Chapter 29

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Villainess Imprinted with the Male Lead - Chapter 36

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Of course, Richt wasn't the sort to show his face just for a flimsy reason like that.

A program more suited to children playing house, flaunting beauty and baring charms to draw people's attention.

'A gathering without even the barest scrap of amusement.'

Just the thought seemed to turn his stomach; his usually stern face drained of color at the mere image of the social hall thick with cloying scents.

He generally found dealings with people a hassle, but events like the Spring Festival were ones he especially loathed. In truth, he'd never once attended since his debut.

His resolve was probably the same this year.

"It's already time."

Richt set the invitation down on the table with an indifferent flick of his wrist.

He glanced at the wall clock and channeled mana into the artifact. Moments later, Luciana appeared, empty box in hand.

"...!"

Richt, who had only glanced at her absently, froze solid like plaster in an instant.

'A look I've never seen on her.'

He muttered it to himself without realizing.

Her outfit was the same as always, but one thing stood out different.

Was it because her hair, which usually swayed at her waist, was loosely braided? An unfamiliar air clung to the woman he knew so well.

Had he always been so attuned to others' appearances?

Before Richt could feel odd about spotting her change so readily, Luciana strode right toward him.

"!"

His shoulders hunched in tension.

Had she switched soaps for the new spring? With every step closer, a crisp scent—not the vanilla he'd tired of through winter—wafted over him.

It tickled.

Multifaceted fragrances teased through him, like stepping into a sunlit glass conservatory.

Gulp.

Richt's throat bobbed slowly.

He was merely breathing to live, yet each inhale wrapped him in the delusion of leaning on her shoulder.

"...The scent."

"Pardon?"

"...Nothing. Forget it."

"...?"

What about the scent? Is it bad?

'I bathed not long ago.'

Luciana timidly sniffed at her sleeve, seeing him subtly stiffen and pull back a touch.

'It smells nice, though.'

She shrugged off her quiet grumble and handed the duke the memo she'd brought. Richt, clearly done with the topic, swiftly changed gears.

"The material list is shorter today."

"We culled some candidates. No big changes for the time being."

Richt nodded wordlessly, and Luciana followed with a quick report on her week's research.

"And... that's all."

"Understood. Tell me if you need anything extra."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Maybe because there were no special updates this time. They'd barely been together thirty minutes, and already it felt like the end.

'I can head back early today.'

The moment Luciana moved to prepare for her return to the mansion, her eyes caught the invitation tucked in the table's corner. Without thinking, she spoke up.

"That invitation..."

She might have overlooked it any other day, but the unwelcome sight drew an unwitting acknowledgment.

His crimson eyes tracked her gaze. Richt seemed to finally register the letter envelope he'd brushed aside.

'Ugh, I don't want to go.'

It looked like Her Highness the Second Princess was keen on his attendance.

Her true feelings bubbled up abruptly. Luciana let out a sigh, as if airing a grievance.

'Even a princess can't force someone's will, so skipping it shouldn't cause issues. But I haven't shown my face in society lately... In the end, I'll probably have to go. Folks here don't take kindly to holing up in one's mansion.'

For someone who found fluffy bed rest the height of bliss, it was an exhausting world.

Richt watched her in silence before tossing out an abrupt question.

"...Are you attending too, my lady?"

"Pardon? Well... I suppose so...?"

Why's he suddenly asking? He never cared what I did before.

Luciana nodded awkwardly, shoving her faint doubt aside.

'...Damn.'

Richt's Adam's apple rippled like waves.

The instant he heard she'd be there, unease spiked through him.

The Spring Festival. What sort of social affair was it?

He'd skipped it so far, but rumors abounded—he had the gist.

Not content with a paired dance alongside one's partner of the opposite sex, it was a venue where clinging together all day raised no eyebrows.

"..."

It was an invitation he'd paid no mind to moments ago.

Yet picturing Luciana dancing with some other man, chatting warmly... an intolerable discontent began to simmer.

'Attending the Spring Festival...'

Suddenly, Richt envisioned himself at her side.

Dress codes matched yet mismatched with care, a seamless escort.

His mind rebelled as utter nonsense, but why did heat spread through him like embers swallowed whole?

'Spring Festival. Spring Festival...'

This is driving me mad.

Had he ever felt such urgency in his life?

Swallowing dryly again and again, like a man on the cusp of destiny's greatest choice, Richt at last surrendered to the surging impulse and shattered his restraint.

"How about attending with me?"

"...Pardon?!"

What? The Spring Festival?

'Us...?'

Is he in his right mind...?

Blasphemous as it was, Luciana desperately wanted to ask.

She briefly pictured it: arm-in-arm with Richt, entering on amiable terms.

Onlookers' eyes popping wide at the bizarre pairing, gossips abuzz in an instant.

'No need to guess the fallout. A sudden partner bid? In the original story, it was the heroine, not me...'

Ah, right. The imprint.

Dawning on her, Luciana stiffened as she recalled the novel's plot.

By rights, Richt should've tagged along to the Spring Festival at Deborah's whim, turning an unwanted affair into a budding romance.

But that accident-spawned night scrapped the sappy date, and now Deborah couldn't join him there either.

'It felt off from the nosebleed wipe. Maybe this partner ask is imprint fallout too.'

His recent quirks made it plausible enough.

'At least then he snapped back quick. Now he doesn't even clock his own weirdness?'

By now, the normal response would've been "Forget I said that" or "Slip of the tongue—don't read into it." So why the uncharacteristic meekness?

'Or is it really the Second Princess pulling strings.'

Princess's sway or not, Richt wasn't one to bend easily.

The more Luciana pondered, the less clear it got—like tumbling into a labyrinth.

She couldn't pinpoint why he wanted to go, but she tried to make sense of his odd conduct anyway.

Not that she'd ever dream of accepting, of course.

"Sorry, but a partnership is..."

"Why?"

"Pardon? Well, obviously..."

Did she really need to spell it out?

His menacing snap-back hit the second refusal loomed.

Luciana wavered—say it outright?—but opted for brutal honesty as kinder to them both.

"To the world at large, Your Grace and I might as well be strangers. Parading in as partners out of nowhere would render all our secrecy up to now pointless, wouldn't it...?"

"!"

He flinched as her words landed.

His rigid crimson gaze softened in a flash—he looked downright flustered.

'Damn it.'

She was spot-on, no holes in it. Richt cursed his foolish delay in seeing his blunder.

'...Hell. I got carried away without realizing. Blurting idiocy because I couldn't hold my tongue.'

How idiotic.

He reeled from not clocking his shift until her turndown.

Embarrassment took backseat, though.

"Um... Even putting that aside, I couldn't possibly accept."