TTMLPTWW – Chapter 134

Cynthia laughed along with him, like a mischievous child. Her smile sparkled even more brightly than usual today.

Brushing her windblown hair behind her ear, Cynthia asked,

“What exactly do you like about me so much? I’ll only accept positive answers.”

Masera stared at her, caught off guard by the sudden demand for compliments.

Her eyes always deepened in color when emotions rose, her nose flushed red when she got excited, her cheeks turned rosy like summer peaches in the sun.

She looked happiest when she ate, and when she was shy, she dipped her head and only showed the top of it.

“Well…”

He wanted to say something she’d like.

But as a hardened soldier with zero experience in praising others, romantic vocabulary wasn’t exactly part of his arsenal.

“You’re like a small animal.”

“…?”

“Tiny, eats a lot, fluffy…”

“…???”

So after all that nonsense about how precious she was, and about reverse scales and laying down his life, this was his idea of a compliment?

“Are you saying you think of me the same way you do that kitten in the residence?”

Seeing Cynthia’s bewildered expression, Masera dragged a hand down his face like a man in despair.

He had never once had a private conversation with a woman.

“Women like men who have no dating experience but are still good at dating. Like experienced rookies.”

And where exactly was he supposed to get that experience?

Masera recalled his aide saying, ‘Women don’t like boring, awkward men,’ and suddenly felt a creeping sense of crisis.

“I’ll teach you a few lines that drive women crazy. If you say them, Brigadier General, they’ll crack up for sure. Try, ‘Be careful not to let anyone find out you’re a fairy,’ for starters…”

They like that kind of thing? Even though she’s not actually a fairy?

That kind of line was utterly impossible with Masera’s personality.

“I’ve never said anything like that to anyone. I will work on it.”

Maintaining a straight face, Masera ran a hand through his hair.

Just then, a winter moth fluttered down and landed on his shoulder, making him flinch.

Cynthia flicked the moth away with a snap of her fingers and said proudly,

“It’s a fairy moth. They don’t bite.”

He’d nearly compared her to a fairy. That would’ve been a disaster.

“Are you scared of bugs?”

Masera let out a sigh, annoyed with himself for showing such a pathetic reaction. He must have looked weak.

“I can’t eat them.”

“Is this about the eel jelly? What kind of person do you think I am?”

Seeing her brows knit seriously, Masera wondered if she might be disappointed in him.

‘He’s afraid of bugs? How cute. I’ll have to catch them all and protect him.’

He had no idea she found him adorable.

‘Even his verbal malfunctions are cute.’

She already knew words weren’t his strong suit—he always acted before speaking.

She was simply enjoying his reactions.

“Shall we head to bed? We have to attend the Sacred Commemoration event tomorrow. You’re the war hero, after all.”

Cynthia led Masera inside, sensing he seemed oddly out of sorts.

After washing up and changing, he lay down in bed and remained silent for a while. Then he turned toward her.

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

Since eye contact was the basic rule of conversation, she turned to face him, too.

The dim light of the bedside lamp fell across his drowsy features.

Noticing how close his face was, she instinctively scooted back a bit.

“Do you know what a pigeon’s nest is?”

The strange question clashed jarringly with the atmosphere.

“You mean like a communication code? Or a hostage site?”

‘Oops. Should’ve pretended I didn’t know that.’

If she showed too much knowledge of war or military codes, she might be suspected of being a spy.

Cynthia had accidentally flaunted her past-life knowledge, so she quickly put on an innocent smile.

“I think I read it in a novel once.”

“I see.”

He exhaled softly and shifted closer.

“Would you like to be held, or would you like to hold me?”

His low voice made Cynthia’s face burn.

‘Yup. Definitely a man of action over words.’

Far better than someone who just talks.

Feigning reluctance, she let herself be pulled into his arms.

Masera drew her close and murmured reassuringly,

“There’s no ulterior motive. You don’t have nightmares when I do this.”

What do you mean, no ulterior motives? I want your shameless, impure motives.

Cynthia closed her eyes, filled with deep regret. The warmth of his embrace and the faint scent of soap relaxed both her body and her mind.

She hadn’t had any war nightmares lately.

Maybe it was the soap. Her dreams had become light and fluffy, like a bubble-blowing contest.

‘Maybe I should pay you a dream appearance fee to bring my brother and sister into them. I can afford it now.’

* * *

It was the day of the Sacred Commemoration event in the capital’s square.

Since the ceremony also doubled as a celebration of the end of the war, high-ranking officers—including Masera—sat upright in their seats, listening to commemorative speeches and receiving certificates of honor.

“Princess.”

Cynthia turned at the sound of someone calling her.

It was Clarence, the wife of a military officer Cynthia had grown close to through her foundation work. She spoke carefully.

“There’s a charity ball this evening. As the head of the foundation branch, it would be wonderful if you could attend… I thought it might also help lift your spirits after everything you’ve been through lately…”

Cynthia glanced over at Masera, who sat off in the distance, looking bored out of his mind.

‘Come to think of it, we’ve never been to a proper ball together.’

Any respectable rofan should have a ball at least once every ten chapters, where the main character dances with the male lead, and has a battle of wits with the villains.

‘I want to go to a ball with the Brigadier General and dance.’

She’d practiced so much with Dahlia, and it was a shame the chance had never come up.

“I’ll attend.”

At Cynthia’s reply, Clarence clapped her hands in delight.

“With you there, I feel so reassured already. There’s someone lately who’s been acting very insufferable.”

Wait a sec—was this a party member recruitment mission?

Clarence gestured to the woman sitting beside her, Elsa, and began explaining in a serious tone.

“Elsa’s ex just happens to be her husband’s superior officer. He’s been absolutely abusing the chain of command to torment them both. He even harasses her at social functions. And he’s the one who cheated!”

And yet he dares to abuse his rank?

“Sounds like you’ve prepared a perfect little pick-me-up just for me. Time to teach someone what a proper reality check looks like.”

This is gonna be fun.

* * *

The ball was held in the grandest hotel ballroom in the capital.

Walking through the luxurious lobby with its painted ceiling, I was practically buzzing with excitement.

“Why are we doing this?”

Masera, who had been automatically dragged along to the ball by virtue of being with me, grumbled in displeasure.

“Why not? We get to eat delicious food and have a good time.”

“There are other ways to do that…”

He was going to do whatever I wanted anyway, so what was with the whining?

Hiding my smugness, I looked up at him.

“Because I want to dance with you. We’ve never properly done that.”

He came to a halt and stared at me, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“The problem is, I’m not the only one you’ll be dancing with.”

Masera said this like it was a matter of grave importance.

“I heard it’s forbidden to only dance with one person at a ball?”

“And it’s forbidden to talk to other men, too. Any man who looks at or speaks to you will be sentenced to life imprisonment—or be executed by firing squad…”

Who are you to make up laws for the ball as you please? Are you a supreme court justice?

Masera raised his left hand, flashing his wedding ring right in front of my eyes for emphasis.

“Always wear your wedding ring.”

“Mine’s a bit uncomfortable. The stone is way too big…”

“It’ll come in handy when you need to beat to death any bastard who dares hit on you.”

Why are we turning our sacred wedding rings into murder weapons?

Soon, we entered the ballroom, dripping with old-school grandeur.

“Ooh, it really feels like a rofan.”

The cascade of chandelier light, the classical music, elegantly dressed guests, mouthwatering food, and my platinum-blond, ridiculously handsome officer husband.

Rom-com genre status: perfectly intact.

The elegant melody shifted to a livelier tempo, and couples began stepping out onto the dance floor, moving to the rhythm.

I tugged on Masera’s sleeve.

“Hurry up and ask me to dance.”

Obeying as if following a direct military order, Masera knelt on one knee and kissed the back of my hand.

As he slowly lifted his head, his expression suddenly turned serious, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”

“I’ll handle the talking. You just handle the execution.”

Romance vocabulary: lacking. Action ability: overdeveloped. Reconfirmed.

“Well then, shall we go show off our dazzling dance skills?”

“Is… that the right phrase?”

He sounded doubtful.

It was close enough.

As we walked hand in hand toward the dance floor, heads turned to follow us.

Why does it feel like we’re at the finals of some international championship? I’m getting nervous.

“By the way, Brigadier General, I’m actually not that good at dancing. I always mess up.”

“That’s all right. Just relax and leave your body to me.”

That line… is my head in the gutter?

He placed a hand around my waist and pulled me close, smoothly leading me into the dance.

I obediently entrusted my body to him and admired his appearance.

The silver epaulettes, the star-bright medals, the broad shoulders and towering height—his uniform only made him look more ideal.

A devastatingly composed uniformed heartthrob like him must’ve been insanely popular, of course.

And the more I thought about it, the darker my thoughts became.

“Why are you so good at this? You’ve clearly done this a lot, haven’t you?”

I growled like a tiny chihuahua.

The second he says he’s danced with other women, I will sentence him to life imprisonment and lock him away without parole.

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