The moment Edward stormed into the study, a massive bell rang over Sasha’s head.
Chance.
A chance to become a villain— a chance to move like a villain!
Sasha didn’t let it slip. He acted like Sasha Ambrose.
Even as he followed Edward out of the study, performing his part, he’d been admiring himself for doing such a great job… but as the time alone with Edward dragged on, he started wondering if this was really the right call.
‘…I should’ve found out what happened before I went charging in.’
He’d rushed in without thinking because everything had gone pitch-black in front of his eyes, but once the excitement cooled, anxiety seeped in.
Being alone in a room with Edward was no joke. The pressure was insane.
‘Why isn’t he saying anything? Why does he just keep staring?’
He wanted to look away— but that wouldn’t be like Sasha Ambrose, so he couldn’t even turn his head.
“So what is this about?”
When he finally worked up the nerve to ask, Edward’s eyes crumpled.
What, does he not even want to hear my voice? Should I have said it more softly? But if I get too sweet, it’s not like he’ll look at me kindly after what I pulled earlier.
“…What did you talk about with the Young Duke?”
Looks like he still hadn’t gotten his emotions under control enough to cut straight to the point. Sasha didn’t want to take the full brunt of Edward’s anger in a sealed room like this either, so even at the strangely random question, he answered without fuss.
“We spoke about Your Majesty’s handwriting.”
There was no way he could say anything about who died and who didn’t, so all he had were trivial topics like this.
Edward flicked only his eyebrow— like even opening his mouth was too much effort— and Sasha continued.
“He said my handwriting looks similar to Yours, and that he wanted to learn as well.”
So what do you think, Edward? Even you have to admit your subordinate’s getting weird, right?
Sasha swallowed what he really wanted to ask and smiled brightly.
“I refused, but if Your Majesty wishes it, I will teach him.”
He subtly emphasized that even if his attitude was like this, he still remembered the warning. Edward’s icy gaze loosened, just a little.
“There’s no need.”
He really does hate the idea of me getting tangled up with Rio.
Well— even in the original, Edward tended to cherish Rio Grenville.
When Rio Grenville fell to his knees and begged him to save his younger brother— the brother Sasha had taken— Edward had known he shouldn’t, and still he’d pulled troops back and let Rio go search.
In the original, that choice put Edward through hell for nothing. But now, Sasha had wrapped it up neatly, so Edward hadn’t actually lost anything.
‘If we’re being honest, I’m the one who helped.’
He’d deliberately cleared the room right as Rio barged in. He’d left the prison key somewhere obvious. He’d even left a map, just in case Rio got lost.
Rio probably thought he’d rescued his brother thanks to his own brilliance and heaven’s favor, but none of it would’ve been possible without Sasha’s help.
It was pitiful— being unable to take credit— but in the first place, the one who’d kidnapped that brother was Sasha’s subordinate.
So Sasha decided to shove any past that would only hurt him if dug up into a corner, and returned to the point.
“Then will you tell me why I was summoned to Your Majesty’s chambers?”
If he’d been tossed into some back room or thrown into the underground prison, maybe. But right now, Sasha had been dragged into Edward’s private bedchamber.
“What have I done wrong?”
“…Why didn’t you eat dinner last night?”
Dinner?
Yesterday’s vow flashed through Sasha’s mind and his fist clenched— but he answered quickly under those murderous golden eyes.
“I needed sleep more than food.”
Not what he’d wanted, but in a situation like this, he couldn’t say he’d missed dinner because he’d fallen asleep and then filled his stomach with cookies.
“Then this morning. The macarons.”
“I don’t prefer sweets.”
A lie. Sasha loved sweets so much his tongue could ache. Before sending the macarons back, he’d debated at least three times whether he should just eat them.
“And yet you didn’t eat many cookies yesterday, either.”
He’d been hungry, but he’d stopped because he couldn’t stop thinking about the peach compote he’d eaten back in the territory.
“Wasn’t that something you ate often even back at the marquessate?”
Wait— Edward even knows that?
Suspicion lifted its head, but it didn’t seem like Edward expected an answer. He continued.
“They said you broke a flowerpot today.”
That one really wasn’t on purpose.
The room was so spotless he’d been hunting for something to pick at, and when he found dust on the windowsill, he’d gotten excited and moved— and that mistake happened. How was he supposed to know it would fall like that?
“I’m clumsier than I look.”
This time, he was telling nothing but the truth.
But Edward didn’t look like he believed him at all.
‘Am I supposed to like this, or hate it?’
Sasha tilted his head, staring into Edward’s golden eyes that were growing darker by the second.
“If there’s nothing else you need to verify, may I ask what this is about?”
Getting your throat cut over something this petty was absurd, and it was too trivial to stamp him a villain for.
So at most, what Sasha would hear here would be something like don’t torment the servants, or mind your behavior.
His heart loosened at how stupidly minor it all seemed.
‘For a second I thought that “thread” or whatever was starting for real, but I guess not.’
He’d been wound tight, and now he felt a little hollow.
But that relief came way too fast.
“While you were in the territory… were you receiving threats of assassination?”
He’d nearly died from eating too much, he’d gotten suspected of dying from sleeping too much, and he’d been nagged that he looked like he’d collapse if someone flicked him— but that couldn’t be what Edward meant.
Assassination threats, in the Ambrose territory that had been peaceful and warm and overflowing with affection? The pairing was so absurd, his words caught in his throat.
‘Did I hear that right?’
Sasha forced his expression smooth, and answered like nothing was wrong.
“No. Nothing like that happened.”
“Speak honestly.”
That piercing stare pressed in, relentless, like it would dig out everything inside him. Sasha put strength into his voice and repeated himself.
“I am not lying.”
Haa.
When Edward closed his eyes, Sasha reflexively let out a breath that had been leaking out of him— and then whipped his loosening body back into tension.
Edward’s atmosphere shifted, and the tightly cinched air eased… but Sasha couldn’t relax yet.
Sure enough, something he could barely believe came out of Edward’s mouth.
“Poison was found in last night’s dinner and this morning’s dessert.”
…What?
He was so shocked he couldn’t even blink, but Edward wasn’t done.
“And that flowerpot— it was a poisonous plant.”
Edward added that it was a lethal toxin that could kill you if even the tip of your finger brushed it wrong, but Sasha couldn’t focus on that part.
He just stared blankly at Edward’s mouth, moving unbearably slowly.
“In this Imperial Palace, Viscount— there is someone trying to kill you.”
Someone’s trying to kill me?
‘Why?’
No, seriously— why?
Why is the story going like this?
Author? Sir? Ma’am? Creator?
Didn’t you say you liked Sasha’s loyal-subject image?
Then aren’t you supposed to go “aww” and dote on me?
He’d assumed that if there were going to be a thread or a side story, an episode good for Sasha’s image rehabilitation would pop up, and he’d been swearing to ruin it no matter what.
‘Side stories are supposed to be light and warm, usually.’
Because the main story had been dark and dreary, it was common for the after-story to show that Edward was living happily ever after as Emperor.
‘Edward dating or getting married, having twins or a brother-and-sister pair, showing him parenting— that kind of thing.’
Sure, the tone clash would be scary in its own way, but it was still better than this bleak, chilling stuff.
‘I said I’d stay a villain. I didn’t say I wanted to get assassination attempts thrown at me.’
Sasha’s fans— and the people who liked the loyal-subject image— wouldn’t want Sasha’s life to be threatened, either.
The only people who’d enjoy this would be the fans who screamed that they hated Sasha.
…Did the author actually hate me?
It looked like Edward was catching some flak because of him. Did the author get mad that the protagonist was getting criticized?
Is this divine punishment because I threw a tantrum about wanting to stay a villain instead of being grateful for what the fans liked?
I should’ve bowed and thanked them for saying my face was pretty— but instead, I snapped about why they were re-evaluating me, and now the karma’s coming back around.
‘Then if I hadn’t acted up today… would I have died?’
No. I wouldn’t have died.
‘…Would I?’
If the readers’ reaction was bad, couldn’t the author just kill Sasha off?
Maybe because of the shock, his head wouldn’t work.
Scenarios tangled together, knotting into a mess.
‘Ah. Is it that?’
I’ve only ever been the one to torment and threaten people— I’ve never been on the receiving end. So this is “put yourself in their shoes.” Now you get to experience it.
So this is…
“Viscount Ambrose?”
At the voice calling him, Sasha lifted his head— and found the person whose life he’d threatened dozens of times.
Edward Lacarte. Our protagonist.
Had this been how Edward felt the whole time?
‘Almost dying without even realizing it… that’s what it feels like?’
Guilt surged in like a tide— and then drained out just as fast. Because a very reasonable suspicion rose its head.
Who else— besides Edward’s people— would think I’m worth killing?
The person who sees me as the biggest threat.
The person I was going to kill.
A red warning light flashed in his foggy mind, and his senses snapped awake.
“Sasha?”