MBGS 11

Chapter 11

“Sir, to me?”

Why is the male lead trying to get on the villainess’s good side? Is he grateful because I saved Kanna?

“Yes. Daring to approach you, I…”

The male lead lowered his eyes. Wait—don’t tell me he’s shy?

No, don’t tell me we’re going down the “I’m just a villainess who wants to live comfortably, so why are you doing this to me?!” route? Weren’t we supposed to be rivals fighting over the heroine? Okay, fine, I decided that on my own… but still. Isn’t this unfair? After glaring at me like I was some kind of ghost.

His voice—one that sounded like it wouldn’t waver even if he were stabbed—trembled slightly. That definitely felt like a flag being planted. Based on my long career reading romance fantasy, I was sure of it.

This is a disaster! I tried so hard to escape the villainess route, and now the male lead seems to have fallen for me. Am I an idiot?

“Idiot. Not knowing your place.”

That’s right. I should’ve known my place. I underestimated villainess-transmigration stories. But we’ve only met once, haven’t we? Is that guy just a face-obsessed type? Actually, if we’re being honest, most romance fantasy characters are.

Anyway, this is bad. I thought I’d only stolen the heroine’s affection points—looks like I took the male lead’s interest too.

Fine. It’s a romance fantasy, I get it. But the real problem is that the villainess escape plan I stayed up for two nights writing just turned into trash. No matter how hard I plan, the fastest and most certain method is just becoming the heroine.

But I don’t even want to date the male lead. He’s a paper doll, and I’m a real person.

“I’m not interested in you.”

Crap. In my rush to push him away, I ended up using the classic “I’m not interested in you.” I’m really an idiot! At this point, it’s like my subconscious wanted to trigger the romance fantasy route. Once a flag’s been planted, if I try to distance myself, he’ll just cling harder, won’t he?

“Yes. I assumed as much—that my lady has no interest in people.”

The male lead replied as if stating the obvious.

What kind of reaction is that? If I say I’m not interested, shouldn’t he go, “How dare you not be interested in me?” And what does he mean, no interest in ‘people’? That phrasing’s weird.

But the strangest part is that even though I said I’m not interested, he shows no lingering attachment. Wasn’t he supposed to have feelings for me? Did I misunderstand? But if I just let this slide, won’t the comments roast me for being oblivious?

“It doesn’t matter. I’m merely curious about you.”

See? See that? I knew it! Don’t underestimate my years buried in romance fantasy!

He said such cringe-worthy lines without even blinking, like sugar water ran through his veins instead of blood. If anything, I was the one getting goosebumps. Of course, since Evangeline’s body carried the blood of the romance fantasy race, even such sweet lines didn’t actually give me chills.

Romance fantasy is terrifying. While I trembled inside, the male lead shifted the topic as if indulging me and continued explaining the painting.

Looking at the moth drawing again, I felt calmer.

“This circle—before the body was removed, I didn’t realize it, but it’s closer to a sigil than a halo.”

As he pointed to the crushed, antenna-like lines of the moth, he pulled out another sheet of paper. It’s broken—why call that a circle?

Then I saw the new sheet and froze.

‘What the—?! Isn’t that my summoning circle that Donau stole?!’

I thought it burned down with the house!

What a tearful reunion. But as I looked closer, something felt off. The annotations at the bottom were gone, and the paper looked new.

“This is the sigil. After copying it, I burned the one on the floor.”

Ah. So this is his drawing too.

Wait. You drew this as well? Then why did you turn the earlier one into a moth? Are you a STEM major?

Calm down. His drawing skills aren’t the important part.

So this isn’t my paper—he copied what Donau drew on the floor. The original burned. Which means I’ll never be able to read the summoning spell. I had already given up on it, thinking it was gone forever, but seeing only the drawing return like this left me feeling empty. Goodbye, Spirit King…

“In the painting where the artist depicted Donau’s corpse, is this sigil clearly drawn?”

“Except for the parts covered by the body, it is identical.”

Hey, don’t go spreading my otherworld cheat key around! I got annoyed at the faceless painter but cooled down. If parts were covered, and even I failed before, then without the summoning incantation, no spirit would answer anyway.

It seemed the male lead had finished what he wanted to say. Now he just watched my lips, waiting for what I would say next.

I hesitated while looking at his unnecessarily handsome face and the summoning circle, then decided to just say it. Not that I was swayed by his face.

“I didn’t go to Donau because Kanna was kidnapped. It was because he ran off with my drawing.”

“You mean this?”

“Yes.”

“My lady.”

Hena called out worriedly.

Don’t worry! I’ll package this nicely.

I need that paper back too. There’s nothing to gain from turning the male lead into an enemy. He says he’ll take my side—so I’ll just trust him and tell him.

From the look of it, he seems to have fallen for me, so at least he won’t stab me in the back. Honestly, that makes him more trustworthy.

“Would you kindly explain what this sigil is?”

“It’s a summoning circle.”

“What does it summon?”

“Well…”

Obviously, I can’t mention spirits directly. I need to dodge it. What instead of a fire spirit?

What do people in this romance fantasy world believe in? The Sun God Rahel? That’s practically a holy kingdom level. No choice—let’s just say that.

“It seems to summon an angel.”

The male lead stared at me intently, then slowly nodded.

He actually believes that? He doesn’t believe Donau was blessed by God, but he believes this summons an angel? Don’t tell me he just believes whatever the person he likes says.

Is this really the standard of male leads in romance fantasy worlds?

She was strikingly pale. With her eyes closed, one might mistake her for a statue. That pallor contributed greatly to the sense that Evangeline Rohanson was something otherworldly.

The sequence of movements—from lifting the teacup to taking a sip—appeared natural at a glance, yet somehow staged.

“…I wish to help you.”

The moment Gabriel finished speaking—

Evangeline Rohanson, who had been languidly savoring the tea’s aroma, set down her cup. The cup, placed without care, clinked sharply against the saucer. The tea rippled as if about to spill before settling again.

Once the surface stilled, silence followed.

Everything around them seemed to hold its breath, gauging Evangeline Rohanson’s mood. Birds stopped mid-flight and fell. Flower petals refused to sway, retreating back into buds.

When the grand orchestra ceased playing, only the sound of a heartbeat remained.

“Sir. To me?”

Evangeline asked Gabriel as though she were witnessing the greatest foolishness in the world.

As soon as she spoke, all the restrained sounds burst forth at once.

The ticking of the clock resumed, out of sync with the pounding heart. The second hand seemed unusually slow. Gabriel soon realized the clock wasn’t slow—his heart was simply racing.

“Yes. Daring to approach you, I…”

He could barely speak. Each word left him breathless.

“Idiot. Not knowing your place.”

Evangeline Rohanson sighed.

The indoor lighting had no reason to flicker, yet it seemed to shift, casting her shadow over Gabriel.

“I’m not interested in you.”

Anger flickered in her previously indifferent eyes. The curve of her red lips twisted with contempt. The polite speech she had maintained vanished, revealing a tone that clearly looked down on him.

Gabriel accepted it.

Would a human care about ants crawling in the garden? If she didn’t crush them out of boredom, shouldn’t they be grateful for her mercy? Even if she stepped on them unknowingly, it would not be a sin.

Evangeline was merely irritated that a worthless ant had entered her home.

“I’m merely curious about you.”

Even if the emotion he drew from Evangeline Rohanson was negative, the fact that he drew one at all was encouraging. It felt like witnessing a flower bloom from a withered, skeletal tree.

As Evangeline grew angry, the table trembled faintly, the teacups rattling. Just as it seemed it might collapse, the trembling ceased.

As though she had never shown any ferocity, Evangeline resumed sipping her tea. Yet her gaze never left Gabriel.

Fortunately, it seemed she would not shed the mask of Evangeline Rohanson just yet. Seeing her calm, the maid at her side—on the verge of fainting—sighed in relief.

Gabriel continued his explanation.

Gabriel looked back at the Rohanson estate. It felt ominous for a bright afternoon. Though many servants should have been present, it was unnaturally silent.

Only the cherry blossoms blooming in one corner of the garden were vividly red.

Gabriel quietly watched the hem of clothing fluttering from a weeping cherry tree branch—and the pale feet dangling beneath.

“Commander, you’re late?”

Raphaella, who had been waiting in the carriage outside the Rohanson estate, greeted him. She followed his gaze to the cherry tree.

“That’s a huge tree. Do cherry trees usually grow that large?”

As she said, whatever fertilizer had been used, it had grown exceptionally tall.

When Gabriel looked back, the figure hanging from the cherry tree had vanished.

Had he mistaken it for petals drooping in the wind?