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~Chapter 26~
If they made love again and again… their feelings would naturally grow deeper.
Just imagining it made my nose flare.
Of course, there was always the “body first, heart later” approach. But with Apollyon’s personality, that seemed almost impossible.
I crumpled up the ink-stained paper and tossed it aside, then collapsed on my desk.
“So what am I supposed to do…?”
I couldn’t just walk up to him and say:
‘Actually, I know how to break your curse. You just have to fall in love with me—give me your heart and body. So, wanna try loving me?’
That would be insane.
“Ha…”
Shurael, the original heroine—what was she like again? Innocent, sweet, with a childlike smile.
Petunia, on the other hand, had a cold look. Sharp eyes, sharp nose, icy blue eyes that made her seem unapproachable.
I ran to the bathroom mirror, tied my hair into pigtails, and tried every “cute” expression I could think of. But no matter what, I didn’t look innocent.
“…What am I doing.”
Puffing out my cheeks at the mirror like a kid… it was pathetic. I’d never even done this in high school, and here I was, a grown woman, playing at it.
Dragging my slippers, I trudged back to bed. After all that nonsense, I was exhausted.
If only I’d played more dating sims in my past life, maybe I wouldn’t be struggling so hard now.
I flopped onto the bed. The soft mattress melted away my fatigue.
This bed… with Apollyon… a hot night…
That was the last thought in my head before I drifted to sleep.
***
From what Petunia had observed, Apollyon’s day always started early.
Unlike nobles in the capital, who stayed out drinking until late, he was diligent.
Servants rarely entered his bedroom. He always locked it when he slept—since that was when he removed his mask. That made his room a forbidden place to them.
He lived quite self-sufficiently.
Each morning, he woke on his own and immediately checked the mirror, hoping—just maybe—that his face had changed. Of course, it never had. So he tied his mask tightly again, like a ritual.
Then, dressed lightly, he took a water bottle and went straight to the training yard.
While he practiced swordsmanship, servants quietly cleaned up laundry and trash he left behind.
By the time his shirt was soaked with sweat, the sun had risen—about the time his new, lazy wife finally woke up.
Petunia usually dragged herself out of bed only after a maid announced breakfast.
At first, she had tried hard to wake early and look pretty for him. But she quickly realized it was pointless. Sleeping longer was far more “efficient.”
Still, she couldn’t look too sloppy in front of the staff. So she would at least tie her messy hair and throw on a shawl.
By the time she staggered to the dining table, Apollyon had already finished training, showered, and arrived at the dining room.
They started their mornings with a strange tea called “night-opening tea.” Petunia had grown used to it. Apollyon, of course, never cared what he was drinking.
“Today’s main dish is pine-nut porridge for good digestion.”
“Pfft—!”
Petunia spat out her tea like a dragon breathing fire.
And Apollyon, sitting right across from her, ended up getting splashed in the face.
His mask blocked his features, but his freshly washed hair and clean shirt were drenched.
“…Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
He calmly wiped himself with a napkin. Meanwhile, Petunia panicked and hurried over with her own napkin.
She gently wiped his wet face and neck.
“Are you okay? Did it soak anywhere else?”
Her hand slid down his neck to his collarbone. The warmth of his skin and dampness made him flinch.
“T-that’s enough.”
“How is this enough? You’re still soaked.”
Her hand pressed to his chest through the open shirt. His whole body stiffened, trembling like a startled bird.
Reluctantly, she returned to her seat, clicking her tongue in disappointment.
The cook, who had witnessed everything, looked completely unfazed—like he was watching a TV drama he’d already seen before.
When it was finally his turn, he cheerfully announced:
“For the side dish, I prepared roasted cherry tomatoes with olive oil and basil. Picked fresh this morning.”
“Thank you.”
Only after the chef left did the two of them begin eating quietly, the clink of cutlery echoing in the silent hall.
Petunia spooned porridge while eyeing Apollyon like a hawk. His soaked shirt clung to his chest, revealing his shape.
It wasn’t intentional, but she felt lucky. She loved seeing him sweaty after training, but usually she was asleep then.
Apollyon, oblivious, popped a fat tomato into his mouth.
When he bit down, juice burst across his lips—bright, red, glistening.
Petunia froze, spoon midair, staring.
His lips, stained red like the tomato, looked unnaturally vivid.
Noticing her gaze, Apollyon dabbed his lips with a napkin.
“Is it still there?”
“…Huh?”
“The tomato. Did I miss some?”
He pointed at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh…”
Petunia suddenly smiled wickedly.
“Yes. You missed a spot.”
He rubbed harder with the napkin. Still spotless.
“No, not there. A little lower.”
He scrubbed his chin.
“No, higher—more to the right.”
Flustered, he rubbed all over his face.
Petunia sighed. “Oh, just come here.”
Eyes wide, Apollyon leaned closer.
“Here.”
She reached out, brushing his lip corner with her thumb.
“There, see? Hard to notice.”
In truth, nothing was there.
But her thumb had “mysteriously” picked up tomato juice earlier.
She showed him her stained thumb, then slipped it into her mouth.
Apollyon’s face instantly turned as red as the tomato.
“What’s wrong, Apollyon?”
“H-huh?”
“Are you sick? Your face is so red.”
“N-no, nothing at all!”
He ducked his head, shoving porridge into his mouth to hide his embarrassment.
All that, just from her putting a finger in her mouth.
Meanwhile, Petunia looked perfectly calm, making him feel even more guilty—as if he were the shameless one.
Little did he know, above his bowed head, Petunia was grinning like a devil.
