TTMLPTWW – Chapter 6 – Novelish Universe Translations

Masera looked at me as if I were invisible, and the staff in the residence were cold.

Eugene gave me a frog that had been hibernating as a gift, and when I was happy about it, he ran away in embarrassment.

Everyone treated me coldly, but just being able to eat well and stay in a warm room was more than enough to make me happy.

‘Between ‘labor with warm encouragement’ and ‘rest amidst cold treatment,’ I’d absolutely choose the latter.’

“This is the life!”

While lying on the bed and enjoying the peace, there was a knock followed by the door opening.

“Here is the cocoa you requested.”

Dahlia had brought warm cocoa.

I immediately sat up and took a sip. It tasted like water that had briefly been introduced to chocolate.

Dahlia had this kind of mishap fairly often. At first, I thought she might be doing it on purpose to mess with me.

But after seeing the laundry she had folded into a complete mess, I concluded long ago that she simply wasn’t suited for housework.

“Thank you, Dahlia.”

“And this… I’m so sorry. I was ironing, and I accidentally…”

She held out a dress with a round, scorched hole.

“Ironing is actually really hard, huh? It’s not easy at all.”

I’d had trouble too when I was told to use a frying pan with charcoal in it and a branding iron.

“I truly apologize. I’ll try to fix it immediately.”

She repeatedly apologized as she pulled out a sewing kit and started threading a needle.

She seemed determined to patch it up with a piece of cloth somehow.

“Hmm, Mmm.”

With a serious look, Dahlia struggled to get the thread through the needle.

I offered her a tip.

“Try wetting the end of the thread to make it pointy?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

As I watched her struggle, I noticed something unnatural about the way Dahlia moved her right hand.

If she left the military at such a young age… it must’ve been due to a medical discharge.

Most likely, nerve damage from an injury.

The residence had many others bearing the scars of war—like the gardener with difficulty walking, the butler with a deep scar, or the coachman who couldn’t speak.

Even after protecting the country, people probably turned a blind eye to those suffering war trauma.

Masera does have a good side, I guess.

“Take your time.”

I quietly waited until she finished.

After I’d finished the chocolate-scented cocoa and the snowfall outside had stopped, the repair was finally done.

Dahlia wiped sweat from her forehead and handed me the dress.

“Sorry, but I can’t stop laughing!”

The moment I saw the pink dress patched with clumsily checkered fabric, I burst into laughter.
It reminded me of a pair of jeans my grandma used to mend with loud, colorful patches.

Dahlia looked embarrassed.

“If you could wait until payday, I’ll compensate you properly.”

“It’s okay, I was getting tired of this dress anyway. Let’s just say it got a makeover.”

In truth, I had never even worn it once, but I smiled as if it didn’t matter.

“In exchange, on your day off, come to the shopping district with me. Let’s get parfaits together.”

“…Alright, I understood.”

With an awkward face, Dahlia scratched the back of her head.

“Thank you for your consideration, my lady.”

* * *

The Residence’s Utility Room.

The maids were gossiping about Cynthia during a short break.

“So the princess has arrived. She even uses a parasol just to step outside for a moment. Can you believe it?”

“What are those attendants doing anyway? They’re like noble ladies’ maids—won’t lift a finger.”

Dahlia stayed silent as she folded towels.

“It’s laughable. The royal family who drove the people into hell were all executed, and now just because she’s the last one, they’re calling her a princess based on bloodline?”

“But she’s marrying Brigadier General Vicente, who supposedly hates the royal family more than anyone. Don’t you think that’s kind of pitiful?”

Just as Cynthia had guessed, most of the staff in the residence hated her for her royal blood.

“Dahlia, when you burned her dress, did she get mad or hit you or anything?”

To someone’s concerned question, Dahlia shook her head.

“She didn’t seem like the type to get angry.”

“No way. She just pretends to be nice—word is she had one of the Count’s attendants beat a young maid in private. Absolutely vile.”

Hearing this, Dahlia tilted her head.

Would someone who laughed so kindly even after her dress was ruined do something that nasty in secret?

“Once the wedding’s over, her tyranny will be over too.”

Another maid crossed her arms, predicting Cynthia’s miserable married life.

Dahlia stepped outside, unable to listen to any more. She couldn’t explain the strange feeling in her chest.

At that moment, one of the Count Queensguard’s attendants approached with a curious smile.

“You’re my lady’s personal maid now, right? Since this place is full of male soldiers, you’d better look after her properly. Don’t want any rumors spreading. Her behavior is rather flighty, you know.”

As he said this, he pointed to his head to imply she was empty-headed.

Dahlia asked with a blank face,

“Your name is Charles, right? Are you really saying this for the lady’s sake?”

“Of course. She smiles so sweetly all the time that there were even rumors she was having… a thing with her older brothers.”

Scandals involving siblings were targets of intense public condemnation.

Dahlia realized he was deliberately spreading this rumor.

With the intention of it reaching the Brigadier General’s ears.

Gossip always becomes more distorted and exaggerated the more it travels from mouth to mouth.

“Don’t chase me out. I’m all alone.”

Dahlia recalled Cynthia’s lonely words and turned away without replying.

The more she interacted with her, the more she couldn’t shake the sense that behind Cynthia’s gentle smile was a sadness nobody else saw.

“Report everything. Even the smallest details.”

From what she ate to what she said—Masera had ordered detailed reports.

Were even vile slanders supposed to be included in that report?

Dahlia let out a deep sigh.

* * *

Count Queensguard’s Residence.

From the day Cynthia left for the capital, Edford had been consumed by grief and anger.

After seeing the invitation to Cynthia’s engagement ceremony, he immediately pestered Helene.

“Helene, you said Cynthia asked you to convince her to run away with me.”

“I did my best to persuade her. But now that the engagement ceremony is happening, it’s too late to turn things around.”

Helene, who had finalized her engagement to a Duke and was soon heading to the capital, replied calmly.

She glanced at her brother—his pug nose, small eyes, and squat build—and hesitantly added,

“You could definitely meet… I mean, try meeting someone else.”

“I don’t have eyes for any other woman.”

Neither do they have eyes for you, Helene muttered inwardly.

“Cynthia seemed to like that man too.”

At that, Edford recalled Masera’s handsome face.

“She obviously got swept away by his looks. Doesn’t even realize he’s a cold-blooded demon.”

Trying to mask his jealousy with logic, Edford pressed her.

“Don’t you have any good ideas? Crash Cythia’s engagement party and get the engagement canceled or something!”

Helene showed no interest.

Feeling ignored, Edford raised his voice.

“Hey! Your marriage to the Duke is settled now, so you’re brushing this off like it has nothing to do with you, huh? I’ll expose everything—that it was a fake, that it’s a scam marriage! That’ll ruin your marriage too!”

Helene was usually good with words.

Edford knew that, which was why he was threatening to ruin her engagement if she didn’t help persuade Cynthia.

“Ed.”

With a gentle smile that didn’t match her twisted lips, Helene replied.

“Enough already.”

“What?”

“You never say anything to Carlos or Father. Why do you only whine to me?”

She stood up and glared at her brother coldly.

“Unfortunately, the only way I can rise higher is through a marriage based on bloodline. And knowing that, you’d still use my engagement as a bargaining chip?”

Helene thought of her past, raised in a rural estate and groomed to be the perfect bride.

She knew exactly why the Duke wanted to marry her.

‘He must be thinking of restoring the monarchy.’

She gave him a sharp warning.

“Father is someone who always follows through. You know that, right?”

Edford recalled Father’s warning: ‘If you interfere, I’ll kill you.’

Helene’s voice dropped to a sinister murmur.

“And I’m our father’s daughter. If you cross me, you’ll see something worse than hell. Think carefully.”

“…Urgh.”

Startled by the rare, sharp tone from his usually composed sister, Edford was speechless.

‘She’s really marrying that bastard? Leaving me behind?’

Still clinging to regret, he stewed over it right up until the day he had to travel to the capital for the engagement.