The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

Masera, dressed in a clean shirt and sweater, sat down on the sofa and unfolded the newspaper.
“Can you see the letters?”
Cynthia asked as she watched him read by the faint light of the fireplace.

“I can.”
“You too, Colonel? I see better in the dark as well. Isn’t that fascinating?”
“…That’s normal.”

‘Weren’t people from the Western Regions supposed to be naturally strong in the dark?’
Recalling a passage from a martial arts novel, Cynthia nodded and sat across from him.
“Reading in bright light is hard for me because it hurts my eyes. I don’t need glasses, but my eyesight isn’t very good.”

“I can read the text in a book from the building across the street.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened in surprise at his words.
“Are you a telescope?”

“…I was a sniper in the past. My vision is about 6.0.”
“Wow, are you a descendant of Genghis Khan? You’ve got a built-in 6x scope. If you can see well in the dark too, you wouldn’t even need thermal imaging.”
“Who’s Genghis Khan?”

‘And how the hell does she know stuff like that?’
Masera quickly turned his head away after catching sight of Cynthia’s linen pajamas.
They were slightly sheer, which, given his excellent vision, was torment.

“Why are you sitting in front of me dressed like that?”
“I don’t think it’s any different from regular loungewear… Besides, this is the bedroom.”
He wasn’t even fully a man to her, and they were soon to be married anyway.
“Is this pajama not to your liking…?”

Masera, seeing her slightly dispirited expression, suddenly remembered what he had said in a fit of irritation after dinner when he hugged her.
“Honestly… it’s nothing but disgusting.”
It had been nagging at him for a while.

‘Was I too harsh?’
“What I said earlier—I didn’t mean it.”
“You mean when I said the jellied eel had a completely inappropriate taste? Everyone probably thinks that, so don’t worry. If anyone was being rude, it was me for offering it. I didn’t think you’d actually eat it.”

Cynthia replied brightly, glowing more than the midday sun.
She had been too distracted by the hug to hear anything that came after “Honestly…”
“My sister and the duke are going on their honeymoon tomorrow. The rest of the family will be heading back too.”

Masera, unaware that she hadn’t heard the rest of what he’d said, looked at Cynthia speaking so casually and was struck by an odd sense of guilt.
He thought she was just pretending not to care.
There had been someone like that among his past subordinates too.

Always cheerful, always smiling, as if the world held no trouble—but inside, full of despair.
Masera’s eyes, the color of dawn mist, gradually deepened.
“Was there anywhere you wanted to go? In Medeia, I mean.”

“For our honeymoon? Can I plan it? I’ll draw up a detailed itinerary. I think it’d be really fun to go with you!”
Seeing Cynthia’s eyes sparkle with excitement only made the discomfort in his heart worse.
The way she had talked about seeing the ocean on their honeymoon, or the way she had spoken to the madams earlier—it was clear that going to the maritime kingdom of Medeia had long been a dream of hers.

She must have been thrilled, thinking this was finally her chance to make it happen.
“Colonel, thank you for having the beautiful dress made for me. Where do you think would be a nice honeymoon destination? I really want to—”
“I’m not going.”

Up until the moment he rejected her.
‘Why does this feel so…’
He swept a hand through his platinum hair, narrowing his eyes.

‘Doesn’t it feel like I’m becoming the villain?’
Imagining the day he would one day break things off coldly, a faint sense of guilt began to stir.
“Colonel, I didn’t think you’d actually say we should break up…”

Would he be able to say something so cruel to that heartbreakingly vulnerable face?
He felt a growing urgency not to let himself be swayed by this pale woman any longer.
‘Fine, the honeymoon, at least.’

If it was her dream, he could grant her that much. It would be a problem if the marriage fell apart.
After that, whether she cried her eyes out or withered away—it would no longer concern him. Masera silently calculated how much kindness he could afford to give her until then.
“It was a pleasant conversation. I’m going to bed now. Sleep well—see you tomorrow.”

Yaaawn. Cynthia stood up with a stretch and waved her hand.
Masera got down onto the floor and leaned back against the sofa.
Thanks to his long years in the military, he was used to standing guard like this—it felt more natural in unfamiliar places.

Meanwhile, Cynthia, now sitting on the bed, tilted her head at the sight of him using the sofa as a backrest while sitting on the floor.
‘Is that… a Korean habit?’
In the end, her curiosity got the better of her.

“Why are you sleeping like that?”
“It’s comfortable for me.”
“Maybe it’s because the room is so spacious. Even if we put in a lot of firewood, it’s still a bit chilly. Do you want another blanket?”

“I’m not sensitive to the cold.”
Cynthia fell quiet for a long time. It seemed she had fallen asleep from exhaustion.
But just as Masera gently closed his eyes…

“You went out earlier and made a snowman, didn’t you? Your gloves were wet.”
“……”
He pretended to be asleep and didn’t answer. The question was so absurd he didn’t even know what to say.

Surely she’d stop by now…
“You’re doing fun things by yourself. I can make snow ducks too, you know.”
‘Please, just go to sleep quietly.’

Tired of her endless chatter, Masera firmly resolved to sleep in separate rooms after the wedding.
* * *
“Colonel! We’ve lost communication with headquarters!”

“We’re low on food, fuel, and winter gear! Without supplies, our unit will be wiped out!”
Masera was dreaming again.
A memory from before he earned his title—when he was still Colonel Masera Gize.

A time when supply lines had been cut off by a snowstorm, leaving most of their forces to die.
Only he and the duke—then a lieutenant colonel—survived. The same went for the noble-born officers.
“Did you order our men to make that suicidal charge just to save the nobles, Colonel? Was it to reduce the number of mouths with no supplies?”

It had actually been Duke Henry Recanosa who gave the command without Masera’s approval.
His reasoning: if everyone was going to die anyway, someone had to survive.
Naturally, that someone would be a noble.

“How could you be so cruel? You should have sent me into that hell too! Just because I’m a noble, I had to survive while my comrades died…”
Even as Masera was treated like a monster, the duke pretended ignorance to the very end.
“The Bariesa royal family is already gone—so why are we still on the battlefield? What are we fighting for? To clean up their mess?”

Among the cries of those who had survived, Masera heard the sobs of a common soldier whose limbs were rotting from frostbite.
“Colonel… it’s so cold…”
As the nightmare faded, Masera’s eyes slowly opened. The violet in his blue irises had darkened further.

The crying from his memory had turned into Cynthia’s sleep talk.
“Mmm… it’s cold…”
The room was filled with a distinct chill. The fireplace had nearly burned out, leaving only dying embers.

Masera threw in some spare firewood and lit a match. It would take a while for the room to warm up.
He found himself oddly distracted by the way she shivered under the blankets. He wanted to remain indifferent—but she was a troublesome woman in many ways.
He approached the ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) bed and touched the cold blanket. A lock of white hair spilled out from under the covers.

Then, as the room slowly warmed, Cynthia stirred and poked her upper body out from beneath the blankets.
Masera quietly watched her peaceful, sleeping face.
Looking back, every misfortune could be traced to the war launched by the incompetent Bariesa royal family.

The revolutionaries had wiped out all the royals to erase the dynasty completely.
“Please, hide us. My daughter and I—we’ll give you everything we have.”
He had been about six years old.

A woman had come begging, holding a little girl around three or four years old in her arms.
She said she needed to go north. Despite her ragged appearance, she carried herself with elegance. The child, wrapped tightly in a blanket, smelled clean and sweet.
“Oh dear… I don’t know what’s going on, but as a mother myself, I can’t just leave you out here. Come in and warm yourselves.”

Masera’s mother, knowing nothing, had taken pity and helped them. The woman had left behind a red diamond necklace.
“We’re refugees too, and we’ve received a lot of help here. Helping you is just passing that on. No need for payment. You’re going to the north to find the child’s father, right? I’ll pack some bread and butter for the road.”
But the woman, insistent on repaying the kindness, left the necklace behind—and that brought ruin.

Masera’s mother was branded a heartless traitor who aided a fugitive royal for the sake of jewels, and was killed by the revolutionaries.
He survived as a war orphan, fighting desperately against fate.
And then, another girl had survived the storm of fate.

As he lingered in memory, Masera’s gaze fell on Cynthia’s neck.
The red necklace that had led to his mother’s death—was now hanging from Cynthia’s throat.