The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
“The meeting will conclude here.”

Masera, dressed in uniform, straightened his clothes and rose from his seat.
The long and tedious conference, attended by war heroes from various nations, had finally ended.
The atmosphere was so solemn and quiet it almost felt empty. Then again, that sense of emptiness had been with him ever since boarding the ship that left Lutemia.

“Couldn’t they have just exchanged this kind of thing in writing? It’s a waste of time.”
Rothschild, the Queen of Medeia’s son-in-law and consort to the Crown Princess, stretched languidly.
'You’re the host, what are you even saying...'

Masera murmured inwardly.
As the man yawned and swept back his silver-white hair, he looked straight at Masera as if he’d heard that thought.
“So, I heard you got married to the princess. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

“That’s right.”
“But aren’t we close? I don’t recall receiving an invitation.”
“There was a naval battle at the time, and I received word that you couldn’t attend.”

Rothschild was the one who, back during the war, had taken the then-child soldier Masera prisoner, taught him the ‘Chopsticks March’, and then let him go.
He had fallen so madly in love with the crown princess of the enemy nation that he betrayed his own country. Granted, his country had started the war as an empire.
In the end, his madness had made him a war hero. And a married man.

“I have a daughter too.”
The lunatic commander began boasting about his daughter. As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled out a photo and started showing it off.
“Take a look, see? Her eyes are unusual like yours. She was born with heterochromia.”

“She’s beautiful.”
“So have a daughter too. I’ll invite you to the ‘Proud Fathers of Daughters’ club. It’s a group where we mock and torment the married men who only have sons.”
For some reason, Masera’s cheek twitched into a smile. It was all a bit too fast-paced for him.
“You’re newlyweds, but you’ve been apart for a while. Don’t you feel the absence?”

“I don’t know.”
“I miss my wife. Should I just go home?”
Seeing Masera’s lukewarm response, Rothschild nodded as though he understood.

“Ah, right, you actually had a wedding. That blond over there skipped that step and had a kid first. Pretty modern, huh?”
“I see.”
“But he didn’t take responsibility and left the woman to raise the child alone. He’s the kind of guy who deserves a firing squad. If you see him walking around, you’re allowed to shoot.”

“You lunatic. The invitations were sent out already—stop spreading slander.”
The blond officer who had been quietly minding his business exploded in protest.
He quickly turned to Masera, insisting he wasn’t some shameless bastard, and that he had been stuck in a POW camp and had no choice.

To Masera’s eyes, these men—each with their own misfortunes—seemed to have found a shared kind of happiness.
“Mastiff. I told you to treat her right while you had the chance. Now you’re just full of regrets.”
“I’m treating her just fine at home, what are you even saying?”

Beyond the childish bickering of the two men, Masera spotted an officer with black hair standing at a distance.
It was Colonel Grönendal from the past—now promoted to Brigadier General.
Masera approached and saluted him.

“It’s been a while. I brought the information you requested.”
Brigadier General Grönendal handed over an envelope of documents to Masera.
These were records from the hospital where Eugene had first been discovered. Masera had asked for help long ago to locate Eugene’s parents.

“Thank you.”
“You were the one who helped me find my wife with those blessed eyes of yours. Thanks to that, I was able to hear her final words. I hope this helps you even a little.”
His wife had been found alive under the rubble after a bombing but had ultimately passed away at the same hospital where Eugene had been.

Masera clenched his fist as he recalled the horrific scene from that day.
A city cloaked in ash-gray, a terrifyingly silent chaos, charred buildings, the stench of smoke rising from where lives had been extinguished.
“…It was you, wasn’t it?”

The sensation of someone clinging to his hand, trapped under the ruins, was still vivid in his memory.
“I couldn’t attend your wedding because of the naval battle, but congratulations. Truly.”
As Brigadier General Grönendal patted Masera’s shoulder and began to walk away, Masera spoke up.

“About when I found your wife. I never had the chance to tell you this before.”
Grönendal stopped and turned to look at Masera, his trembling eyes growing deeper in color.
Masera finally relayed the words he’d held in his heart all this time.

“…She asked that you not forgive her.”
During the war, her father had assassinated Grönendal’s father—so in another light, they were enemies.
Grönendal stood silently for a long time before he finally nodded.

“…Thank you.”
As he began to walk away again, Masera took a breath and asked,
“Have you… forgiven her now?”

Grönendal paused for a moment, then shook his head.
“I’m not in a position to forgive. During war, everyone’s both victim and perpetrator.”
Masera hesitated over what to say next, then thought about what Cynthia would have said.

He straightened his boots, stood tall, and saluted.
“Brigadier General Jeffrey Grönendal. I hope you live happily from here on.”
Grönendal, who had been silently staring at Masera, returned the salute and turned away.

As Masera watched his lonely figure fade into the distance, his gaze drifted upward to the ceiling, where an angel was painted.
The angel with many eyes—Cynthia had once been too afraid to sleep under it.
“Coward.”

Masera muttered to himself and headed outside.
* * *
On the way back to his hotel, Masera took in the bright sky, blooming flowers, and streets colored by new greenery. Warm sunlight brushed his cheeks, and the scent of fresh grass and blossoms lingered in the air.

They were all things he’d overlooked the last time he came.
“Somehow, I think I found spring before she did.”
This was the country where Cynthia had longed to find spring.

Born and raised in a cold land of four harsh seasons, it made sense she would yearn for it.
He took off his uniform jacket and draped it over his arm. Then, at a shop stall, something odd caught his eye—and he came to a stop.
It was an absurd duck plushie with no discernible function other than making a quacking noise when its belly was pressed. But it was exactly the kind of thing Cynthia would buy.

'Hmph, the moment you give it love, it becomes useful.'
He could almost hear her voice, always buying silly little things.
“……”

Masera looked around to make sure no one he knew was nearby, then quickly bought the plush. If anyone saw him buying something like this, they’d mock him until the end of his days.
He kept walking until he found a bench overlooking the river and sat down. Unlike the biting wind of the Lutemia Republic, the breeze here felt like a gentle caress.
He recalled Cynthia sitting blankly on a bench, and he had wondered why she was just sitting there doing nothing.

“You might see some guys fighting on the other side, but I see a river, the sky, and a village.”
Masera squinted his eyes intentionally, trying to see what she saw.
Sometimes, women would sit beside him and try to strike up conversation—but oddly enough, the weird duck plush came in handy.

“Take care now!”
When he responded only by pressing the duck to make it quack, they would bolt.
He left the duck beside him as his guardian of virtue and tried to focus again on the scenery. But the memory of Cynthia watching the river kept distracting him.

“There was a fight in front of the [N O V E L I G H T] restaurant too. This time, five people.”
“They were fighting over who gets to pay. The world’s still warm, isn’t it?”
“…I don’t get it. Does she just see things differently?”
Masera leaned back lazily on the bench and crossed his legs.

This unfamiliar peace—just sitting and doing nothing—wasn’t so bad.
“I can’t understand it, but if she were here, I think she’d be happy.”
Suddenly realizing the reason for his lingering emptiness, Masera shifted his posture.

It was because there was no voice ringing in his ear, chattering away.
“I was bored.”
Truthfully… he found Cynthia’s chatter kind of fun. Since meeting her, his dull, gray life had gained a bit of color.

He remembered Cynthia waving at the train station.
“Did you have a good trip?”
Masera stood up, took the duck plush in hand, and glanced down at his wristwatch.

“…Should I go home.”
Compared to the Lutemia Republic, this place felt like paradise on earth. But now, he just wanted to go back.