The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

Masera could feel the seed of anxiety growing within him.
Cynthia was avoiding him. Then there were those books she had left out, and now she was even going to the firing range under the guise of overcoming trauma.
To anyone’s eyes, she looked like someone preparing to stand on her own.

‘What am I supposed to do to make this work?’
He had never even tried dating, or anything remotely like it, so it was utterly bewildering.
“There’s this thing called push-and-pull, you know.”

He recalled his adjutant—who fancied himself a love guru—offering advice during someone else's relationship crisis.
“Or maybe she lost interest now that she’s got you.”
Could I be the kind of man someone loses interest in?

Masera stared at his reflection in the mirror, checking his condition.
He’d been dressing in his most polished uniform styles, remembering that she said she liked uniforms.
‘Maybe I’m just not her type?’

Come to think of it, he’d never asked what kind of man she liked.
Sweeping back his platinum blond hair, he scowled at the mirror.
“Whether I’m her type or not, whether she’s lost interest, whether this is just some strategy—none of that matters.”

She’d be his responsibility for life.
Masera decided he’d use whatever means necessary.
“Even if ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) you try to run, it’s too late.”

It was time to start investigating her.
A faint, sly smile formed on his lips.
* * *
Masera was secretly watching Cynthia practice tennis from under a shaded area.

‘What kind of wish is she planning to make that she’s trying this hard?’
She was a little better than the first time—but still far from good.
She had turned him down with, “I prefer to practice alone,” so he couldn’t bring himself to offer guidance.

Just then, as he was trying to time a casual approach, a finger jabbed his side.
“Uncle, this is my spot.”
It was Eugene, who often hid in the same places for similar reasons.

“I was gonna ask her to draw with me.”
“I was here first.”
The adult man with the personality of a timid cat and the boy started bickering.
As they both stood behind the wall peeking at Cynthia, Masera asked seriously,

“Eugene. Why did you want to keep staying at the officers’ quarters? Was it because of all the good food?”
Back then, Eugene could’ve been sent to live with relatives, but he’d insisted on staying.
Masera wanted to understand the real reason Eugene had chosen to remain with people who weren’t even related by blood.

Eugene, peeking his head out, turned to him.
“Well… that too, but… I liked you and everyone at the quarters. I think of you as family.”
He brushed a dried leaf off his shoulder and continued.

“There were so many things I loved about this place… it made me want to stay.”
“I see.”
While Masera was deep in thought, Cynthia stretched and began to pack up to leave.

The two of them approached her together.
“Noona, it’s time to play with me.”
“No, it’s time to have tea with me.”

Cynthia looked confusedly between the two of them.
Eugene offered what he thought was a fair proposal.
“Noona, choose between me and Uncle. But I asked you to play first.”

“But I’ve been waiting here longer.”
‘Why are they fighting over me all of a sudden?’
Cynthia blinked in bewilderment.

At some point, the two had started competing over who got to sit beside her.
“My decision is…!”
Like a fair judge, Cynthia made her choice, and in the end, all three sat down to have tea and draw together.

Eugene proudly showed her the picture he’d drawn with colored pencils.
“Are these beetle friends?”
“Yeah. That’s you, me, and Uncle.”

“I don’t know why we’re beetles, but you drew them really well.”
When Cynthia praised Eugene’s drawing, Masera subtly slid his own drawing in front of her.
She studied the simple yet abstract image closely and asked,

“Ah… a boa constrictor that swallowed an elephant?”
“It’s a hat.”
“Oh.”

As time passed and it was time for class, Eugene got up and left, finally giving Masera some alone time with her.
“…The weather’s nice.”
Cynthia fiddled with her teacup, her expression awkward and her cheeks more flushed than usual. She looked a little troubled.

“There are a few questions I’d like to ask. I hope you’ll cooperate with my investigation.”
Masera began, his expression composed.
Cynthia’s shoulders noticeably tensed.

“Yes? What investigation?”
He calmly gazed at her, watching her brace herself, then slowly asked,
“What is your type?”

If he was going to become the kind of husband she liked, he needed intel. So he’d decided to just ask outright.
Relaxing a bit, Cynthia countered,
“Food-wise?”

“I’m asking about your ideal man.”
As he even pulled out a notebook, Cynthia let out an odd noise and forced a smile.
“I’m not that picky. He has to be tall, have a slim waist but broad shoulders and chest so uniforms suit him well, long and sharp eyes, refined and clean-cut facial features… someone affectionate and expressive…”

Her ideal type turned out to be extremely specific.
Masera, gauging how many of the conditions he met, held out his hand.
“I may not meet every criterion, but I’ll do my best to become a good husband.”

Cynthia hesitated, then took his hand, looking like she didn’t quite know how to respond.
A quiet smile crept onto Masera’s lips, tinged with obsession.
If he matched her type and was sweet enough, she wouldn’t even think of leaving.

Especially if he gave her favorite foods and desserts every day.
He would fill this place with things she loved—so much so she couldn’t leave.
Then Cynthia, sensing something ominous beneath his smile, asked,

“What do you hate the most, Brigadier?”
“There are too many to list.”
“Just name one. The worst.”

Masera paused in thought, then lowered his gaze.
“I used to hate deceitful lies most. But now…”
He gently tightened his grip on her hand.

“…What I fear most is you disappearing in front of me.”
* * *
Ever since Cynthia mentioned that her ideal man was “someone affectionate and expressive,” Masera had gone all-in.

Every evening he brought her flowers, until the room looked like a botanical garden. He kept giving her shiny trinkets like a magpie until she was practically a Christmas tree covered in jewelry.
The concept of “visiting nights” had vanished entirely. The staff had now fully convinced themselves that we were living a smoldering newlywed life.
Lying in bed under the morning light, I stared at the ceiling and sighed.

Waking up to find a handsome man sleeping beside me—how could I hate that life?
But I couldn’t afford to be too relaxed.
This wasn’t something that could be resolved by simply confessing the truth.

The royal inheritance—Nox—was at stake.
‘If I’m going to leave it fully in Masera’s hands, I have to follow my original plan and use the will’s authority.’
Otherwise, it would all be dismissed as a lie made up by the greedy Count’s family.

“What I fear most is you disappearing in front of me.”
That line he said kept bothering me.
‘It’s the same for me too.’

The more precious someone becomes, the more it hurts.
That’s why I’d been trying to quietly avoid him—but he kept persistently sticking close outside of work hours.
‘I failed at keeping my distance.’

Last night, weak-willed me couldn’t even say no to resting on his arm.
His embrace was too warm, too comforting, too fragrant.
I sighed again as I looked at Masera’s strong back while he got ready for work.

As he buttoned his shirt sleeves, he walked over and looked at me.
“This. Could you do it?”
He was pointing at the tie draped over his shirt.

The day had finally come when the world’s best tie-wearer was asking me for help.
As I leaned forward to tie it for him, I muttered,
“I doubt I can make it as crisp as you do.”

“That’s fine.”
But… how did he do it again?
Maybe it was because his face was so close, or because I could feel his breath. My head was spinning.

Masera silently looked down at the mess of a tie I’d made.
“Looks good, right?”
I asked shamelessly. He gave me a soft, crooked smile.

“I might be mistaken for someone who drank too much last night.”
He was not a man who sugarcoated things.
“I’ll do it again. I think I’ve got it this time.”

As I tugged on the tie, his handsome face naturally drew closer.
“……”
A subtle tension passed between us.

His slightly parted lips closed into a line, and he murmured in a low voice,
“…Is this part of your strategy?”