It could have been that Edward genuinely cared about Sasha.
But just because Edward cared about Sasha didn’t mean even the subordinates beneath him would care about Sasha. Not everyone could be of one mind, with one will.
Maybe, like a proper protagonist, he’s even against his own people acting petty.
But suspicion had already sprouted—and more than anything, Sasha had absolutely no intention of getting close to Edward.
Because he had to become the villain.
He was worried that at this rate he might end up going kck—and just die.
…But if this really is a “side story,” then I won’t die.
Earlier, a panic had hit and he’d thought the author might kill him. But once his head cleared, he understood.
If the author was truly keeping a side story in mind and was going to drop a few “extras” going forward, then they wouldn’t kill Sasha from the start.
I’ll just suffer a bit, that’s all.
And now that he knew someone was trying to kill him, wouldn’t it be enough to just move more carefully?
He’d felt it a moment ago, too, but maybe because he’d lived as a villain for so long—and done plenty of things accordingly—he could read bad people’s thoughts far too well.
It might have been groundless confidence, but with nothing more than a loose mouth and past experience, it felt like he could somehow claw his way through the situation in front of him.
Sasha trusted that confidence and maintained an impolite, nasty posture.
“His Majesty.”
Sasha looked at the silent Edward and smiled brightly.
“I will gratefully accept this.”
Sasha picked up the ointment that had been placed on the table, tapped the little round jar with his index finger, then spread his hand wide again.
“Since it’s something given by His Majesty, who worries so deeply about me, the effect should be excellent as well.”
The medicine balanced precariously atop his hand as if it might tumble off at any moment, and his subtly suggestive tone.
There isn’t poison in it, right? It was no different from asking outright, but Sasha didn’t erase his smile.
“Or will His Majesty apply this for me as well?”
Even the cheeky line asking you to apply it so he could check whether it was poison or not. Perfect.
I’ve done enough. Now he won’t tell me to stay in his room.
Just trading a few words already made him this irritating—if they stayed together, the future was obvious even without seeing it.
No matter how kind someone was, they wouldn’t want to suffer on purpose for a person who acted like this. Edward was human, too.
“If you dislike that, then I’ll take my lea—”
Sasha stopped at the gentle hand that caught him.
…Was he really going to apply it?
Edward was impressive. If it were Sasha, he would have said something slick like, How unfortunate that you can’t trust me, then followed it with But I understand your suspicion, and I don’t want to burden you, before snatching back the ointment he’d given.
It was absurd, but Sasha had been the one to say it first, so he couldn’t pull away.
Edward took the jar, opened the lid, and smeared a generous amount of white ointment onto his finger. Then, with a force so light it was practically ticklish, he rubbed it over the back of Sasha’s hand.
If you rub it like that, is it even going to absorb?
How fragile did he think a person was? Compared to Edward, he was definitely shoddy—and yes, one flick of Rio’s hand had left him bruised—but there was no need to be this careful.
After kneading it around like that just a moment ago.
Sasha watched Edward’s sluggish movements and held back a yawn. How much time passed like that?
Just as drowsiness started to creep in, Edward broke the long silence.
“It seems I failed to be considerate of the Viscount.”
Don’t tell me he was going to apologize? Sasha stared at him in shocked disbelief. Still, if he had to call it lucky…
“Even so, I think it would be best if you dine with me from now on.”
Edward didn’t apologize to Sasha, who had acted outrageously, but he still refused to give up on Sasha’s safety.
What on earth did the nobles who died at this man’s hands even do?
He’d been certain Edward would become a cold-blooded Emperor, but Edward was still Edward.
The suckerishly kind protagonist.
“This is not a suggestion. It’s an order.”
Wow. Sasha pressed his lips shut before something that was neither admiration nor a sigh could slip out.
“And if you sense anything suspicious, I would rather you tell me first instead of skipping meals like that.”
Edward finally finished applying the ointment and let go of Sasha’s hand.
“I have no intention of standing by while my guest comes to harm within my palace.”
Even if Sasha realized Edward hadn’t changed, outwardly he had to distrust him. With the warmth gone, an oddly hollow feeling rose up, and Sasha lightly clenched his fist before asking back,
“Is that so?”
At the answer that turned aside like a sneer, Edward looked at Sasha as if that was only natural. Seeing those clear, honest eyes made Sasha feel strange.
“Wasn’t the Viscount the same?”
The same about what? Edward’s golden eyes deepened, as if wandering through the past.
“Within your estate, I was safe.”
But he returned to the present quickly and met Sasha’s gaze.
“Even if I was an unwanted guest, even if you… disliked me. You believed that was the responsibility of the homeowner.”
Come to think of it, he had said something like that.
*****
Whether you like it or not, you’re my guest. That’s my responsibility—and you’re within my reach. So if something happens, tell me.
Back when Edward was living at the Ambrose estate, one of the etiquette tutors Sasha had assigned to him caused a major incident.
Saying they would punish Edward for his constant mistakes in unfamiliar situations, they hurled scalding tea at Edward’s hand.
And Edward said nothing to anyone—stayed silent. If Sasha hadn’t been hovering at Edward’s side to check his assignments and discovered the burned hand, he would never have noticed until the very end.
That tutor was kind to Sasha to a horrifying degree. Sasha had thought them an excellent scholar, a person of good character. But it was all a mask, and that person harbored a vile intent toward Sasha—who was forty years younger.
So when the tutor spouted bullshit about how they thought Sasha would like this, Sasha said—
Everything that happens in my house must have my permission, because I’m the owner. I don’t need a presumptuous person in my home. …If you’d gotten permission in advance, would I not have thrown you out? Of course I would. My house is a safe place.
It wasn’t exact, but it was probably something like that. Because Sasha had trusted that tutor, his answer had been even colder.
He remembered that? No—more than remembering, he seemed deeply moved by it.
If I hadn’t noticed… he would’ve misunderstood it as something I ordered.
And he would’ve remembered that all this time.
There wasn’t a scar, but that doesn’t mean the pain disappears.
The awful thought sent a chill down his spine.
Thanks to that, his act slipped a little. No—maybe it was that without realizing it, he started acting a bit familiar.
Just like he had when the butler and servants in the Ambrose territory spoke warmly to him, a sharp, petulant tone slipped out.
“Is that so? Then His Majesty disliked me and didn’t want me.”
To be honest, it wasn’t really sarcasm or mockery—more like a teasing retort.
That’s not villain-like.
He glanced at Edward, gauging him, and as always, Edward wore a grave expression and reached out toward Sasha.
“No.”
A small jar of ointment was pressed into Sasha’s hand. But Sasha couldn’t bring himself to look down at it.
“As I told you before, Sasha Ambrose.”
Partly because Edward, who had given him the jar, was gripping his hand firmly—
“I need you.”
But also because something—something Sasha couldn’t precisely name—flashed in Edward’s eyes as he looked at him.
*****
What was that?
What kind of emotion was it?
After sharing a slightly late lunch with Edward and returning to his room, Sasha stared down at the little round medicine bottle rolling in his palm, trying to interpret that gaze.
“I don’t know.”
Was it protagonist-like? Or was it still hard to believe?
It was clear Edward didn’t dislike him. But to say that meant the opposite—that he liked him—
“…It’s different.”
It wasn’t like Sasha had only ever had one or two people confess to him, regardless of age or gender, so he could recognize that kind of look the instant he saw it. And living in the territory this time, he’d also come to understand the human affection one person feels for another.
But what Edward showed Sasha was neither.
Not sticky and clinging, and not soft and warm.
It felt like something stranger—more complicated, more ambiguous, as if several emotions were tangled together.
“Is that… a good thing?”
Even if he couldn’t define it precisely, one thing was certain: Edward was feeling something close to fondness toward Sasha.
But he didn’t know if that was good for the current Sasha.
“…If I act even nastier, will the chance of dying go down?”
He’d decided to become the villain to avoid the side story, but even so, Sasha still had a line he had to keep.
If the side story got canceled, Sasha would go back to living in reality—and then he would have to take responsibility for all the rampaging he’d done to cancel it.
So to achieve his goal while behaving like such a disaster the readers would recoil—and then still live a peaceful life afterward—he needed extremely precise calculations.
The problem was that Sasha, who’d lost to Edward, unfortunately didn’t have anything you could call power anymore. Which meant the range of bad things he could do had become far too narrow.
He’d been agonizing over what to do, over and over… and right then, Edward’s fondness showed up like a cheat code.
“So I can make even more of a scene?”
At least to Edward personally.
This was it.
There was no villain more disgusting than the kind of person who tormented a protagonist who clearly liked them.
It was the moment Sasha’s behavioral policy as a villain was decided.