TTMLPTWW – Chapter 130

* * *

“You’re just getting back now?”

Cynthia greeted Masera, who had returned only at dawn.

No matter what time he came back, she always welcomed him warmly. She understood how comforting it was to have someone waiting at home.

“Yes. I was coming back from meeting with Anita.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened.

As Masera headed toward the bedroom, he explained about Anita—how she had left of her own will, and how she had found someone else to rely on.

But whatever Anita had said to him, he neither repeated it to Cynthia nor questioned her about it.

Cynthia sighed in relief and placed a hand on her chest.

‘With Count Queensguard unconscious… maybe she saw this as a chance to get away. I mean, she must’ve felt stifled, hiding out at the official residence for so long.’

At the same time, she bitterly recalled decorating the nursery and shopping for baby supplies with Anita.

He watched the subtle shifts in her expression closely.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’m a little sad she left without telling me, but… she’ll probably send a letter eventually.”

At Cynthia’s gratitude, Masera, who had just taken off his coat, turned to look at her. His face was carefully composed.

“And, the parasol you always carried—it was broken.”

He handed her the box he’d been carrying under his arm.

When Cynthia opened it and saw the beautiful lace parasol, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Oh.”

She’d bent the old one out of shape when she smacked Charles with it one too many times. It hadn’t opened properly ever since.

“Just toss the broken one and use this. I picked one sturdy enough to be used as a weapon.”

“That parasol was a gift from Anita. I just got so angry that… I did try to fix it, but it had already crossed the point of no return. Sucks, but I guess I’ll just store it away in a memory box.”

Cynthia tried the new parasol out, looking slightly sheepish.

Masera, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, glanced toward the broken parasol sitting on her vanity.

“You’re keeping it, even though it’s broken?”

“The feelings it holds haven’t disappeared. I can take it out once in a while, relive some memories.”

“I don’t get why you’re so eager to remember people, but… do as you like.”

Cynthia noticed his voice had gone sharp and stiff, and she glanced at him sideways.

“Anita was the first friend I ever made.”

“I see.”

Cynthia gave a short reply and stared at his back as he turned away. She wondered what on earth was making this man so irritable.

While loosening his tie, he asked:

“We still haven’t found your brother. Are you worried?”

“Well, he’s family. Of course I’m worried.”

“I’ll find him. I hate it when you cry.”

Soon after, the two lay down together in the same bed and fell asleep.

About two hours later—

Masera opened his eyes to the sound of heavy breathing.

Cynthia twitched her eyebrows and groaned faintly, caught in a bad dream.

“…Pigeon nest located.”

Her murmuring seemed like the usual random nonsense of a dream, but as a soldier, Masera knew better.

What she was saying was a military code.

Sometimes, even during conversations, Cynthia would unconsciously spout knowledge only a soldier would know.

And in her dreams, she was always trying to save someone.

Whether those dreams were based on real memories, or just the twisted logic of dreaming, he couldn’t tell.

“The angels… went back to heaven. Extraction… failed…”

Night after night, she failed to save someone and apologized.

Tonight was no different—another brutal, merciless dream.

“I’m sorry. I‘m the only one who survived again…”

He gently held Cynthia’s hand as her lashes dampened.

“There was a mistake. Everyone was extracted safely.”

At Masera’s whisper, her heavy breaths calmed, and the rise and fall of her chest softened.

“You saved them.”

Her lips, which had been trembling with tears, finally relaxed.

She smiled, as if clutching the hand of a child she’d rescued, even if only in a dream.

“That’s a relief… But hey, are you really seven? Your hands are huge… You’d totally beat me in a fight.”

Now that the nightmare had passed, she cracked a joke—something only she would say.

And from that point on, she slept soundly, with no more murmuring or groaning.

Masera never asked her what she dreamed about as she wandered through her unconscious every night.

Instead, he stuck to the ridiculous excuse that they had to share a room—just so he could protect her from those nightmares.

If she could be at peace, then his sleep didn’t matter at all.

* * *

The next day, an article reported that Helene, who had remained out of the public eye for some time, was gathering journalists from all media outlets to make a statement.

It was obvious just from that—it was going to be a messy smear campaign.

Since she even disclosed the time and location, it seemed she wanted to draw in not only reporters but as many people as possible.

For her to stir up such a loud commotion like this, it meant she was hoping to scare me into fleeing.

Which, in turn, meant that Helene—not me—was the one in a very disadvantageous position.

‘I wonder how much she’s willing to spill?’

Whatever her choice, I had no intention of running.

The moment I fled, I’d be branded the true culprit behind every crime that had taken place and be hunted down.

‘She might even claim I’m a fake to assert that she’s the only legitimate heir.’

But even if she exposed that, it would be meaningless.

When there are five lies, one truth holds no power.

That meant everything Helene said would be dismissed as lies.

Even if I ended up being remembered as a notorious fraud someday, right now, protecting my people came first.

‘The main character always wins.’

And I’m the one who decides the genre of my life—because I’m the main character.

My eyes landed on the royal music box sitting in the display case.

It looked like Masera and I, when looked at from a certain distance.

But someday, the toy soldier and the princess would dance again.

I stood up at last and stepped out of the room.

I was headed to where the press conference was.

Just then, I ran into Masera walking from the other end of the hallway.

“You plan on going?”

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

I stared at his face, then quickly looked away, worried it was too obvious I’d been reading his expression.

“We should go together. You’re my husband after all, not just anyone else’s.”

Because then by my side, there’ll be a man who only believes what I say, and not anyone else’s.

* * *

The press conference was held in a luxurious mansion.

Maybe it was curiosity over the fallen princess who had been involved in countless lawsuits and scandals and then got divorced, but the room was packed with not just journalists, but many members of high society.

Wearing a black dress full of frilly lace, Helene’s pale face stood out starkly. She looked like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, wings covered in opulent feathers.

Helene looked at Cynthia, who stood off in the distance.

“The reason I called this gathering today isn’t to clear my name, but to stop any further tragedies from happening.”

As she met Cynthia’s crimson gaze, sweat beaded on Helene’s forehead.

She felt suffocated by that innocent expression, eyes that seemed to pierce straight through.

She suddenly remembered the absurd rumor that Cynthia could read people’s minds.

“I’m here to speak about the atrocities and lies Cynthia has committed.”

As expected, Helene began pushing the narrative that Cynthia had committed murder, bringing up the people who’d died, Count Queensguard, and Carlos.

“Do you have any evidence?”

After someone asked, a woman stepped forward, plainly dressed.

Cynthia blinked slowly as she recognized her.

It was Anita.

After introducing her, Helene held up a gold bracelet—the same one Cynthia had once given to Hans.

“This was found at the scene where Anita’s husband died. It belonged to Cynthia. And after Anita told Cynthia ‘she had seen Anna in town’, Anna also ended up dead. What these people have in common is that they knew about Cynthia’s past.”

At that, all eyes in the room turned to Cynthia.

Then, under Helene’s prompting glance, Anita slowly opened her mouth.

“Princess Cynthia is the lost daughter of Count Queensguard. She grew up as a lowly maid.”

Gasps of shock and disappointment rippled through the crowd.

Masera, in contrast, remained expressionless.

And Cynthia—despite being the center of attention—was still smiling.

“Anita. I completely understand that you were never able to fully trust me. I know that feeling well. When the people you trusted the most ended up betraying you. So… I helped you knowing you’d betray me someday.”

Cynthia continued in a slow, composed voice.

“That means I also expected something like this. Sometimes betrayal happens because you’re forced into it, right? That kind of humiliation… someone who lived as a maid knows all too well.”

Anita’s eyes widened.

It had long been a habit for Cynthia to prepare for every possible outcome when making decisions.

Now, Cynthia stared straight at Helene, whose complexion looked increasingly poor.

“Helene. Why did you kill Carlos? And with your own hands, no less?”

Her blood-red eyes landed gently on the scars on Helene’s cheek and hand.

She had lived through a horrific war in her past life, and she knew better than anyone the expression someone wore after killing a person for the first time.

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