Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 96

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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 96
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“Tsk.”
Emmanuelle frowned lightly as she read Philaf’s letter requesting an opportunity for Miya to demonstrate her formidable divine power. Miya Binoshu. That lowborn noblewoman seemed quick-witted, yet surprisingly lacked propriety.
‘Still, there might be a use for her someday, so I’ll give her a chance.’
After a swift calculation of profit and loss, Emmanuelle set down her teacup with elegant grace and rose from her seat at Duke Selig’s summons.
“Emmanuelle.”
“Yes, Father.”
Duke Selig opened his mouth with a stern expression.
“Have you examined the ledgers carefully? Is there anything suspicious?”
Duke Selig was convinced that the recent sharp decline in the Bruno Guild’s revenue stemmed from its master, Bruno, embezzling funds. In truth, the sales had fallen due to competition from rival merchants and the reduced quality of raw materials to meet the duke’s extorted tributes, causing regular customers to abandon them—but he had no interest in such specific facts.
The guild was merely a component that filled his personal coffers.
The suspicious Duke Selig had entrusted the Bruno Guild to Emmanuelle, his most numerically gifted child, and ordered her to monitor the accounting ledgers.
“Not yet… I believe I need more time to examine the ledgers thoroughly, Father.”
Emmanuelle answered with a start at his question.
In truth, she gave no thought whatsoever to the Bruno Guild. She believed commerce was beneath her station.
She held that nobility must above all be elegant, and to cultivate that image, she was planning the most celebrated debutante season in the Empire.
Preoccupied with managing her connections—hosting frequent parties so that not only young men but also young noblewomen would favor her—she worked tirelessly to foster belonging among those in her circle while creating external enemies to strengthen their bonds.
Leading a powerful faction. It was the finest method of survival in high society that she knew.
Yet Deborah Simour, lacking both influence and dignity, conducted herself as she pleased and still captured the attention of several influential figures, including the Fifth Princess.
She was truly a thorn in her side.
‘Yes. Her pretense won’t last much longer.’
Duke Selig grew irritated at his daughter’s silence.
“Emmanuelle. Are you not less occupied than your brothers? Yet you still haven’t found anything suspicious in the ledgers?”
As Duke Selig asked with displeasure, Emmanuelle’s brow furrowed slightly.
‘Less occupied? I have so much to do.’
Where could one find another noblewoman as well-liked and well-connected as herself? Once she secured a good marriage match and dominated the central high society of the Capital, her house and father would benefit far more in the future.
Discontent surged within her, but she swallowed it down and forced herself to speak calmly.
“I am currently reviewing the ledgers. I’ve postponed the detailed numerical verification while focusing on my thesis. Once the collective academic conference concludes, I will examine everything meticulously.”
“You must finish it after the conference. Do you think the money you spend on parties is trivial?”
“Yes, Father.”
After her private audience with her father ended, Emmanuelle’s expression darkened.
‘I’m swamped.’
Returning to her room with hurried steps, she began writing letters to the influential noblewomen under her management, requesting they attend the Epsilon collective academic conference together.
A cold smile, as if drawn over a mask, played upon her delicate lips.
* * *
Today. The Epsilon collective academic conference would commence in one hour at the Grand Hall on the first floor of the Epsilon Frat House. The academic conference was attended by professors and various figures from all walks of life.
Additionally, students from other social clubs participated, exchanging critiques of papers and testing their knowledge against one another. For this reason, the Four Prestigious Clubs held their academic conferences on different dates, staggered in schedule.
And this year, Epsilon was the first to present.
I recalled the Fifth Princess’s words.
“Knight Isidore had a reason for deliberately taking the first slot.”
Apparently, last year there was a student who wrote a thesis on the same subject as Emmanuelle of Aracron. Since the topics were identical, their contents overlapped in places, but it remained unclear who had written theirs first.
“They claimed to have held their academic conference first, so Aracron came in a group and leveled accusations of plagiarism. They were looking to tear down one side because the theses were similar. They even attacked the presenter’s personal life.”
Attacking the messenger rather than the message is a common tactic, but it proves remarkably effective. The audience focuses on judging the person’s character rather than the substance of the criticism.
“The presenter, humiliated by the exposure of their private affairs, abandoned the presentation.”
The Epsilon presenter ended up discarding their thesis first, so it seems the situation spiraled beyond internal containment.
‘Just as expected from a group led by Philaf—utterly repugnant.’
I was relieved I’d avoided Aracron, and I drew in a long breath before exhaling slowly.
‘I’m nervous.’
Because I was one of the presenters myself. Exposed to their attacks.
“Are you nervous?”
At a gentle voice that seemed to read my emotions perfectly, I lifted my head abruptly. Hands clad in white gloves held two paper cups with wisps of steam rising from them. When our eyes met, Isidore smiled warmly and sat beside me.
“Not really.”
I murmured nonchalantly, then hesitated for a moment before opening my mouth as I looked at the flower tea he offered.
“Haven’t you heard the rumor? I throw away any beverage I don’t like.”
“I’ll throw it away. And buy another. Until it suits your preference, my lady.”
Though it was a line that could make him seem like an easy mark, he delivered it with such unhurried composure and ease that it somehow seemed impressive.
“Is there anything I can do to help with your academic presentation?”
I eventually sipped the warm tea he offered and shook my head.
“Just do that part I mentioned.”
“Don’t worry about that. And you’ll do well. Just like at the truth-finding inquiry last time.”
I paused mid-sip of my tea.
“Now that I think about it… at the truth-finding inquiry, Epsilon executives I’d never met before all came to observe together. It wasn’t an incident significant enough for the royal family to attend or for high society to make it a point of contention. Could it be related to Knight Isidore?”
At my question, he narrowed his eyes slightly.
“I may have overstepped a bit.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you’d do well. Like today.”
“What if I fail today?”
I probed bluntly, concealing my fragile inner thoughts.
“If someone succeeds every time, are they human? They’re a dragon.”
A figure came to mind—one who flipped coins and always got heads, dragon-like in their consistency—but in any case, Isidore’s words eased my tension somewhat.
As the presentation time drew near, I rose from my seat and followed Isidore. As the Epsilon leader overseeing the academic conference, Isidore walked toward the front of the Grand Hall with his script in hand, while I, being the final presenter, took a seat on the periphery.
Then the thesis presenters from Epsilon began taking their seats one by one. There was even a young lady I’d glimpsed briefly at the failed tea party before.
When the appointed time arrived, the Grand Hall filled to capacity with students who’d come to see the theses.
‘They’ve arrived.’
I watched the Aracron crowd surge in with Philaf at the helm, swallowing my schadenfreude, when suddenly the audience fell silent and I narrowed my eyes.
‘Father’s here? Well, he was once an Epsilon leader, after all.’
When Duke Simour appeared in the guest of honor’s seat, a hush fell over the gathering. Moreover, beside my father I spotted a Magic Tower administrator and elder I recognized.
‘Everyone’s busy with their social obligations today too.’
Unable to suppress my sympathy, I clicked my tongue, then turned my gaze to the podium as the conference began. Isidore ascended with a brisk stride and offered a welcoming address.
His large, athletic frame, gentle baritone voice, and refined features made even a simple introduction of the academic conference and presentation order entertaining to everyone present.
“It’s over already?”
As Knight Isidore descended, a young noblewoman murmured wistfully. But immediately after, the Fifth Princess elegantly opened the academic conference.
Though some presenters stumbled over their words due to sharp criticisms flying in from other clubs, the overall quality of the papers was high enough that presentations proceeded without major issues.
In particular, Michèle Grandbert’s paper on “A Case Study of Customer Delight at Armand” received an excellent response. Her relentless focus on a single subject made the thesis clear, and her sharp insights shone brilliantly.
‘Excellent.’
Her paper’s content was positive toward Armand, and since this gathering was filled with noble heirs—the shop’s primary clientele—I found myself celebrating as if it were my own accomplishment each time she received praise from the professors.
The academic conference proceeded smoothly into its latter half, and soon Knight Isidore called my name.
“Our next presenter is Deborah Simour.”
As I rose from my seat, a subtle murmur rippled through the hall.
‘Will it be an accessory paper again?’
‘Probably.’
I paid no attention and walked slowly toward the podium to begin my presentation.
That was when someone seated in the center raised her hand, and Knight Isidore acknowledged her.
“What is it?”
“Before Deborah Simour presents her paper, I would like to raise an objection.”
“An objection?”
Emmanuelle spoke with absolute confidence.
“Yes. The paper that Deborah Simour is about to present was not written by her personally.”
Her bombshell statement sent a much louder murmur through the crowd than before.
‘She took the bait perfectly.’
I regarded Emmanuelle calmly and remained silent.

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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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