What’s wrong with expecting professional work in exchange for a high salary?
Leaving the trembling, pale maid behind, I rise to my feet. The senior maid silently follows me, her expression devoid of reproach, sighs, or any hint of emotion. This, at least, pleases me. I listen with satisfaction as she quietly closes the door behind us.
As I walk toward the mansion’s landing, I am greeted by the sight of a family portrait framed in a grand display. Though it is something I’ve seen countless times, today, as I look up at it, I find myself blinking in surprise.
“Oh?”
What I saw there was an illustration by the manga artist I adored.
An artist who created countless works where even the enemies were handsome, the humor in between was sharp and witty, and the serious storylines could empty a box of tissues as a matter of course. They were, to me, a god.
How much did I love them? Enough to collect every first edition of their manga, set up a special bookshelf in the corner of my room to keep them safe from sunlight, and even periodically air them out to protect them from pests.
Seriously, who even does that? Was I running a second-hand bookstore?
But something felt odd. While the mirror reflected no incongruity in my appearance, this portrait—it looked like an “illustration.”
How strange, I thought… except this wasn’t the time to marvel at such details.
The art style was unmistakable, one I knew so well it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it love. And yet, I didn’t recognize the content. There was only one possibility.
This must be the sole otome game for which my beloved manga artist had designed the characters.
I had bought it because the cast included some of my favorite popular voice actors, but as someone who preferred action and horror films, it wasn’t my cup of tea. I had given up on it pretty quickly.
Still, I’d made a fuss saying, “Should I get it? I’m not sure…” only to reserve the limited edition within seconds and pick it up on release day.
In the end, I quit after barely completing the tutorial. The heroine, I was sure, didn’t have this kind of face or color palette.
And that girl standing smugly between the affectionate couple in the center? I remembered her from the character introduction on the game’s homepage.
She was the elegant young lady who kept interfering with the protagonist.
The rival who was overwhelmingly hated by fans.
So that’s who I am.
In other words… most likely, I am the villainous noblewoman.
* * *
“Good day to you, Your Highness Julius.”
I quietly greet the figure gazing out over our family’s prized garden.
Pinching the hem of my dress, I curtsy and lift my face, just as the prince slowly turns around. However, he doesn’t look at me and only says, “You too.”
“I heard you were unwell.”
His high-pitched, husky voice, typical of a boy before his voice deepens, is so pleasant it almost seems unreal.
“Yes, I appear to have been feverish for two days or so,” I reply.
“…You speak as though it’s someone else’s problem.”
“Well, I don’t remember any of it.”
Smiling, I change the subject.
“Your Highness, thank you for your gift. I was delighted.”
During the time I lay bedridden with a fever, reliving “my” memories as dreams, the prince had sent me a get-well gift.
It was a bouquet of purple and blue roses, mirroring my hair and eyes.
I’m sure it was merely a formality, arranged by someone in his retinue. The proof? He hasn’t even noticed that I’m wearing one of those roses in my hair right now.
Still, their vivid, dewy petals were stunningly beautiful, enough to make me feel enchanted.
“Next time, Your Highness, I would dearly love a green rose to match your eyes.”
I tease him with a chuckle, requesting something impossible. The prince, though only nine years old, lets out a sigh so deep it doesn’t seem fitting for a child.
“Even the royal court alchemist’s medicine could lower your fever, but it seems it couldn’t cure your selfishness and greed.”
At his words, I blink in surprise.
“Selfish? What’s so wrong about asking for what you want? If nobles hoard their wealth, the economy won’t prosper.”
The prince’s beautiful face, which I could never grow tired of looking at, twists into a frown.
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