Chapter 50

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 50

Chapter Title: Tea Leaves, and Barley and Turnips

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“Wha-how… No, that can’t be!”

Lady Solenu didn’t give in easily.

Of course not. She had just suffered the greatest humiliation of her life.

She wouldn’t readily believe my words, and on top of that, she must be worried about her family.

They’d never just sit idly by if they found out the truth.

I shook her once more.

“Just use a different name instead of Rita Morgan.”

“…Pardon?”

“If the name itself doesn’t carry much weight, then simply create a new one.”

“But the shop, the tools, the materials—they’re all already…!”

Her family probably wouldn’t have left her alone.

I answered with a bright smile.

“I can prepare all that for you right away. A proper shop in the bustling heart of the capital.”

Fortunately, the Delphin ducal family had more than enough resources for that.

Setting up a single dress shop is no big deal.

And according to my grand plan, this was a 100% guaranteed investment.

Even in that harsh situation before my regression, she had made a name for herself as a genius. With solid backing, producing results far beyond that was a foregone conclusion.

Even so, Lady Solenu still looked bewildered.

“No, but… why go so far out of your way for me?”

There was only one thing I could say to that.

“On the small scale, it’s about wearing the finest dress on your most important day. On the grand scale, think of it as an investment in your potential.”

Lady Solenu—no, Isephin—was visibly shaken.

I decided to deliver the final blow, along with some inspiration.

I’d had Annie fetch the stained dress from earlier.

“Take your time thinking it over at home. And here’s that damp dress from before…”

The lemon-yellow gown was marred with indigo-purple stains in spots everywhere.

Gazing at it, I let out an audible sigh of admiration.

“What Ruth Marquis’s Daughter did was truly outrageous—something no one should ever do.”

I gently touched the fabric darkened to indigo-purple with my fingertips. Isephin’s eyes naturally followed.

“Ironically, the color it’s stained is quite beautiful. And I hear these stains don’t come out easily?”

“Ah, yes. They say it sets in like actual dye.”

That was why it was common sense not to wear light-colored clothes when drinking shalinga tea.

Evangeline had spotted Isephin in pale attire and deliberately splashed her with shalinga flower tea.

To make the stain stand out vividly. To force her to trudge home in filthy clothes, stewing in humiliation the whole way.

To Isephin, now rigid as she recalled it all, I flashed a brilliant smile.

“This color is stunning, regardless of the malice behind the spill. Don’t you agree?”

It wasn’t wrong.

It truly was an elegant, translucent shade of indigo-purple.

“They say dyeing silk purple requires killing vast numbers of murex snails and using their secretions.”

It was a famous tale. Purple was notoriously difficult to produce, which made it fabulously expensive.

“Shalinga petal tea is pricey, of course, but a gown dyed with the petals themselves? So romantic, don’t you think?”

I smiled softly, driving the point home.

“And I believe Rita Morgan has the talent to transform even an act of malice into her greatest masterpiece.”

In the genius’s eyes, sparks of inspiration and ideas burst forth like fireworks.

Even if not today, it was clear she’d have no choice but to take my hand soon.

The shalinga petal dyeing idea wasn’t entirely my own invention, either.

Before my regression, Rita Morgan’s biggest sensation was the shalinga petal gown.

And I’d heard the inspiration for that dyeing technique came from the humiliation she suffered at Evangeline’s hands.

All I’d done was relay it straight to the source.

Even if I’d left her alone, Rita Morgan would have emerged with shalinga petal gowns in about five years or so.

But she would have burned bright for just two years before fading away.

This time, she might unleash her talents far sooner—and on an even grander scale.

Besides, I need an utterly overwhelming gown for the banquet at Artanus Hall.

So I had to draw out genius Rita Morgan years ahead of schedule.

And since I’ve made contact with Lady Solenu, that person will reach out soon enough.

I’d told Lady Solenu that I only wanted her talents as a designer, but that wasn’t the full truth.

The Solenu marquis family—and the Grand Duchess Axion backing them.

They were targets I had my eye on, too.

I popped the cashew nuts Annie had brought as a snack into my mouth.

The nut inside shattered between my teeth, filling my tongue with a rich, nutty flavor.

Perfect. Everything’s going according to plan.

That was when it happened.

The one man who always shattered my plans appeared.

“So this is where my baby chipmunk was hiding? Stuffing her cheeks full of nuts like a greedy little hoarder.”

“Pfft!”

I spat out the nuts I’d been chewing.

Arpad had finally returned.

Only after I’d brought Lady Solenu to my room, cleaned her up, changed her clothes, persuaded her, and sent her on her way.

No way he’d been keeping up the distraction the whole time, right?

“Where the hell have you been this whole time?!”

“Fulfilling the task you gave me to the letter.”

Wait, seriously? He’d been doing that the entire time?

“A-are you insane?!”

Arpad grinned confidently in response.

“Of course. I gave it my all to make sure no one paid you any mind.”

My voice trembled as I asked,

“Don’t tell me… you kept calling me your baby chipmunk… the whole time?”

Arpad simply smiled serenely without a word.

“…!”

I sank into profound despair.

Why, oh why, had I entrusted the bride abduction marriage to this lunatic?

Ah, right. Because he was crazy enough that my abilities would work on him.

My life suddenly felt so tragic.

I escaped that trash Ludwig, only to end up with a madman…

Still, a madman was better than trash.

Chapter 7. Tea Leaves, and Barley and Turnips

The empress’s palace was a total wreck.

Crash!

Priceless porcelain and glass shattered everywhere.

Riiip!

Swords tore through silk drapes, lace, and tapestries.

Evangeline lashed out at everything around her whenever she was even slightly angry, but the empress was different.

Normally, she was quiet and never tormented her subordinates excessively.

She wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts, either.

Except in one particular case.

The empress, her hair a wild tangle as she trashed the room, suddenly snapped her head up.

Evangeline, who had been standing against the wall trying to hide her fear, asked cautiously,

“Mother?”

Isabel, who had looked like a madwoman, seemed to regain her senses at last.

She staggered toward her daughter, seized Evangeline’s arms, and cried out,

“You have to become the real empress. You get it, don’t you, Eva? I’ll make sure you become the real empress!”

Evangeline struggled to conceal her look of utter revulsion.

To lose her mind this badly just because the emperor never loved her. I can’t comprehend it.

Her mantra had always been that she would make Evangeline the real empress.

Which, of course, implied that Isabel herself was not the real empress.

A loveless, nominal empress whose only claim was her title. That truth had driven Isabel insane.

Isabel was Evangeline’s biological mother, but not to the soul who had possessed her body.

She didn’t consider Isabel her mother at all.

No, she viewed everyone in this world not as living people, but as mere characters.

So empathy was impossible.

“Calm down, Mother. This isn’t the time for this.”

“Calm down? Calm down about what? That bastard! Roxellin’s son humiliated me! Said his mother is the only real empress. That I’m nothing!!!”

Anyone could see that Arpad’s antics today had been aimed squarely at insulting the empress.

The emperor had never once shown up for Isabel’s wedding anniversary—not even once.

Yet on that very day, Arpad had appeared searching for his bride and prattled on about memories with the late empress.

In effect, he’d declared that neither the empress’s palace nor anything attached to it belonged to her.

The only real empress is the late Roxellin.

Evangeline recalled Arpad’s behavior from earlier that day.

She didn’t care about the empress’s shame or humiliation.

She remembered only how achingly beautiful he had been—radiating light she could neither covet nor endure.

And such a man hadn’t spared her so much as a glance, wandering in search only of that woman.

“My beloved baby chipmunk!”

It was a pet name that had tormented Hilia with shame, but Evangeline envied it fiercely.

Jealousy burned through her.

All of it should have been hers.

Because…

I’m the true protagonist of this world. Not some worthless character—the only real human here is me!

Evangeline grabbed the arms of Isabel, who was thrashing in despair.

“Mother. Mother. Pull yourself together.”

“Yes… Eva. My daughter.”

Isabel collapsed against her daughter.

That was when Evangeline asked in a quiet voice,

“Mother, you do know, don’t you?”

“Know what…? Darling?”

“How to trigger the imperial family’s mania.”

She knew.

That Isabel had been involved in the death of the late empress Roxellin.