The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
Why had Major Isaac Rodriguez come looking for her?
Cynthia grabbed her parasol and followed Dalia to the garden, where he was waiting.

“Good morning.”
The major, dressed in civilian clothes, greeted her in his characteristically warm voice and approached with a bright expression. He held something out to her.
“The macarons you gave me the other day were truly delicious. I thought for a while about how I could return the favor, and I picked this gift—I hope you like it.”

Cynthia glanced down at the item he offered—and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw it was a ruby brooch, its color similar to her own eyes.
“Whoa, isn’t this a little too much for just some macarons?”
“That exclamation… Is it a dialect of the Republic?”

‘I was so surprised, I slipped into modern slang again.’
Wearing a sheepish smile, Cynthia quickly explained.
“It’s an emotional expression—used in different situations with different meanings... Anyway, thank you. I love it.”

A gift is never to be refused.
She held the brooch out from under her parasol to let the sunlight catch the ruby’s brilliant facets.
“Wow, it’s so beautiful. I’ll treasure it and pass it down for generations.”

“It’s not quite that grand, but I’m glad it pleases you.”
Major Rodriguez, who looked like a male lead from a romance fantasy novel, smiled brightly.
Do all Esats shine with that same gentle glow? Cynthia studied his handsome face curiously.

“Major, I’d like to offer you a warm cup of tea. Shall we go to the drawing room?”
“No, it’s all right. I just stopped by on my way elsewhere. Your kind offer is enough.”
“Oh! Are you going on a date? I had a feeling—you’re dressed quite nicely.”
He scratched his silvery hair with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I don’t have a lover.”
“You definitely have the face of someone who doesn’t stay single for long. You give off a cool aura, but there’s warmth in you too.”
Like a snow mage with a warm heart—Rodriguez chuckled.

“You, my lady, are beautiful inside and out. When I first saw you, I mistook you for an angel come to fetch me.”
“Wouldn’t that be a grim reaper?”
And so began a battle of compliments—between a woman who radiated sunshine and a man as gentle as a spring breeze. So much warmth, the snow in the garden could’ve melted.

After exhausting her entire repertoire of flattery, Cynthia extended a hand to him.
“I feel like… we could be really good friends.”
She recognized a kindred spirit.

They were both romantic souls, and they shared the unspoken understanding of what it felt like to be discriminated against.
The major took her gloved hand gently.
“Are you saying… you’d like to be friends?”

“Yes. I’ve been living in the countryside and barely know anyone. Lately I’ve been trying to make new friends.”
“I’d be honored. But… your eyes are red. Did something happen? As your friend, I’m concerned.”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing.”

Cynthia shook her head. She didn’t want to admit that she’d just come from peeling onions.
Rodriguez looked at her with gentle concern.
“If there’s ever anything I can do to help, please let me know. Even if it’s just to talk.”

‘Wow… It’s been a while since someone’s offered kindness without asking anything in return.’
Surely by now, he knew she was descended from the fallen royal family.
Most people looked at her with eyes that screamed, “Ugh, a corrupt noble! Bet she’s awful on the inside, too.”

After dealing with someone like Masera, who hissed and threw metaphorical cat punches at every turn, meeting a golden retriever-type man who wagged his tail and licked her hand on first meeting felt surreal.
“Can you handle chatting like friends do? People get tired of my rambling.”
“I’ve always been more of a listener. I assure you, I won’t get tired.”

Their hands bounced lightly up and down in a cheerful handshake. Something wordless and meaningful had been agreed upon between the two.
At that very moment, Masera happened to pass through the garden and saw them shaking hands.
* * *

Masera’s brow furrowed as he watched Cynthia and Major Rodriguez enthusiastically shaking hands.
‘What is this?’
He didn’t fully trust Cynthia yet. From afar, his sharp eyes observed the two carefully.

He reminded himself that it didn’t matter who Cynthia met.
But it was a different story if that someone was Rodriguez—a direct subordinate of Brigadier Steve.
‘So that’s why I feel so irritated. If this is just innocent interest between two adults, there’s no reason to care.’

Then he saw Rodriguez rub his eyes and lower his head.
Cynthia looked genuinely concerned, her expression soft with sympathy.
Upon closer inspection, Cynthia’s eyes were red, too.

‘Was she crying?’
Unconsciously, Masera stepped closer.
But when he saw that Rodriguez’s eyes were also red and teary, he stopped in his tracks.

A single tear rolled down the major’s cheek.
“I’m sorry… for hurting you.”
“It’s all right.”

To anyone watching, it looked like a heartfelt farewell—like two people parting with lingering sorrow.
Masera had thought he wouldn’t care if they had mutual attraction. But this—this stung worse.
The feeling was the same as when he’d first seen Carlos: like swallowing a red-hot stone.

To top it off, Rodriguez—dishonor to soldiers everywhere—was wiping away tears like a wreck.
After a brief farewell, the major departed.
Masera stood frozen in place, back turned to them.

Then came that light, familiar sound of footsteps—and Cynthia’s voice behind him.
“Brigadier, what are you doing here?”
Her tone was utterly normal, like none of what just happened had affected her at all.

Turning his head, Masera met her even expression.
Shouldn’t a woman with a fiancé look at least a little flustered or surprised?
‘Does she not care about me at all?’

It irritated him. Come to think of it, he was always the one who got swept up in emotion.
Even when he was cold, dismissive, or sharp-tongued, this pale, unbothered woman remained as bright and untouchable as the midnight sun.
Was her heart shielded behind an impenetrable fortress?

“Why were you crying?”
Masera asked.
What bothered him most wasn’t that she cried—but that she had done so in front of another man, revealing a raw part of herself.

“Oh.”
Cynthia faltered, startled, and quickly hid her hands behind her back, stepping away.
“The onion I had earlier was just really spicy.”

What kind of excuse was that? Masera’s expression darkened.
But # Nоvеlight # Cynthia had her reasons.
‘I can’t say I peeled 38 onions as a princess. We even had a contest with the kitchen staff.’

They would be the ones punished if the truth came out.
Worse yet, poor Rodriguez had rubbed his eyes after shaking hands with her—tears triggered by onion residue she’d forgotten to wash off.
‘If they find out I onion-attacked an officer…’

No way. She couldn’t let that slip. Cynthia watched Masera like a guilty suspect gauging the detective’s mood.
Masera’s eyes narrowed into a sharper glare.
“You’re free to meet whoever you want. It’s not like you owe me loyalty.”

His tone dropped into an icy growl. Cynthia, who didn’t understand what triggered that outburst, looked at him with a blank stare.
“Okay.”
She heard things like this every cooldown cycle. It didn’t surprise her anymore.

But then she remembered the classic “regretful male lead roasting sweet potatoes at night” trope and quickly added,
“But no concubines, please. If you must, make it a man. I’ll do a formal interview and pick a woman myself. Not a concubine—just a soulmate-type arrangement…”
Honestly, he didn’t seem like the kind of man to scream, “Cynthia! What have you done to my soft and innocent darling?!” But one never knew.

Masera’s lips twisted visibly at her words.
‘Why is he the one getting upset? What did I miss?’
Running through the possibilities in her head, Cynthia arrived at a conclusion so ridiculous she could hardly believe it.

Given his reaction, and the fact that he had witnessed her talking to Rodriguez…
“Did you… maybe see me talking to Major Rodriguez just now?”
“No.”

Masera denied it with way too much force.
Gotcha.
So he was the kind of man who didn’t allow his woman to even talk to other men.

Cynthia hadn’t pegged him as the traditional jealous type—but wow, he really was.
She stared at him with a soft, slightly pitying gaze.