Chapter 12: There Will Always Be a Butterfly That Flaps Its Wings

"You—"

The teacup in Celicia’s hand instantly shattered into icy shards, bursting with a violent crack. Frost-blue energy erupted from beneath her feet, and in the blink of an eye, a deathly chill swept across the entire room.

Muen could feel the breath of death press cold and real against his chest.

He gritted his teeth just to keep his body from trembling.

Thankfully, for once, fate sided with him.

Celicia suddenly staggered.

The frost that could’ve frozen Muen solid in an instant had spread to within a single step of him—but it could go no further.

“Despicable.”

Celicia’s frigid eyes locked onto him, brimming with hatred and unwillingness. But in the end, the drug overwhelmed her. She collapsed, limp and unconscious.

“Phew...”

The killing intent dissipated, and Muen finally let out the breath he’d been holding. But his eyes still held lingering fear.

“Truly, that’s Celicia for you.”

Had the drug taken effect just a few seconds later, she really would’ve killed him. No hesitation.

“But whatever the case... in the end, I won.”

The narrow escape left Muen almost giddy with relief.

“You think you understand underhanded tricks, Your Highness? Ha! I’m a modern-day corporate drone! You think I haven’t mastered the art of under-the-table ambushes and bait-and-switch deals at office drinking parties?”

Truth was, Celicia had nearly outmaneuvered him. She’d been more cautious than he expected.

But what she never would’ve guessed was that both cups of tea were drugged.

Muen had bet everything on a single gamble: that Celicia, after watching him drink his cup first, would lower her guard just enough to take a sip herself.

And he’d won.

“Gotta hand it to that shopkeeper—the drug really was that potent. One touch and down she goes!”

Guess that 130,000 Amils price tag wasn’t just for show.

Next time he needed anything shady, he was definitely shopping there again.

“Now then... time for the main event.”

He looked down at the unconscious Celicia—completely defenseless. His heart pounded again, this time with nervous tension.

But he’d come too far. There was no turning back now.

......

The fireplace crackled quietly, and warmth slowly returned to the room.

Muen leaned down and gently lifted Celicia into his arms, placing her carefully on the couch.

Why not the bed?

Simple. If you invited a noble princess into a private room with a bed, even a fool would know you were up to something.

Luckily, the ducal estate’s couches were big enough.

“Now, what do I do next?”

“If I remember right, in the original novel... Muen Campbell was caught undressing Celicia.”

He glanced at the door.

In ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) the book, the idiot original Muen hadn’t even bothered to lock the door.

So when the protagonist just happened to stumble in, she saw him mid-act—sealing his fate.

“Well, if that’s how the original plot went...”

“Then I’ve got to commit to the role. All in!”

Muen stared at the unconscious Celicia, and his mouth went dry.

This might be the only time she’d ever seem so unguarded. The icy air she always carried had vanished. Instead, a faint, alluring fragrance floated toward him, muddling his thoughts.

Celicia’s white gown was simple and elegant, which only highlighted her cold beauty all the more.

“Look but don’t touch, don’t be a creep—but... under the circumstances, forgive me.”

Muen muttered an apology under his breath, then reached out with trembling hands. He lifted her light frame and began fumbling for the zipper on the back of her dress.

His fingers weren’t cooperating. It took several tries before he finally found it.

Ziiip—

As the zipper slid down with a soft but distinct sound, his heartbeat sped up.

He swallowed hard—whether out of thirst or nerves, even he didn’t know—and reached for the dress’s delicate straps on her shoulders.

Slowly... carefully... he slid them off her arms.

Her skin was smooth. So smooth it reminded him of ribbons floating on milk.

And Celicia’s generous bust, normally hidden behind layers of restraint, now proudly held up the dress even as the straps slipped away.

With no other option, Muen reached out once more, hooked his finger around the front of the dress, and gently tugged downward.

A deep valley emerged. A pale moon began to rise.

Only when the white, misty undergarments beneath came halfway into view did Muen finally—reluctantly—pull his hand away.

“That should be enough.”

Her clothes were rumpled. Her chest exposed.

This scene couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than something deeply improper.

He glanced toward the tightly shut door.

The protagonist still hadn’t arrived.

“...Was it not convincing enough?”

Thinking for a moment, Muen began unbuttoning his own tuxedo, which weighed a good twenty kilograms, and pulled it off, baring his decently toned upper body. He then leaned forward, bracing both hands on the couch, looming over Celicia.

They weren’t touching—but the pose looked intimate, indecent. Anyone walking in now would assume the worst.

In a Feng Ao Tian novel, this level of ambiguity was enough to start a thousand floors of reader outrage. The kind of moment that would blow up the comment section.

If the protagonist didn’t show up now, then that would be the truly impolite thing.

But...

She still didn’t appear.

“...Is my timing off? Should I wait a little longer?”

Muen held the position. Waiting. The seconds crawled by.

Three minutes...

Ten minutes...

Half an hour.

“What the hell!”

Muen’s arms ached, trembling from fatigue as he finally broke down.

“What the hell are you doing, protagonist?! The heroine’s lying under me, completely helpless—aren’t you supposed to burst in and save her?!”

“You’ve had plenty of time! You could’ve gone to the bathroom and back three times by now!”

And yet, no sign of Ariel—the so-called heroine, the savior, the star of the show.

“Did I screw something up?”

Muen began reviewing every step of today’s operation.

First, he invited Celicia to a private room. That was correct—he’d chosen this room specifically because it matched the setup in the original Muen Campbell’s plan. No deviation there.

Then, he drugged her.

Also a success—Celicia was clearly unconscious beneath him.

The final step?

The protagonist was supposed to get red wine spilled on her dress by a clumsy maid. She’d go looking for a bathroom, get lost, and accidentally barge into this room—right at the moment of “disgrace.”

But she still hadn’t shown up.

Was she too lost?

Wait.

A “clumsy maid”...?

Muen suddenly realized something.

The maids of the ducal estate were renowned for their training. They could carry trays of wine across a tightrope without spilling a drop. They didn’t just “accidentally” spill things on guests.

Especially not something as egregious as red wine on a dress.

If that ever happened, the head maid would be forced to resign out of sheer shame.

Unless...

Unless the spilled wine wasn’t because of carelessness.

But because of...

Sickness.

Yes. Maybe the original maid only fumbled because she was feeling unwell!

And now?

That maid—the one who was supposed to trigger this chain of events—was currently resting.

Because Muen himself had ordered her to rest.

She hadn’t even attended tonight’s banquet.

Which meant there was no one to “accidentally” spill red wine on the protagonist.

No accident. No reason to leave. No wandering. No encounter.

Which meant...

The protagonist might not be coming at all.