embedded in the chest, and another with pearls densely studded along the lace collar.
As the magnificent dresses filled my vision, my heart fluttered wildly and my mind spun. For someone like me—a commoner who had even inherited my sister’s school uniform—this was an extravagance that felt like my heart might burst.
Was this what life with a diamond spoon was like? I had never envied those born with golden spoons, having a nature that compromised reasonably with reality, yet facing this affluent environment now, I felt both flustered and secretly delighted.
‘They would all suit me perfectly.’
Fashion’s completion depends on one’s face and physique, after all. The thought of draping these dresses on this model-like body set my heart racing.
As I examined the dresses with keen interest, my expression twisted and I bit my lip firmly. The rabbit fur was suddenly making me feel like I might sneeze.
However Helen interpreted my expression, her complexion turned pale yellow.
“M-Miss. These d-dresses are only a very small portion of what we are currently creating.”
‘What? There are more even though there are already so many?’
I bit my lip hard to suppress the sneeze and looked at her. Helen appeared as though she might faint at any moment.
“I will bring even more splendid and refined styles of dresses. If you could just give me f-four more days….”
Helen, who had been watching my expression, suddenly dropped to her knees.
“I apologize. I will immediately modify the dresses to suit your taste and present them!”
“…Add lots of jewels. Make it as extravagant as possible.”
The more jewels, the better. If necessary, I could always remove them and exchange them for gold coins.
I rubbed my aching nose and added kindly.
* * *
‘So what if I’m a villainess? My face is a masterpiece.’
Whenever I had a spare moment, I would lose myself before the mirror like a narcissist.
I adored this face. Even with my eyes slightly raised, I could feel the otherworldly aura of a cold-hearted beauty. There was an atmosphere that would make anyone within a hundred meters dare not approach—the kind of presence that asked if you even knew your place.
Lost in admiration of my sharp and cool features, I only came to my senses when a servant mentioned that my tutor was waiting.
Morning hours. Deborah studied astronomy, history, and poetry from renowned professors of the Empire.
Most young ladies from high-ranking noble families received private tutoring from childhood, and which professors were invited to the home—or which noblewoman taught etiquette—became a measure of that family’s power and prestige.
‘I have to admit, I’m envious.’
I was once told that even online lectures were expensive. To put it in perspective, this was equivalent to receiving high-priced private tutoring from a university professor for tens of thousands of gold coins per hour.
Of course, Deborah, having no interest in studying whatsoever, skipped classes every time.
True to form as a villainess, standing up tutors was routine, and there was even an incident where I hung a tutor who complained about unfinished homework upside down from a window. The rope snapped, and the incident where a renowned history professor of the Empire nearly died with a broken neck was famous enough to be directly described in the novel.
‘The more I learn about Deborah, the more scandalous tales emerge.’
Each time I examined the fragments of memory drifting through my mind, a sigh escaped me alongside a profound realization that struck my consciousness.
The law of conservation of lunacy.
I came to understand with bone-deep clarity that the lunatic themselves finds comfort beyond all others—and that I had been a fool.
‘…Regardless, no matter how far I walk, this corridor never seems to end.’
I stepped out of my room for my tutoring session and began walking down the elongated hallway. Perhaps because I studied architectural engineering in my previous life, this mansion never ceased to astound me. How much wealth and labor must be ruthlessly poured into constructing something so grand and beautiful?
As I walked, admiring the sculptures lining the corridor, I encountered a silver-haired young man who bore a striking resemblance to Duke Simour.
‘Beleck Simour.’
He was the second son of this household. The moment my eyes met his cool, silver-blue gaze, an instinctive revulsion surged through me—a reaction etched deep into Deborah’s very being.
Deborah despised her older brother Beleck Simour intensely. He made no effort to conceal his contempt for her.
Beleck Simour harbored a profound loathing for people like Deborah—incompetent and unwilling to exert effort. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that his entire life had been consumed by grueling struggle to surpass his twin brother, Rozard Simour.
Remarkably, the heirs who led the Simour Family were born as twins across generations. The Simour Family seal itself—the “Twin-Headed Lion”—symbolized this very characteristic.
The talented twins who possessed the vessel of a family head fell into fierce competition to become the master of Simour the moment they were born. Consequently, most twins born into the Simour Family became character-broken individuals at an early age.
True to family tradition, Rozard and Beleck, who had matured into exemplary lunatics, would eventually kidnap and imprison the heroine Miya Binoshu at the ducal residence.
Having learned through the novel of these household twins’ filthy nature and sadistic tendencies, it was difficult to view them favorably—save for their faces.
“Deborah.”
Just as I thought I would pass by unnoticed, Beleck suddenly swept back his long silver hair and called my name in a low voice.
He merely brushed his hair with his hand, yet it felt as though I had just witnessed an entire photo collection.
‘Insane.’
Truly, he lived up to his reputation as one of the heroine’s admirers. His sharp features and monocle complemented each other perfectly.
…This unnecessarily beautiful deviant. A creature pleasing only to the eyes.
“Who is your tutor today?”
“Patrick.”
I swallowed an odd tension and answered curtly, as Deborah would.
“Your reckless behavior has reached even the Magic Tower’s ears. Patrick is a scholar I personally esteem. So for today, at least, conduct yourself with restraint.”
Beleck, having said only what he wished to say, exuded a menacing atmosphere as he swept past me with quick strides.
Whenever Beleck lashed out so coldly, Deborah would fume with indignation and cruelly torment innocent servants to vent her frustration.
But since I was not Deborah, I found myself unbothered by his provocation. Compared to my previous family, who seized every opportunity to exploit me like a maid, Beleck seemed almost gentlemanly.
Besides, he bore the burden of all the household’s tedious affairs. While Rozard and Beleck competed fiercely to be recognized as the family head, working themselves to the bone, I was idling away my time under the pretense of confinement.
‘I’m living comfortably thanks to you.’
I gave Beleck a mental thumbs-up before walking toward the reception room where the young male professor awaited.
This was only the second time I had seen Professor Patrick’s face, as Deborah had skipped her weekly history lessons. Being from a lower noble house and having remained reclusive until my appearance, he bowed nervously as I entered.
“Oh, you’ve arrived?”
The professor bowed with a tense expression. I folded my arms and gave a slight nod, as Deborah would.
“Then, I shall begin the lecture.”
He withdrew a hardbound volume titled “The Thousand-Year History of Asteia” and began explaining the exploits of the family I now inhabited, his voice trembling with nervous vibrato like a bleating goat.
‘This professor knows how to navigate society.’
It was no wonder Beleck favored him. He had clearly prepared his lesson by carefully selecting historical facts that would please Deborah, who took pride in being of the direct Simour line.
‘An environment surrounded only by those who flatter… not bad at all.’
It was far better than listening to unpleasant words from meddlers in my previous life.
‘Power truly is intoxicating.’
To summarize Patrick’s flattery-laden lecture: it amounted to this.
The eleventh emperor of the Empire favored Duke Simour, who had contributed greatly to strengthening imperial authority, and granted the Simour Family the right to manage the Magic Tower—a privilege that persists to this day.
Since the Simour Family has consistently produced heads of exceptional capability, the position of Magic Tower Master has been held by the Simour patriarch for nearly five hundred years.
To put it in perspective, it’s as though a third-generation conglomerate heir held every ministerial position simultaneously.
‘My father is both a duke and the Magic Tower Master. The setup is excessive.’
I began to understand Deborah’s bottomless arrogance a little better.
The professor, observing my reaction, elaborated further, recounting the heroic deeds of Mirju Simour, the first patriarch of the Simour line.
Mirju Simour, the founding patriarch, was a grand sorcerer who had ascended to the eighth class and served as a founding contributor who greatly aided the first emperor and the goddess in establishing Asteia. The founding contributors each established their own houses—four noble families in total: Simour, Montes, Orgo, and Visconti.
Magic of the Simour
Spirits of the Montes
Blades of the Orgo
Gold of the Visconti
These four houses wielded power second only to the emperor within the Asteia Empire. No matter how many atrocities Deborah committed, she received absolution simply by virtue of being direct Simour bloodline.
What I held was no mere silver spoon—it was an ultra-premium orichalcum spoon.
‘This is incredible.’
The fragmented memories scattered through my consciousness provided only disjointed information, so the professor’s historical lecture proved invaluable in helping me understand my position in this world.
‘With temples and mages appearing, it feels like a fantasy novel—and it’s rather entertaining.’
The professor sensed that I was attentively following the lecture and became increasingly engaged, eventually extending the class well beyond the scheduled time in his fervor.

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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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