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Chapter 9
Looking at him like this, he’s actually quite…
The eyes hidden behind the thick glasses were large.
His light brown eyes reflected the faint light and shimmered with a golden glow.
Did someone cast a spell on those glasses or something?
All he had done was take off his glasses, yet an incredibly handsome face appeared before her.
He was handsome enough that she barely noticed the ointment covering his cheek.
He could easily have been the male lead of a romance novel.
Even the blood running beneath his bangs looked as though it carried some tragic story—
…Wait. Blood?
After wiping away the blood on his cheek, Genevieve quickly pushed back his bangs.
The wound above his right eyebrow was deep.
If left untreated, it would certainly leave a scar.
“…”
At that moment, an unsettling memory flashed through her mind.
He was a prince straight out of a fairy tale. Even when killing someone, his gestures and speech seemed as though they would remain elegant. A beauty so overwhelming it inspired fear. …agreed with those words. If asked to name the one flaw in the human masterpiece carefully crafted by God, …thought it would be the scar above his right eyebrow.
Brown hair was the most common hair color in the world.
Because of that, knowing the hidden villain in the novel had brown hair had never helped Genevieve much.
But that scar…
That scar definitely belonged to the hidden villain.
Of course, it could have been a coincidence.
But every instinct in her body screamed otherwise.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The protagonist she had desperately searched for had walked right up to her on his own.
Genevieve quickly hid the shock on her face.
She wanted to tell herself it wasn’t him.
She wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence.
But the location and shape of the scar were far too perfect.
Barely holding herself together, Genevieve finished treating him while pretending nothing was wrong and followed Edward back to the lounge.
“…Professor O’Dein doesn’t like that. If your argument isn’t properly supported, your score drops.”
Only today did Genevieve realize that she talked more when she was nervous.
“How did you know?”
“Well, some of it came from my own trial and error… and some of it was advice from friends and seniors—”
She immediately realized her mistake and bit her lower lip.
She had accidentally touched a sore subject for someone who would eventually become the hidden villain.
Maybe nervousness had completely fried her brain.
Edward remained reserved, answering her many questions only briefly.
Hoping she hadn’t offended him, Genevieve lowered her eyes back to her assignment.
No wonder I didn’t recognize him after passing by him so many times!
Her mind raced.
As expected, she was currently living in the period before the novel began.
Only three or four lines in the novel had ever described Edward’s past.
The only thing she really knew was that his past was a dark chapter he wanted to forget.
She vaguely remembered a line saying that the Edward of the past was different from the Edward of the present.
But this wasn’t just a little different.
This was practically a completely different person.
The novel had repeatedly described him as a dangerously beautiful man.
Because of that, she had secretly believed she would recognize him immediately if she ever met him.
How was I supposed to recognize him when one pair of glasses changes him this much?!
Edward absentmindedly touched the gauze above his eyebrow.
Just a scar.
A scar the author had originally included as a simple physical feature.
In the novel, the male lead was one year below Edward.
And if Edward truly was the hidden villain, then the male lead should currently be a first-year student.
But there was no one at Saint John’s College with black hair and purple eyes.
Of that much, Genevieve was absolutely certain.
Did the story change because I entered this world?
It was the only explanation that seemed remotely possible.
But it didn’t make sense.
All she had done since arriving was attend school normally.
She came from a different country.
She was a background character whose name wasn’t even mentioned.
How could she possibly influence the story?
Genevieve hurriedly reviewed everything she remembered about the original novel.
Saint John’s College burns down next year… and I’ll graduate this year…
Which means I’ll be safe.
That thought eased her mind a little.
The best thing she could do was remain exactly what she had always been—
A character whose name never appeared.
Someone who had nothing to do with Edward.
Genevieve decided to stop paying attention to him.
“…”
But people’s hearts rarely obeyed logic.
Once she noticed him, she couldn’t stop noticing him.
And before long, pity followed.
Her feelings became increasingly complicated.
Part of her wanted to pretend there was no connection between them, graduate safely, and leave.
But another part wanted to help him.
And little by little, that second feeling grew stronger.
If she had never known who he was, she could have graduated peacefully.
But now she knew.
How could she ignore what was happening right in front of her?
Genevieve didn’t want to sit by like everyone else while knowing someone was being unfairly isolated and bullied.
I never wanted to get involved…
Still, according to the novel, Edward wouldn’t commit arson until after she graduated.
So helping him shouldn’t put her in danger.
With that reasoning, Genevieve began trying to talk to Edward after that day.
For some reason, however, their relationship made almost no progress.
What is it? Does he feel uncomfortable around me?
Did I do something wrong?
Did I upset him somehow?
Growing anxious, Genevieve eventually settled for greeting him with a nod whenever they crossed paths.
At first, he didn’t return the greetings.
Whether he didn’t notice them or simply ignored them, she couldn’t tell.
But by Thursday, they had finally reached the point of exchanging greetings.
“Even a second-year student’s assignment is more logical than Blythe’s!”
While listening to Professor O’Dein scold her cousin, Genevieve could only vaguely assume that Edward must have done well on his Governance assignment.
“…I should return that too.”
She looked at the handkerchief sitting on top of her dresser and murmured quietly.
It was the handkerchief Edward had lent her a few days earlier.
“I-I’m sorry. Because of me…”
At the time, he had looked so pitiful.
It had been an ordinary accident anyone could have made, yet Edward had seemed deeply shaken by it.
To the point where the few lines describing his past in the novel suddenly felt painfully inadequate.
Although the thought of rewriting her ruined assignment from scratch had exhausted her, Genevieve had pretended everything was fine for his sake.
Restoring the handkerchief took far more time and effort than she expected.
Lacking proper knowledge, Genevieve had sought advice from Saint John’s College’s cleaning staff and barely managed to restore it.
Most of the stains disappeared.
Only the embroidered label remained dark and stained.
No matter how many times she soaked it in soapy water, it refused to improve.
In the end, Genevieve covered the stain with embroidery.
She stitched a freesia pattern—the only design she had learned to embroider during her engagement lessons.
Even while sewing, she couldn’t stop feeling that she was making too much of a fuss.
This was not something anyone should do twice.
After cleaning the handkerchief, Genevieve ended up throwing away one of her favorite shirts.
The sacrifice had been inevitable.
“…When should I return it?”
She tapped the handkerchief lightly with her fingertips.
* * *
The first real conversation Genevieve had with Edward happened on Sunday.
The early morning air was chilly.
Cold wind slipped through the gaps around the window frame.
Genevieve wiggled her toes before putting on a pair of socks.
Even though she had barely moved, she felt hungry.
“Three more hours…”
There was far too much time left before breakfast.
Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she headed to the kitchen.
“Yaaawn…”
She skillfully lit the stove and set a pot of water to boil.
The bubbling sound was strangely comforting.
Because she had woken up so early, her head felt heavy.
Genevieve scooped a generous amount of cocoa powder into a cup and stretched her stiff neck.
I’ll drink this and go back to sleep.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
And when she opened them again—
Edward was standing right in front of her.
“Eek!”
Startled, Genevieve let out a short scream and jumped.
The cocoa container tipped over.
Instantly, the kitchen became a mess.
“I’ll help.”
Edward looked slightly surprised as well, but thankfully offered assistance first.
Genevieve needed help, yet felt guilty accepting it.
In the end, she only asked him to handle something simple.
After all, regardless of his current status, he still carried imperial blood.
Yet while Genevieve cleaned the floor, Edward even cleaned up the cocoa powder spilled across the table.
Genevieve was briefly shocked by the realization that she had just made a prince do manual labor.
She pretended not to notice.
“What brings you here?”
“It was cold, so I wanted some cocoa… What about you?”
“I wanted some coffee before heading out.”
“Going somewhere?”
Seeing that he already looked as though he had been outside once, Genevieve asked.
“Yes. I’m going to buy new glasses.”
At his answer, Genevieve nodded quietly.
Considering that they had spent the past several days communicating through little more than greetings, she had expected an awkward silence.
Surprisingly, Edward actively participated in the conversation.
“I-I’ll do it myself.”
“I caused you trouble. The least I can do is help!”
Wanting to repay him for his efforts, Genevieve took out some coffee.
Naturally dismissing his refusal, she continued speaking.
“I’m actually pretty good at making coffee. Owen practically forced me to learn, so it should taste decent.”
She shared the unpleasant memory in a cheerful tone.
Just as she was about to pour the boiling water, she paused.
She remembered something from the novel.
Edward preferred warm coffee rather than piping hot coffee.
There’s no harm in making it the way he likes it.
After waiting a minute or two, the water cooled to the perfect temperature.
“Thank you. I’ll enjoy it.”
“You’re working hard so early on a weekend. Be careful out there.”
“…Okay.”
She wanted to keep talking.
But her increasingly heavy eyelids had other plans.
Instead of continuing the conversation, they pulled her back toward her bed.
