The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
Masera had spotted the suspicious movements of some men outside the Ferris wheel.
Just as the fog cleared, he could clearly make out the round, tidy handwriting on the papers they were holding.

It was Cynthia’s handwriting—the papers were the itinerary she had made.
‘Did they follow us all the way here? Or are they agents already stationed in this area?’
As the central figure of the war, Masera had countless enemies. His marriage partner would inevitably become a target as well.

And that was exactly why he had rejected all other proposals and chosen the princess of Bariesa as his bride.
He didn’t care what happened to her, so long as he got what he wanted.
That was why he had no reason to worry about her or treat her with kindness.

“Colonel, do you care about me?”
…Until she kept making him care.
Masera’s gaze, which had been fixed on her ruby-like sparkling eyes, slid over to her pale cheeks tinged with pink.

The kindness she showed him was only a performance, part of the act of being a harmonious married couple. Nobles were skilled at wearing masks, after all.
He hated that.
“I know what you’re worried about. I’ll get stronger.”

The gentle smile, the proactive attitude, the eyes that sparkled as if she truly liked him.
“Teach me how to fight when we get back.”
Cynthia clenched her little fists and put on a face like a brave rabbit.

‘She’s trying to act cute. It won’t work.’
Masera rubbed his ear and looked away.
‘This is the last time I play along with such a ridiculous act.’
* * *

‘This really is the last time. Once this honeymoon is over, we’ll live as complete strangers…’
At the dessert café, bound by the vow of “absolute obedience during the honeymoon,” Masera was thinking that very thought as he silently ate the cherry Cynthia offered him.
He wished the honeymoon would end already.

“Cherries in Lutemia are firm and tangy, but these ones are soft and sweet. I think the constant rain makes the fruit a bit bland, but it goes nicely with the sweet cream.”
As Cynthia cheerfully rambled on, Masera could feel the stares of the other patrons.
In a country full of black-haired people, pale-skinned Cynthia and Masera with his striking platinum hair clearly stood out as foreigners.

[“Excuse me, are you Brigadier Visente? I heard you arrived.”]
[“My goodness, I can’t believe I’m seeing a war hero here! What an honor!”]
[“You’re even more handsome in person.”]

Soon, elegantly dressed young women approached Masera, speaking to him in Medeian.
If they knew he’d arrived, they likely knew he was here on his honeymoon—but not one of them acknowledged Cynthia’s presence. They treated her as if she were invisible.
Famous figures attracted plenty of temptation.

Some officers used their popularity to indulge in secret affairs, and society tended to overlook such indiscretions, chalking it up to the hardships soldiers had endured during the war.
But Masera had very clear views on marriage.
‘A man who cheats on his wife deserves to be executed.’

He glanced at Cynthia. She was smiling as usual, eating her cake with an unbothered expression.
[“Colonel, I’m hosting a social gathering at my estate tomorrow. Would you consider stopping by for a short while?”]
Masera stared flatly at the woman who ignored his wife.

[“That’s an inappropriate invitation for a married man. I decline.”]
[“Oh my, that wasn’t my intention. Then how about attending with your wife?”]
[“I don’t want to.”]

Having grown uncomfortable with the attention, Masera was ready to leave. But Cynthia hated wasting food, didn’t she?
“Wife, I’ll buy you a new dessert at a different place, so let’s—”
'When did she finish eating?'

Masera blinked, staring at the now-empty plate in front of her, visibly taken aback.
Cynthia dabbed her lips with poise and gave him a devilish smile.
“No more sweets if you get distracted.”

'Did the cake matter more than the women flirting with me?'
Granted, she probably didn’t understand a word of Medeian—but still, it wasn’t exactly a situation to be that nonchalant about.
As Masera’s expression stiffened, Cynthia, noticing his mood, asked why he was sulking over dessert and promised to buy something even tastier at the next café.

* * *
Back at the palace, Masera wore a stiff expression, answering everything Cynthia said in clipped responses. He was always brief, but now his words had a sharper edge.
“Come on, I won’t do it again. I thought you didn’t want any.”

Cynthia thought he was upset because she ate all the cake.
Masera let out a sigh and stepped into the bathroom.
‘She acts carefree to the point of shamelessness…’

He sank into the tub, brushing back his wet hair. Whether it was the heat or the steam, an indecent memory surfaced in his mind.
Cynthia, sitting on his lap in the Ferris wheel, arms around his neck.
The sweet scent of milk-peach and soap, the way her shoulders trembled, the breath that brushed his cheek.

Why, of all things, did it have to be beautiful?
—
“Colonel, you’re married now, shouldn’t you be thinking about having children?”

Whose presumptuous advice was this that came to mind now?
Masera clenched his fist tightly.
After finishing his long bath, he stepped out—only to run into Cynthia, also freshly washed, her hair still damp.

“The Grand Madam of Recanosa and the princesses gave us pajamas as a honeymoon gift. Remember how you said you didn’t like my old ones?”
“When did I say that?”
“You definitely did. I brought them with me, so let’s check them out together.”

Cynthia dragged the reluctant Masera by the arm, her face slightly flushed with excitement.
“They were very insistent we open it during the honeymoon. I think… they gave us couple pajamas.”
Even under his vow of absolute obedience, Masera refused to wear couple pajamas. He # Nоvеlight # prayed that wasn’t what they were.

Cynthia, meanwhile, opened the box with anticipation and pulled out the pajamas.
“Ta-da.”
It was the first time she’d gone silent since meeting him.

Masera’s calm eyes scanned the garment hanging from her fingers.
“…Why would they give something like this?”
This wasn’t pajamas—it was just scraps of cloth.

Looking flustered, Cynthia quickly stuffed the item back into the box and shut it.
“Uh… there are other things too.”
She cautiously opened another box—then shut it even faster. Whatever was in there was not suitable for general audiences.

“Unfortunately, we won’t be wearing couple pajamas after all. Just wear your uniform. I actually like men in uniform.”
“I’d appreciate silence, at least while I’m trying to sleep.”
Masera gave up on the conversation and retreated to his designated spot on the sofa.

As she put away the shockingly scandalous gifts, Cynthia watched his lonely figure from behind.
‘He’s surprisingly innocent… how cute. It makes teasing him even more fun.’