SDD 03

Chapter 3.

 Becoming the Villain’s Secretary (3)

“Alright, enough personal questions. Let’s handle official work now, shall we?”

I cut him off, making it clear I wasn’t going to say anything more.

When I deliberately avoided his gaze and turned toward the stack of documents he had already signed, Helwid watched me for a moment and then let out a languid sigh.

He was finally backing off.

…Or so I thought.

“Very well, then. I shall assign official duties to my secretary.”

“Your Majesty, how long do you plan on calling me ‘Secretary’ like that?”

“Until my secretary says she will spend her whole life working as my secretary?”

Helwid teased me with a gentle smile.

Yeah, sure. Call me that for a hundred years—you’ll never get me to say I’ll work for you forever.

When I narrowed my eyes at him, the emperor seemed amused.

“Now, this is truly official business. Deliver the signed documents to the Magic Tower Operations Support Division and the Imperial Welfare Division. On your way back, stop by the Fire Safety Division and pick up their new equipment purchase list. And also go to the Imperial Library and fetch the annals written by Ansentia—Year 531 of the Imperial Calendar.”

My jaw dropped at how eagerly he piled tasks onto me.

“Hold on. Deliveries, receiving forms, book requests—those can all be done via communication stones! Why do I have to—”

“Oh? Is my secretary slow on the news? There was an intruder in the imperial palace at dawn. In my office.”

That was definitely a lie.

But I couldn’t just say, That’s a lie, isn’t it?

“N-no, still…”

“There is no one trustworthy in the Imperial Palace. Which is why I must rely on my diligent secretary—who never engages in personal conversation and only does her work.”

Helwid smiled radiantly, almost blindingly so.

Wow. Look at this petty tyrant.

When I stared at him in disbelief, he jerked his chin toward the door, as if telling me to hurry up and leave.

Even his playful, arrogant chin tilt radiated the aura of someone sitting on the peak of power—the emperor.

He may keep calling me “secretary,” but at the end of the day, he’s still the emperor—and my boss.

Ugh. I swear, I will resign someday.

With an exaggerated sigh, I stood up.

“That’s exactly what I expect from my secretary. So dependable—no personal chit-chat, only business.”

I glared at him while grabbing the documents and holding them close to my chest.

“Safe travels,” he said.

In a tone that sounded like it belonged to a cranky old man rather than someone who ascended the throne at twenty-six.

I shot him one last murderous glare and left the office, slamming the door behind me.

Through the closed door, I could hear him laughing—like he found all this unbearably entertaining.

He became emperor at such a young age, always chasing his father’s shadow—I knew that much.

But seeing someone so young and stunningly handsome talk like an old man was… strange.

He didn’t need to act that way to be cool. Whatever. Not my business.

When I arrived at the Magic Tower Operations Support Division, I finally realized it.

Helwid had tangled up my route on purpose.

If I followed his directions, I’d end up walking back and forth across the palace for no reason.

And if I came back late? He’d definitely nag me for being slow.

So I changed the order. Instead of visiting the Imperial Welfare Division first, I headed for the closest location—the Imperial Library.

After scanning my fingerprint on the entrance scanner, I stepped inside.

Silence.

No librarian. No visitors. No one at all.

“That’s weird… The Imperial Library might be quiet, but never this empty…”

Even my footsteps felt too loud in the suffocating silence.

Then suddenly, a sentence flashed in my mind.

‘When the imperial prince—born of the late emperor’s beloved concubine—studied in the Imperial Library, he allowed no one inside.’

It was a line from the original novel I transmigrated into, 〈Dark. Secret. Romance〉.

Why did that pop into my head now?

I froze mid-step.

At a sunlit table sat a young boy—almost unreal, like a painting.

Had he sensed my presence?

He slowly turned his head and met my gaze straight on.

Soft rosy cheeks, violet eyes so clear they gleamed, honey-blonde hair like melted gold in the sunlight.

Indelis Gleis.

The prince who, together with the male lead, would overthrow the villain Helwid—become emperor—and execute him.

My breath caught.

The next line of the novel flashed in my head.

‘Threatened even by his own brother, he found solace in the empty imperial library, where he tested the limits of his mind.’

Oh.

Oh no.

Of course the library was empty.

Everyone had been chased out.

Indelis stared at me like a suspicious intruder, then put down the fountain pen in his small hand.

“An unfamiliar face.”

His voice was still that of a boy who hadn’t hit puberty—but his bearing carried the dignity of a prince.

At some point, a guard approached from behind him, drawing his sword at me.

Indelis lifted a tiny hand and stopped him.

“No need.”

“But she could be the intruder from last night.”

Intruder? Was that story… actually real?

“She’s dressed formally. Likely a government worker.”

At his words, the guard reluctantly withdrew.

I almost fainted on the spot.

Indelis looked straight at me.

“You. Come here.”

He crooked a single finger at me.

Being summoned by a kid half my size with just a finger was… surreal. But I obeyed.

Lowering his head back over his book, he said,

“I do not know you. But you seem to know me.”

Why does everyone in the imperial family talk like this?

Basically: ‘Hey. You know who I am, don’t you?’

“And you seem to know how I… deal with uninvited guests.”

His violet eyes sharpened.

“I—I acknowledge the seriousness of my offense.”

I bowed deeply.

“My offense, you say…”

Dignity, pride—none of that mattered. My life did.

“I cannot let that go easily.”

When I risked glancing up, he was smiling—like a cat who’d spotted a new toy.

I nearly forgot that this adorable child would one day kill his brother and become emperor.

“I won’t ask why you came here.”

“Thank you!!”

I looked up, relieved—only to see him resting his chin on his hand, smirking like, You actually believed that?

“But.”

But?

“If you solve a problem I could not solve.”

Indelis smiled with pure, dazzling innocence.

Oh hell.

In the novel, this kid was a freakish genius.

Brilliant, ruthless, and clever enough to wash away the label of “tyrant’s murderer” by the finale.

And he couldn’t solve it?

“What if… I can’t solve it…?”

“You may choose.”

Indelis spoke pleasantly.

“Hanging or quartering.”

…Fantastic.

There was only one choice if I wanted to live.

Fine. He’s eight. I can do this.

I was second in my country. I got into pre-med.

I can do this.

“P-please show me the problem.”

“Oh?”

Eyes bright with interest, he handed over a workbook.

I leaned forward to read the page he pointed at.

“‘From three cards labeled 1, 1, and 2, two cards are drawn simultaneously. Let X be the sum of the numbers on the cards. Find V(X).’ …Seriously.”

He’d been struggling with a senior-year, science-track probability problem.

He’s eight.

Meanwhile I—queen of paid tutoring—was saved by math yet again.

I picked up the fountain pen and wrote without hesitation.

“So if we define X as the sum of the two drawn numbers, the possible values are 2 and 3, meaning—”

He stared at me in disbelief.

Then, scowling, he flipped to another page.

“Then what about this?”

“‘For a binomial distribution X ~ B(n, p), if P(X = 0) = P(X = n) and V(X) = 30, what is n?’ Oh, this one’s—”

His face went blank.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and kept writing.

“If it’s a binomial distribution, the events are independent. nC0·p⁰·qⁿ equals nCn·pⁿ·q⁰.”

I continued smoothly.

“And since the variance is 30, npq = 30. Meaning n = 120.”

Clean.

Maybe difficult for an eight-year-old prodigy… but to a perfect-score math student like me? Child’s play.

Indelis stared, mouth open like a confused chick, eyes darting between me and the solved problem.

The prodigy—one of the greatest geniuses since the founding of the empire—had just been outdone by some random nobody who seemingly came out of nowhere.