The Villainess Is Feeling Good
Judith La Roche rested her chin on her hand by the carriage window, leisurely gazing out. Her posture was impeccably composed, as always. But today, the smile playing on her lips seemed like she had no intention of hiding it at all.
The maid sitting across from her cautiously opened her mouth. "Miss."
"Yes."
"You seem to be in a very good mood."
Judith smiled languidly without pulling her gaze away. "Something fun happened."
The maid nodded as if accustomed to it. She wasn't just Judith's maid—she was a strategist far more capable than most noble house advisors.
"Is it going well with His Highness the Crown Prince?"
"Hm?" Judith blinked, then let out a short laugh. "Ah, no, not that."
"A shame. Right now, before he announces his engagement to the Saintess, is the best opportunity."
"Indeed." Judith casually crossed her legs. She and her maid often had such conversations. Wedging into the gap before the Crown Prince fully publicized his relationship with the Saintess and claiming his side—that was the simplest and surest way to bolster House La Roche's power one more time.
Of course. Judith knew well that such "surest methods" were always the most boring ones.
"Well, something similarly good happened."
"Similarly?"
"Yes." Judith's wine-red eyes narrowed slyly. "A blemish on House Valentii's honor."
The maid's eyes widened slightly. "……That's quite a big deal."
"Yeah. Bigger than I thought."
Recalling what had happened in the classroom today, Judith couldn't hold back the smile leaking out again. Others would remember only the crazy Art Department freshman who dared doze off in Duchess Valentii's class. Or maybe the shameless answer that ultimately overturned the lecture's flow.
But what Judith had seen was a little deeper.
Viewing the world through the lens of loss. A perspective that seemed obvious, yet no one had ever organized it that way before. The notion that power, deals, even pretexts all boiled down to the question of "what do you stand to lose?"
That was politics.
And at the same time, the start of something House La Roche had long desired.
The maid asked cautiously. "Was it worth provoking House Valentii?"
"More than worth it." Judith smiled brightly. "I found the thread of a theory that could serve as a solid foundation for our house."
"……Ah."
"You get it, right? Politics always grows by feeding on pretexts."
She traced her jawline with her fingertip, gazing at her reflection in the window. "Anyone can wield a sword. But what truly moves the world is the words that explain why you get to swing it."
The maid swallowed her admiration.
"Then, do you plan to move before House Valentii?"
Judith paused in thought, then slowly shook her head. "No."
"Pardon?"
"No need to poke at it rashly right now."
Her smile deepened a shade. "That kid doesn't even fully realize what he's tossed out there yet."
"……That kid?"
"Ian Ashy." Judith murmured the name, rolling it around on her tongue. The man who dared spout off shamelessly right in front of her, then wrapped it all up with a single expression of pure annoyance.
Talented people were plentiful. Interesting ones cropped up now and then. But ones who were both? Rare.
"Strange, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"Guys like that usually get flustered if I smile even a little, or they puff up and act tougher for no reason."
Judith chuckled lowly. "But that guy? He seemed genuinely annoyed, smile or no smile."
The maid replied offhandedly. "Rude of him."
"That's why it's even more fun."
Judith's answer was decisive.
The carriage smoothly passed through the front gates of the La Roche mansion. As she rose from her seat, Judith straightened the tips of her gloves.
"Keep the study open tonight."
"Planning to call in the economic advisors?"
"Yes. All of them."
"To get things sorted before House Valentii does."
Judith didn't deny it. But just before the door opened, she added softly. "And."
"Yes."
"Prepare a report on Ian Ashy as well."
The maid narrowed her eyes. "More interest than I expected."
Judith answered with a sweet smile instead. Seeing that smile, the maid asked no further. When the eldest daughter of House La Roche wore that expression, she'd already calculated several moves ahead in her mind.
Duchess Valentii headed straight to her study the moment she finished another lecture. The room was already strewn with notes—on the desk, the side table by the sofa, even scattered near the floor. All of them captured words from today's class.
Ian Ashy. Every time that name came to mind, a strange flicker stirred in her eyes.
"Viewing it through the lens of loss……."
She murmured lowly as she picked up a sheet of paper. It was a transcription of Ian Ashy's remarks from class. Below it, her own counterarguments were listed in a row.
- Doesn't account for situations where resources are used as weapons.
- If the imperial family backs only one industry, what about the discontent from citizens in others?
- …….
A few rebuttals were there, but.
"……Weak."
Duchess Valentii pinched the bridge of her nose. What he'd presented was a full-blown paradigm. But her counters were far too nitpicky.
"The silver lining is that the argument isn't fully refined yet."
Ian Ashy's response had definitely been rough around the edges. Impromptu, raw—like brilliant shards rather than a polished thesis.
Yet the core was piercingly clear. Loss. If that single criterion could freshly explain existing policies, taxes, trade, even shifts in public sentiment?
This wouldn't end as some clever quip in a classroom. It could reshape the entire perspective on the imperial economy.
— Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Her fingertips drummed the desk.
Politics ultimately stands on a foundation of scholarship. No matter how sharp the blade, without logic to back it, it can't endure.
And if this momentum swung toward House La Roche?
"That would be troublesome."
Duchess Valentii's gaze chilled.
House La Roche already spared no means for power. Add this theoretical backbone, and it'd be like strapping wings on them.
She needed a counter-framework. But even after flipping through several sheets, no clear answer emerged.
Instead, as time ticked by, another emotion swelled.
"Ha."
Duchess Valentii let out a sudden hollow laugh. When was the last time she'd encountered an idea this brilliant? Not as a politician, but as the young scholar who'd once loved pure academia—it felt like that self was awakening.
Duchess Valentii quietly closed her eyes, then opened them.
Ian. The insolent kid who'd brazenly slept through her class. At first, she'd pegged him as ignorant or rude.
But no. There was a reason for it.
At the very least, the confidence of harboring that one sparkling spark in his head.
"I should take him as my disciple."
The words slipped out naturally as a murmur.
Keeping him nearby would surely ignite countless ideas.
She immediately took up her pen. Formal recommendation? Joint research? Private audience? Options abounded.
"I've found an interesting one."
The duchess's lips slowly curved upward.
The next morning, I headed to the library with light steps.
"Freedom at last!"
Finally, last night, I'd wrapped up the manuscript for the childhood friend side story.
Of course, revisions were needed, but the rule was to let it sit a day before editing. In other words, I was free from the manuscript for now.
"Haaa… Who knew the world could be this beautiful."
Squeezing your brain for nearly three straight days sucks half your soul right out. And the spot to refill an empty soul? The library, naturally.
A place where I might find a way to run printing presses without an earth mage.
After digging through the stacks.
"… No go, damn it."
I'd checked books on substituting with earth mana-infused scrolls or magic stones, but magical engineering devices apparently had unstable output on makeshift fuel like that.
Well, yeah. No different from trying to run a printer on water instead of electricity.
"Sigh."
Guess I'd have to seduce the princess after all.
'Let's just finish the contest manuscript.' I had a meeting with the editor today too. That was my second reason for hitting the library.
Gotta whip the manuscript into shape quick and hand it off.
With that resolve, I turned around—
Thud.
—and bumped shoulders with someone.
"Ah. Sorry."
It was a light bump. Neither of us dropped our books.
"Ah, uh. N-no… it's okay."
But the hair falling into view before my eyes? That was the problem.
Snow-white.
I reflexively looked up and froze in place without thinking.
The Saintess. More precisely, Arina stood there quietly clutching her books.
"……Sorry."
For some reason, the Saintess fidgeted like she'd committed a crime.
"Ah, no big deal. I wasn't watching where I was going either."
I bowed my head politely enough.
Why the hell do I keep running into this girl? For real.
—That complaint bubbled up, but I shook my head to brush it off.
Actually, thinking about it, the library made perfect sense for her, right? A Saintess reading books? Not weird at all.
A perfectly plausible coincidence we could cross paths.
Yeah. No need to overthink it.
I stepped aside one pace with the most nonchalant expression I could muster.
Done. It really ended without a hitch.
'Nice.'
Ideal outcome. Bumped by chance, exchanged basic courtesies, moved on. No strings attached.
Satisfied, I took my seat and set my pen on the open manuscript.
Just finish the childhood friend prequel for the contest, and my tasks for the day would be done.
Scribble, scribble.
The ink nib glided across the paper.
Quiet library. Peaceful afternoon.
The moment I thought life was starting to feel livable—
Drag—
—a chair scraped from right in front of me.
In this vast library packed with empty seats, someone chooses to sit right in front?
I glanced up casually and had to freeze again.
"……"
Hey, Saintess?
Why are you sitting there?
White hair swaying gently over her book. And beyond that, those ear tips looked beet red.