SDD 01

Chapter 1.

 When You Become the Villain’s Secretary (1)

“Miss, are you awake? The Count wishes to have breakfast together.”

I was sprawled across the bed, blinking blankly, when Melina finally spoke up.

“Today is an important day, so I think it would be good to start getting ready a bit earlier.”

Which really meant: Stop dawdling and get up.

“…Do I have to go?”

“Pardon?”

“I really have to go, right? There’s no way someone else can go in my place?”

Melina looked at me like I was speaking nonsense, then smiled brightly while preparing the wash water.

“Of course. If Lady Blain, His Majesty’s secretary, doesn’t go, who will?”

She tugged me up by the hand.

Today was my first day at work.

As the personal secretary to the hidden villain—sub male lead—in Love With a Kind Person.

…Anyone want to destroy the world for five minutes?

I went downstairs to the dining room and sat across from my father.

“Good morning.”

“Yes, come. Let’s eat together.”

Count Asen Nostalgia, father of the ignorant villainess in Lov. With. Kind. Person., was not on good terms with his daughter in the original novel.

When his daughter was born, the wife he loved died.

Seeing Blain—who resembled them both—he couldn’t love her fully. Too many memories of his wife.

But that was the original. I was Min Do-yeon, someone who knew there was nothing to gain from leaving home early.

For the past seven years, I worked him over with all the survival skills I learned in my old world. I didn’t just wrap him around my finger—I put a ring through his nose.

The result:

“You’re lifting the spoon slower than usual today. About three fewer bites than yesterday. Are you unwell? I heard you struggled getting out of bed. Should I call the doctor?”

He had become the ultimate Daughter Fool.

Every day his doting got worse. I wondered if he was secretly taking parenting classes.

Just then, the newly hired butler brought in a pile of letters—offers from nobles eager to reconnect now that our finances had recovered.

Well, of course. I got promoted to personal secretary to the Emperor. The courting would only get crazier.

But Father didn’t even glance at them.

“Burn them.”

When we had gone bankrupt, not a single person helped—except for the original novel’s heroine, Gloomy.

To distract Father from the memory of those betrayals, I brought her up.

“Father, have you been in touch with Lady Gloomy?”

“Hm? Yes. I received a letter yesterday and sent a reply. She was delighted to hear you became His Majesty’s personal secretary.”

He treated her like another daughter, since she was my age and the only one who helped us.

“If not for Lady Gloomy, we wouldn’t be sitting here today.”

“That’s right. It’s all thanks to her.”

Well… this townhouse we’re living in was bought using insurance money I clawed out like a dog, but sure.

Without those sacks of flour she shared—half potato starch, half buckwheat—we would have starved long before I became a civil servant.

“Father. How about we sponsor Lady Gloomy?”

“…Sponsor her?”

I nodded.

Honestly, I wanted to cut ties with the heroine.

Staying away from main characters is the best survival strategy.

But I was already the Emperor’s personal secretary. Too late for distancing.

Besides—the Emperor happens to be the soon-to-go-insane villain.

If I must be entangled, better to be entangled nicely.

“We can provide monetary support. Nobles can sponsor commoners in many ways. Donations, patronage—”

“My kind Blain. If a saint exists in this world, it must be you.”

Father clasped his hands over his heart, eyes shining.

Uh… no, actually. The saint is someone else. Ha. Ha. Ha……

Anyway, everything was going smoothly—until we hit a landmine.

“Only money? What do you mean by only money?”

“It’s unwise to make someone part of our family unless we can take full responsibility for them.”

“What do you mean ‘can’t take full responsibility’? Do you not trust your father just because we failed once?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“I don’t wish to speak further today.”

He stood up.

So he wanted to adopt Gloomy as his daughter.

That was bad.

If I must be involved with the main characters, distance is vital.

“With her background, we should treat her as an honored guest, not merely give her money. You know money isn’t everything. Even with money, a commoner can’t enjoy what nobles do—”

He looked genuinely disappointed.

But I could not bend on this.

Father left the dining room, and with the awkward tension hanging over me, I went to the Emperor’s office for my first day.

Helwid Gleis, 26-year-old Emperor.

I was finally face-to-face with the hidden villain of Lov. With. Kind. Person.

The novel was famous for describing appearances beautifully.

Even so, the real thing surpassed all of that.

His honey-blonde hair shimmered like crushed crystal and opal dust. His blue eyes were lazy and feline—yet temptingly seductive.

Even fully covered in formal attire, his sharp jaw and pale neck showed through, exuding a strangely sensual restraint.

This was the Emperor who would spiral into madness over the heroine and destroy the empire.

My throat went dry.

While the senior secretary summarized my résumé, Helwid leaned his head on one hand, looking bored. But when our eyes met, he smiled.

That sly smile made my heart jerk. As if he had caught me staring at him like I wanted to lick him.

“…That’s enough,” he told the senior secretary. “You’re dismissed. Also, you’re fired.”

“W-what?”

Helwid smiled like a child discovering a new toy.

“I realized Lady Blain is far smarter than you. Therefore, I don’t need you anymore.”

“Y-Your Majesty—!”

As expected of the villain who casually kidnaps people—he fired a long-serving secretary without hesitation.

Then he walked toward me.

Even sitting, I’d thought he was big. Standing, he was overwhelming.

Model-level physique. Ridiculous.

I stared, then quickly lowered my gaze.

He extended a hand.

“I look forward to working with you.”

A handshake.

Could I even shake hands with the Emperor? I faltered.

He leaned toward my ear and whispered:

“You stared like you wanted to lick me… so I assumed you were dying to touch me. Was I mistaken?”

“Hhic!”

My hiccup exploded. His voice was shockingly low.

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Or do you want to touch somewhere other than my hand?”

“N–No—hic! No, Your Majesty!”

I grabbed his hand.

Large. Cool. Firm.

He shook it with a satisfied look.

And I hiccupped again, thinking:

Ah. I’m screwed.

Two hours later, the fired secretary left without giving me a single handover.

I sat at the clean desk, staring at the ceiling.

How long did I sit like that? Helwid returned from a garden walk.

“It would’ve been nice if my secretary joined me. The peonies bloomed beautifully.”

He actually sounded disappointed.

Helwid Gleis, the hidden-villain Emperor, had a wide range of expressions.

Unlike most villains, he acted playful, considerate, warm—overflowing with kindness.

On the surface.

No one could imagine that inside, he was rotting—unable to escape the shadow of his saintly father.

Even the heroine he loved could not save him completely.

Only readers like me knew why he had no choice but to become a villain.
Not that I pitied him or anything.

I approached him as he loosened his cravat.

“I have something to tell you.”

“As long as it’s not a resignation letter, go ahead.”

I flinched, and he chuckled.

“I heard you tried to resign even on the day you got promoted.”

He sounded casual and comforting.

Dangerously comforting.

I took a deep breath.

“I can’t serve Your Majesty. My father, the Count, has a long-term illness and—”

“Ah yes, I met him just now during my walk. Still strong and healthy as ever. I should ask him his secret to staying young.”

…Great. Just great.

“Actually, I’m not in good health—”

“Your physical exam results from your civil service test are here. Sit-ups: 27 in one minute. 100-meter sprint: 15 seconds. Pull-ups: 16. Excellent scores.”

Oh god. Why did I do that?

“I cheated on the exam—”

“Imperial Law, Article 32, Clause 12. Any imperial citizen who commits fraud in public service has all assets seized and is sentenced to life imprisonment.
…Want to repeat that?”

“…Nothing, Your Majesty.”

Ding ding ding. KO.