Chapter 26

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: The Villainess Imprinted with the Male Lead 33

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“And, if it’s not too much trouble, um…… could I collect a few strands of your hair?”

“Did you just say hair?”

“Yes, just about five or six strands would do.”

Before he could even give permission, she stood up from her seat, as if it was something she absolutely had to do.

“Since the Imprint is so closely tied to werewolves, Your Grace is incredibly important. There are all sorts of experiments I need to run from every angle……”

Before he could respond, Luciana had already sidled up next to the Duke.

“Wait, you’re too close……”

“Shall I pull them?”

Richt mumbled something in a flustered voice, but Luciana—fully focused on his thickly grown hair—carefully parted the soft strands.

Ouch, ouch.

More than the prickling on his scalp, the warm presence standing so close was what distracted him.

I’m done for.

Had he just bathed? The cozy scent of soap kept teasing him relentlessly.

—Aaah, Lucy’s scent. It’s been forever.

In this situation, only his primal instincts were absolutely thrilled.

Richt’s sense of smell was already sharper than a normal person’s, and it felt like outright torture. Every time the oblivious Luciana rustled through his hair, his insides burned with agony.

“Are you almost done?”

“All finished. Did it hurt? Your face looks a bit……”

“No need to worry.”

“Ah…… yes.”

Had pulling a few strands put him in a bad mood or something?

Luciana fretted over Richt’s suddenly subdued expression but carefully gathered the hairs she’d collected to keep from losing any, then began preparing to leave.

Rustle, rustle.

Richt, who had barely regained his composure, silently watched Luciana pack up her things.

She looks exhausted.

His face twisted in dissatisfaction.

Her drowsy eyes and dark circles made it clear she’d been overdoing it these past few days.

She looked like she’d collapse without a sound if even lightly prodded. What if she just keeled over like that?

Every time he caught her listless movements, her tiny frame—entirely his subjective opinion—nagged at him.

“You look tired. Pushing yourself lately, aren’t you?”

“Pardon?”

Luciana’s eyes went wide at Richt suddenly fretting over her health.

“Ah…… a little.”

“Tch. You eating on time?”

“……?”

Now even her meals?

Luciana paused what she was doing and stared at Richt.

“You’re not skipping any, are you?”

“No, I even make sure to eat snacks……”

Thanks to parents who wouldn’t tolerate her going hungry, Luciana always ate right up to dessert, no matter how busy she got.

“……I see.”

But even hearing she was eating plenty, his face didn’t brighten.

She’s definitely charging ahead with the research.

Even a newborn calf would have more pep than that. Richt clicked his tongue lightly and ventured,

“Maybe take it easy, for the sake of your health.”

“……?”

What was that supposed to mean?

Had Richt been the one skimping on sleep? He was spouting all sorts of oddities today.

“We have to break the Imprint fast to get on with our own lives, right……?”

“……!”

Our own…… lives?

The words hit like the world splitting in two.

“What do you mean by that?”

Flinch.

Did I say something wrong?

His face had darkened in an instant, impossible to ignore.

Luciana dodged his eyes, flustered by the aggressive probing, and fumbled,

“Well, maybe down the line there’ll be fated mates or…… something like that?”

“What kind of mates?”

“Um, you know……”

Why overreact so hard to an offhand excuse?

Right. Richt’s the type who’s stingy with love until he falls for the heroine.

No wonder talk of fated mates sounded absurd to him.

But it’s all true.

She couldn’t breathe a word about Deborah. How to explain this? Luciana swallowed a budding sigh.

“After all, Your Grace and I just got tangled up in an accident……”

“!”

Accident. The word froze Richt’s expression like an iced-over lake in a heartbeat.

The Imprint from that day was nothing more, nothing less than the result of getting swept up in misfortune.

Ha.

His throat burned black, as if hellfire had scorched it.

Technically not wrong, yet it grated like nothing else.

But what chafed most was his own inability to even refute her.

“Anyway, fated mates or not, no reason to slack off. You know that too, Your Grace.”

“……”

Of course he did. He loathed the curse of the Imprint more than anyone.

Yet instead of thanking the one trying hardest of all, why did his mouth go so dry, like he’d foolishly courted his own doom?

“……Signal me when the materials are ready. I’ll head out now.”

Luciana still minded Richt’s blank face but pulled out her artifact instead of prying deeper.

She channeled mana as always, aiming to return to the mansion.

Drip.

“Ah……?”

A sudden fishy, sticky trickle down her philtrum halted her step.

“Hey!”

An urgent shout followed.

Richt jolted at the sight of blood dripping freely against her dazed expression.

“Stay still.”

“Eek!”

His face was blatantly contorted.

No hesitation—he bolted over, yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, plugged her nose, and gently pressed her head down toward the floor.

“How can you claim you’re not overdoing it, looking like this?”

His mild scolding wrapped around her ears.

“Ugh……”

“Bear it till the bleeding stops, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

Flustered by the abrupt contact, Luciana wriggled like a bird in a cage, but Richt just tsked and scolded her to behave instead of letting go.

First aid’s fine, but isn’t he too close?

Even breathing through her mouth with her nose blocked, his scent—imprinted in her brain since his rut—crashed over her like waves.

His embracing arm was ironclad. Each time his lukewarm body heat enveloped her, an indescribable sensation welled up.

As Richt tugged her closer, her helpless little shoulders shrank faintly in his hold.

The instant she registered his solid frame looming, even tiny motions faltered.

Eek.

Luciana managed only shallow breaths, helpless.

Fine, say he dashed over startled by the nosebleed.

Wrapping her face with the handkerchief could pass as pitching in while she panicked.

But clinging like glue to tend her? Overkill, no matter how you sliced it.

I’ve got hands.

The warmth that seeped in silently had already melted into her like one flesh.

Even as Luciana flailed her arms to signal enough, Richt stood firm as rock. He parroted “stay still” like a mynah bird.

About five minutes passed like that.

“Wait here.”

“Pardon?”

Once the flow staunched, Richt headed toward the bedroom attached to the office—only to reemerge moments later.

“Eek!”

Luciana reflexively winced at the damp sensation slapping her face without warning.

Wonder where he went. Wet the handkerchief?

Whether Luciana rolled her eyes to cut the awkward tension or not, Richt silently wiped the bloodstains with the soaked silk.

Like earlier. Why act so awkwardly? His attitude’s softened since the apology, sure, but this is…… still too much.

Bending low due to their height gap, Richt gripped the back of Luciana’s squirming head and rubbed her face clean like a child’s after a mess.

His uncharacteristically clumsy touch was gentle, childlike in its care.

Disconcerting enough already. Those blood-drop irises gleamed with meticulous worry, almost painfully intent.

“I-I can do it!”

“It’s done already.”