chapter 08
“She’s a Sunny Heroine, but She Has Depression”
“…”
‘How can telling someone to chop onions sound that sexy?’
Was he joking, or not?
Illena squinted suspiciously at the man.
His expression was serious, cold.
Still dripping with decadent charisma that had no business being in a kitchen.
A face like he was about to unleash a bloodbath on a battlefield… and he says what?
“Chop onions?”
When Illena replied a bit curtly, the man’s hulking muscles seemed to flinch ever so slightly.
“Y-yes. That’s an order. Go on.”
He emphasized the last words, his amethyst eyes flashing coldly.
Ah. So that’s why the onions were laid out like that.
Illena stared for a moment at the pile of onions by the sink.
Perhaps mistaking her silence for hesitation, the man hurried to explain.
He sounded almost apologetic.
“Of course, it may be too cruel a task for you. But it’s necessary for the sake of the kingdom.”
“…This is cruel?”
As someone who’d lived as a third-generation chaebol, she knew very well just how filthy the things the “people in power” did to maintain their wealth and influence could get.
Her grandfather, the founding chairman, had always been a terrifying figure even to his own granddaughter.
And now this guy? The ruthless ruler of the desert… was worried about onions?
“I’ve even prepared clean water right beside you. If you rinse your eyes immediately, the irritation won’t be too bad…”
The Black King muttered excuses in an icily detached tone.
Behind him, a subordinate coughed—loudly, twice.
The king immediately shut his mouth.
Illena paused, unsure how to play along with this bizarre scene, then silently picked up an onion.
She dunked it into the bowl of water that had been prepared nearby.
“…What are you doing?”
She picked up a kitchen knife and began slicing the onion underwater.
As a result, the stingy fumes never reached her eyes.
She explained generously, like offering wisdom to a child.
“It’s common knowledge. If you cut onions in cold water, they won’t make you cry.”
So simple, right?
Of course, she’d never chopped an onion in her life before. Her family had always had cooks and maids for that.
But she’d picked up everyday knowledge from watching dramas and YouTube—her favorite pastime.
She had learned this exact onion-slicing trick from a channel called Homestyle Teacher X.
The Black King’s eyes lit up with sudden fascination.
“Oooh, really? How did you know that? I should remember that for cooking later—”
“Ahem. AHEM.”
The glasses-wearing retainer behind him coughed so aggressively, it could have shattered a window.
Like a puppet on a string, the king clammed up immediately.
He was probably just flustered and babbling nonsense, but his face remained cold and stoic.
Illena had absolutely no idea what was going on.
“And…”
She pulled another onion from the water and sliced it.
Soon, a sharp smell hit her, and her eyes began to sting and tear up.
“Tears! She cried!”
The retainer behind them shouted in euphoric glee.
Meanwhile, the Black King clumsily pulled a handkerchief from his chest and offered it to her.
Illena looked down at it with tear-blurred eyes.
Then said flatly:
“…A bunny print?”
It was a luxurious black silk handkerchief that matched his hair, embroidered with golden thread.
But in one corner—completely mismatched with the imposing Black King—was a cute white rabbit.
Peek-a-boo style. Very adorable.
It even had a little pink ribbon on one ear.
‘For something that came from that hulking guy’s pocket… it’s excessively cute.’
“Ah—n-no, that’s…”
“Let me guess. A gift from a lover?”
Illena asked coolly. The Black King’s eyes flared coldly as he replied:
“Mm. That’s right.”
Given his height and the way he glared down at her, it was surprisingly intimidating.
Was he telling her not to pry further? Fair enough. It was his privacy, after all.
But still, from a guy who looked like he’d reject such a gift outright—or toss it in a drawer at best—it was unexpected.
Illena accepted the handkerchief and wiped her tears.
Then spoke casually.
“Take a look out the window.”
The Black King, who had been staring at her, quickly turned his head.
“Ah.”
A strange sigh escaped his lips.
The sky was still heavy with dark clouds—but not a single drop of rain had fallen.
“My emotions control the weather. Not my expressions or actions.”
Illena wiped her tears and spoke evenly.
“Crying doesn’t mean I’m sad, and just because someone’s smiling doesn’t mean they’re happy.”
Sting.
Huh? As she spoke, she felt a strange ache in her chest.
‘Yeah… just because you’re smiling, doesn’t mean you’re happy.’
She remembered the past two years—how she’d forced herself to smile in front of others, clinging to life.
And suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit her.
‘I’m so tired. I just want to go lie down.’
Her body felt like it was filled with wet cotton.
Illena muttered weakly:
“So much for making me cry. That was a surprisingly adorable—no, gentle—method.”
“…”
“This is only the beginning!”
The Black King remained silent, so the retainer shouted in frustration.
He must’ve thought his king had been ignored.
“Just wait! I’ll make sure you cry for real one day!”
He declared dramatically, like a villain’s henchman.
The Black King crossed his thick arms and sneered.
“Then tell me—what method would you use?”
“Hm….”
Illena answered blankly, her words tumbling out with lethargy.
“Maybe ripping out fingernails and sticking needles under the nail bed? Or bringing someone dear to me and breaking their fingers one by one in front of me. Or shoving a XXX into my XXX?”
The Black King’s perfectly bronzed face went ghost-white.
‘Oh, did I guess their actual plan? Hit a nerve, did I?’
Illena continued calmly.
“But if I return to the North with physical injuries, it could start an international conflict. So torture is off the table.”
Not that the North cared—they’d handed her over for a few mines, after all.
The crown prince himself had once tortured her with electricity.
But Illena didn’t like torture, so she played the “national conflict” card.
“And Illena—no, I—am an orphan with no relatives. So there’s no one to use as leverage.”
Oops. She almost referred to herself in third person again. Still not used to this whole transmigration thing.
“Hmph. There are plenty of other ways.”
Even with her not-so-subtle threats, the Black King remained unbothered.
He smiled, lips curving smoothly in a beautiful arc.
Even in this situation, he was annoyingly good-looking.
‘Of course. I didn’t expect a few words to stop him anyway.’
“…So? Any more torture or threats for today?”
Illena glanced around the kitchen with bored eyes.
Aside from the onions, she didn’t see anything resembling torture tools.
The man, watching her with an unreadable expression, finally answered.
“No.”
“Well then. See you next torture session.”
Time to go lie down.
She was tired. Too tired to think.
Illena quickly turned and made her way back to her beloved bed.
Meanwhile…
“I told you! That would never work!”
Utter raised his voice.
The other attendants had been dismissed. Only he and the king remained.
Iago’s face, which had until now maintained its image as the “cruel and decadent ruler of the desert,” instantly melted into something gentler—like a rabbit.
He hunched his large frame like a frightened animal and muttered:
“B-but… all the methods you suggested were too violent and cruel…”
Just remembering it turned Iago’s face pale again.
‘Even just pulling out fingernails is horrifying enough, but sticking needles into the flesh beneath? Who even thinks of that?’
He was amazed someone could casually say such things aloud.
When the priestess had calmly listed off the same torture methods Utter had suggested earlier, Iago had been floored.
“No violence against innocent people. I’ll try peaceful ways as long as I can.”
Iago clenched his fist with resolve.
He was naturally gentle and selfless—rarely assertive.
So Utter sighed deeply when Iago actually stood his ground.
“Fine. But if all your methods fail, we’ll go with mine. You agree, right?”
Iago hesitated, lips twitching.
“For the good of the kingdom,” Utter pressed.
If the late king could see our glorious kingdom of Lihue now, he’d be weeping in his grave…
To cut off that long rant, Iago quickly replied:
“O-okay. If mine fail, then yours.”
Then he looked up at him with firm resolve.
“But until then, don’t make a move without my permission. Understand?”
He tried to sound firm—but his voice was still soft and tender.
Utter swore he could almost see bunny ears poking out of his hair.
“Okay? Got it?”
Breaking out into a sweat, Utter finally gave in.
“…Yes.”
Then Iago beamed, smiling brightly like a child.
Utter sighed again, gazing at his king—who looked like a rabbit twitching its ears in delight.
Once Utter left, Iago was alone in the office.
His metaphorical rabbit ears drooped.
“…I made her cry.”
Tears that had fallen from her lemon-colored eyes.
Maybe it was her sky-blue hair, but her crying had reminded him of rain falling in a clear sky—unnatural and jarring.
‘Is that why I keep thinking about it? No…’
Iago shook his head vigorously.
“I made an innocent person cry. That’s all. It’s just guilt. That’s it.”
After hesitating a moment, he opened a drawer in his desk.
‘I was saving this…’
He took out a crystal jar with a bunny-shaped lid.
