Chapter 11: When It Comes to Being Despicable, I Win

“Your Highness... do you really think I’m the kind of man who would slip something weird into tea?”

Muen blinked at Celicia’s words—just for a second—then immediately dropped into an exaggerated expression of heartbreak, as if her doubt had struck him with the force of a divine injustice. He looked one step away from pounding his chest and wailing at the heavens, waiting for snow to fall in June to prove his innocence.

“If Your Highness distrusts me that much... then I’ll just have to prove myself through action!”

He grabbed his cup of tea and raised it high like he was about to down it in one heroic chug.

“I’ll drink first!”

“Wait.”

Celicia’s voice cut in sharply.

“There’s no need to be so offended, Young Master Muen. I was only teasing you.”

“Teasing...?”

Your face hasn’t changed expression once since you got here! You really expect me to believe you were joking?

“As your fiancée, I’ve always had complete faith in you.”

The corners of her lips tugged upward ever so slightly—in her case, that probably counted as a full-on smile.

“It was just a little prank. Please don’t take it to heart.”

“...Is that so?”

Muen lowered his cup, exhaling a discreet breath of relief.

“In the future, Your Highness, please try not to joke about things that might shake the trust between us.”

“Of course. I realize now that I was in the wrong.”

Celicia still didn’t drink the tea.

She sat quietly, lowering her gaze and fiddling with the cup in her hands, staring into the blood-red tea as if she were trying to read her own reflection in it.

“Actually, there was a reason I made that joke.”

“Hm?”

“You probably already know this, but I’m actually younger than you by a few months.”

“...Oh. Yes. Of course I knew that.”

Like hell I did!

That scared the crap out of me!

Celicia, the student council president of Saint Marica Academy—two entire grades above Muen—was younger than him?

That ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) was never mentioned in the original novel!

Wait... so does that mean, even though she’s his upperclassman in public, she’s actually his junior in secret? And considering the thin blood ties between nobility and royalty... would it be weird to call her “little sister”?

Is this... the legendary mix of cute and dominant?

Not good.

The image of cold, queenly Celicia secretly calling him “big brother” flashed across Muen’s mind—and it was not good. That gap moe was aimed directly at his heart.

“Well, I am a two-year skip-grade genius. It’s not that strange if I end up in situations like this.”

“But because of that, I often feel tired. The people around me are never my age. I have to act as mature as they are... or even more so.”

“So sometimes, when I’m in private... when I’m somewhere I can let my guard down... I tend to act a bit childish.”

“Childish?” Muen blinked. He never imagined he’d hear that word come out of Celicia’s mouth.

“Yes. Like I just did, for example.”

Her long silver lashes fluttered slightly as she asked softly:

“You’re not mad, are you, Young Master Muen?”

“Of course not.”

Muen smiled—genuinely this time—and answered without hesitation:

“If it’s Your Highness, then no matter how childish, I can accept it. In fact, it makes you seem... more approachable.”

“Really? That’s wonderful.”

Celicia suddenly lifted her head.

“Perfect. I actually have another very childish request, and I need you to grant it.”

“Huh?”

“Your tea looks better than mine. So... can we switch?”

“Ha?”

Muen’s smile froze on his face.

He stared at Celicia, and cold sweat trickled down his back.

Her eyes were as chilly and distant as always—but behind that thin layer of ice, he saw it.

A glint of mischief. A flash of ridicule.

Shit. She caught on.

So much for that innocent act. She definitely suspects the tea.

But she probably doesn’t think he actually had the balls to drug it. Otherwise, she would’ve flash-froze him where he stood.

“Th-that wouldn’t be proper...”

“Why not? Didn’t you say you could accept all my childishness? Or is it...”

She tilted her head, savoring every word like a knife:

“Are you afraid, Young. Mas. Ter. Muen?”

“A-afraid? Me? I’ve done nothing wrong, what’s there to be afraid of?”

Muen forced a smile so hard it made his face hurt.

“Then why—”

“Because... because I already drank from my cup!”

Muen tightened his grip and declared with theatrical intensity:

“If Your Highness drinks it now, then that would be... that would be... an indirect kiss!”

“Oh, is that all?” Celicia didn’t even flinch.

“That doesn’t bother me. After all, I’m your fiancée. Something like that... I can accept.”

And as if to drive the point home, she placed her soft hand gently over his—and began prying his fingers away from the cup.

But to Muen, it felt like she was peeling back the lid of his coffin.

There was nothing he could do now. No room left to run.

He could only sit, motionless. Silent. Despairing.

Like watching the final countdown to his own death.

“I’ve actually been looking forward to tasting your tea, Young Master Muen.”

Celicia didn’t sound like she was looking forward to anything at all, but she did raise his cup to her lips.

Then, she looked at Muen.

“Aren’t you going to drink too, Young Master Muen?”

“I am. Of course I am.”

With the stiffness of a corpse, Muen pulled his mouth into a mechanical smile.

He lifted her untouched cup of tea and brought it slowly—painfully slowly—to his lips.

As if drawing out the moment could save him.

But no matter how slow, it eventually reached the end.

Under Celicia’s steady gaze, he could delay no further.

Muen closed his eyes, tilted his head back—and swallowed.

Celicia narrowed her eyes slightly.

She glanced again at the cup in her hand, then turned her head slightly toward the door.

On the other side of this wall, the grand ballroom roared with music and laughter. Nearly every major noble in Bellrand was in attendance tonight.

Even the son of a duke wouldn’t be foolish enough to try something here—surely not.

Finally, she took a small sip.

Hm?

Something about the taste was... off.

Celicia frowned and looked down into the cup.

The tea swirled gently, vivid red—bright as blood.

Could it be...?

She snapped her head up.

Muen hadn’t spoken a word since he drank.

He was smiling.

Not a charming smile. Not a calm smile.

His lips were stretched all the way to his ears—but his mouth remained tightly shut.

It looked wrong. Deeply, disturbingly wrong.

“You...!”

For the first time, panic flickered in Celicia’s eyes.

But it was already too late. Her limbs were starting to go numb.

And Muen?

He finally opened his mouth—

And with a loud BLEGH—

Spat out the entire mouthful of tea.