The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

Hans, who had been rubbing his throbbing head, gritted his teeth when he realized the person before him was Cynthia, the one he’d seen on the ship.
“You—white girl. I’ve been waiting for a chance to get back at you, and you just show up in front of me? Don’t expect mercy just ’cause you’re a noble!”
He lunged at Cynthia with a menacing glare.

But once again, he was smacked squarely with candy, leaving him with a dumbfounded, pain-filled expression.
'She’s fast! I couldn’t even see her hand!'
Confirming the candy had shattered, Cynthia smiled brightly and turned to the nearby vendor.

“Mister. Do you have any good weapons?”
“I have just the thing. Wide attack range, sturdy, and easy to bury afterward. Highly efficient.”
The hardware store owner held up a shovel handle.

Seeing this, Hans began to slowly back away, clearly contemplating an escape.
That is, until he felt the chilling press of a gun muzzle against the back of his head and froze in place.
“You weren’t satisfied with assaulting my aide, and now you’re laying hands on my wife?”

Masera’s voice, honed to an icy edge, sliced through the alley. Hans, in surrender, slowly raised his hands.
Thwack!
He collapsed as the butt of the pistol slammed into the back of his head.

Cynthia came running up, huffing with the shovel handle in hand.
“What? He’s unconscious already? I wanted to smack his behind!”
“Calm down and tend to the pregnant woman first.”

At Masera’s comment, Cynthia, shaken from her rage, quickly rushed to Anita.
Anita looked at her, trembling, pulling her shawl over her head with shaking hands.
“My lady, why are you here… I’m so sorry for being a burden…”
“What happened?”

“Well…”
Anita hesitated, then began to explain.
After being exiled from Medeia, they had been staying in the area. Anita worked odd jobs, but Hans squandered all her earnings on alcohol and gambling.

“Today I said I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to rest… but he got drunk and tried to hit me. I tried to run and got caught… That’s when I ran into you.”
Cynthia bit her lip, looking at Anita’s pale face.
Even though she had given Anita her address, the girl had never asked for help. Cynthia understood that it was because Anita hadn’t fully trusted her.

“Come with me. I know you don’t trust me, but I can’t just leave you like this. Stay in the staff quarters at least until the baby is born.”
“But…”
“It’s a military facility. You won’t be found.”

Anita, cradling her stomach, lowered her head.
“Thank you.”
* * *

Meanwhile, someone else had recognized Anita from afar.
'Anita?'
A woman standing at the corner of the alley opened her eyes wide.

It was Anna, the maid from the Queensguard household whom Helene had kept alive to use as leverage against Cynthia.
'So she’s alive.'
Anita and Anna had worked together in the count’s estate for their entire lives.

Anna had assumed she’d died in the purge, but to see her alive and well was a surprise.
'If either of us finds out the other is alive, we might both end up dead. Better to pretend I didn’t see her.'
Pulling her scarf tightly around her, Anna headed toward the address the duke had given her. She had just escaped the duke’s estate under his orders.

Her destination was a modest house tucked into the corner of a narrow alley.
Inside the small but clean home, the Duke of Recanosa was already seated, placing an envelope of money on the table.
“Lay low here for a while. Don’t worry about the money.”

“What? All of a sudden…?”
“My wife seems to be planning to get rid of you, now that you delivered that fake letter.”
Anna paled, shocked and afraid, and cautiously asked,

“Then… why are you helping me?”
The duke looked at her big, glimmering eyes and curled his lips.
“No reason.”

He was a man with the power to save someone’s life with a fleeting whim he’d forget by the time he turned around.
But to ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the one who received that kindness, it could mean a lifelong debt of gratitude.
Anna bowed deeply.

“Thank you so much. I’ll never forget this favor.”
The duke liked this system very much—how easily he could become someone’s savior.
And apart from that, he longed to see Cynthia’s face filled with genuine emotion and gratitude, praising him.

Bringing Anna here was all to rob Helene of a vital piece she planned to use against Cynthia.
Suddenly, the image of Cynthia came to mind—those large eyes like rubies, that tragic and innocent beauty.
“…It would’ve been better if she’d married a kind duke instead of that stoic brigadier…”

As the absurd thought crept up, he quickly shook his head and covered his mouth.
“Will you visit sometimes?” Anna asked.
He paused, then nodded.

After all, he still planned to continue participating in the charity events led by Cynthia.
Seeing him suddenly quiet, Anna’s eyes lit up.
'Could it be… the duke thinks I’m special?'

His casual kindness had inadvertently planted a deep misunderstanding.
* * *
Cynthia, in urgent need, brought Anita to Captain Carlton. He had come this way for the children’s health checks.

“My area of expertise is after they’re born, though…”
Captain Carlton, a former pediatrician, sighed as he examined Anita.
“Bleeding means there’s a risk of miscarriage. She needs to be hospitalized.”

“Hospitalized?”
Startled, Cynthia immediately sought Masera’s help.
Since Hans had stolen from Baron Everett’s household before fleeing, the baron’s people were looking for both him and Anita. Cynthia explained Anita’s circumstances, and Masera arranged for her to be admitted to a military hospital where she would be safe.

Even when Cynthia asked him afterward to shelter Anita in the staff quarters once she was discharged, he agreed without pressing for more details.
“Brigadier, thank you for granting my request.”
Cynthia poked him lightly and looked up with an earnestly grateful face.

Masera, who had been watching the children and soldiers build a snowman in the front yard, looked down at her.
“It wasn’t anything to thank me for.”
“Why not?”

“Because obeying my wife’s orders is only natural.”
“Oh, that’s such a cool thing to say.”
He hadn’t said it to sound cool. It was simply ingrained in soldiers that a husband must follow his wife’s directives.

Having offered her thanks, Cynthia returned to her duties.
She was in charge of managing the volunteer efforts today.
Each volunteer showcased their abilities, and those who passed would become instructors for the children.

Otherwise, they would be thrown into housework with no mercy, aprons and all.
“How about this?”
The Duke of Recanosa held up a word puzzle he had designed to suit the children’s level.

“Wow, how do you do that so well? I couldn’t solve it myself. You pass. You’re our language arts teacher.”
Puffed with pride at Cynthia’s praise, the duke walked off like a pleased child.
“Lady Cynthia, I made illustrated cards for vocabulary lessons. I learned to draw as a child.”

Next was Major Rodriguez, showing off an incredibly lifelike rabbit illustration.
“Wow, that’s adorable! Approved!”
She wanted to say more, but that’s all that came out.

Then Valeria came running up, flushed with excitement.
“Your Highness, I play piano very well.”
“That’s amazing! Future sister-in-law, you’re hired as piano teacher!”

Valeria hummed proudly as she sauntered off with her certificate.
Next came Carlos, folding an elaborate paper airplane and launching it out the window.
“I once won a national paper airplane distance contest.”

“Then start a paper folding class.”
As Cynthia watched the plane disappear into the distance, Masera came up behind her and whispered,
“I can see exactly where that trash will land.”

“Clairvoyance: approved.”
Somehow, the whole thing had turned into a world’s greatest talent show.
'These people are addicted to approval…'

Masera leaned in, voice low and cautioning.
“You shouldn’t go around praising men so lightly.”
“Why not?”

It was at that moment—
“Waaagh!”
Edford, carrying dishes, tripped and crashed with a loud thud.

“…Because bad things happen.”
'I’ve never even praised him. The most I ever said was, ‘You should change careers to an underwater ceramics technician,’ when I saw him washing dishes. That was mockery.'
Strangely enough, Masera had swiftly retracted his foot and now concluded matter-of-factly:

“That’s why it’s best if you only praise me.”
He was, unexpectedly, absurdly petty.