Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Same Words, Different Feeling
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Rizli de Gracia found the current situation utterly bewildering.
Her fiancé, Ras, was acting bizarre, pulling off stunts unlike anything she’d ever seen.
She couldn't fathom that slithering step—like he was walking on water—or what it was supposed to mean.
Even his academy uniform looked wrinkled, as if he'd simply thrown on yesterday's clothes and walked out the door.
‘Oh dear... Is he seriously tossing pick-up lines at those girls right now?’
The ridiculous dance, the sloppy getup, and Ras—completely absorbed in himself while flirting with strangers—it was so absurd she nearly burst into derisive laughter.
‘Is this some kind of protest? Was he upset about something?’
Rizli shook her head firmly.
Ras Etgard was too much of a pushover for a silent protest; the odds were basically zero.
Unless, of course, he'd eaten something bad and lost his mind along with his dignity.
Ras Etgard, the heir to a nouveau riche merchant house.
He was handsome enough and had decent talent at the academy, but to her, Ras was just a young master from the vulgar, lowborn stock that nobility scorned.
Normally, he was the sort of man who wouldn't dare aspire to someone as beautiful, charming, and noble as herself.
If not for her family's financial ruin, she wouldn't have even considered the 'e' in engagement.
Growing impatient with his slow, slinking approach, she pocketed the book she'd been pretending to read and strode toward him first.
There was no reason for her to sit back and watch this disgraceful display a moment longer.
"Ras... What are you doing? And what is with that outfit..."
Rizli lobbed the words at him, heavy with ellipses.
It was her knee-jerk speech pattern whenever things went south—a half-verbal tone, the signature of noble ladies, used as a code for deep displeasure.
It was the kind of ellipsis that drew blood and tears from men stuck with such fiancées.
By Rizli's metric, Ras—raised in a bluntly crude commoner household—hadn't grasped this 'noble' dialect at first.
In his direct, simplistic world where words sealed intent, she'd struggled to purge that mindset from him.
Early in their engagement, this clueless fiancé hadn't put in the effort to read her, constantly irking her.
But after repeated 'lessons' and social conditioning, he'd been handling it perfectly lately...
Yet today's Ras was different.
He didn't have his old foolishly naive vibe, but his presence stirred an inexplicable surge of anger in her.
To a pampered lady like Rizli, he now resembled a back-alley thug—something she had no idea how to handle.
Ras had zero traces of nobility left; he didn't even look like a delinquent noble scion anymore.
Either way, one thing was clear: Ras had zero intention of soothing her simmering ire.
"Hello, Rizli."
His grinning face grated on her nerves.
"I asked what you are doing."
With her eyes and voice dipped low, Rizli growled.
Normally, Ras would've shrunk back, fumbling to ask what he'd messed up.
Usually, a subtle hint at a desired gift ignored would trigger this tone, and he'd cave instantly.
Honestly, the normal Ras fretted over her every reaction so much he'd never pull something like this to begin with.
"What else? I came to meet you. We had plans to go flower viewing."
He shrugged lightly, utterly nonchalant.
"Dancing some freakish dance, your clothes and hair a total mess... and that's how you show up to meet me?"
"Eh, some days are like that. It's not like we're meeting His Majesty the Emperor... Can't you handle this much between us?"
His cheeky giggle pushed her past anger into sheer bafflement.
Between us...?
Their engagement was one she'd always treated like a mantra: an insurmountable status chasm.
No matter her fall from grace, she was noble; Ras was a mere merchant brat with cash—their roots were worlds apart.
Yet her self-delusion rang hollow; she wasn't the boss in this betrothal, and deep down, she knew it.
Rizli was a bitch, but she wasn't brain-dead.
If she broke it off now, the Gracia Count Family would have to cough up the massive Etgard debt in full, with no room to haggle.
For the shaky-rooted Gracias, dominating the Etgards was a survival necessity.
Still, her power plays worked because Ras was the ultimate pushover.
In crude terms: a sucker. In truth: just a good guy.
He was wealthy, yet so innocently transparent he'd never weaponized his money—not once.
He was a thickheaded saint, endlessly kind even with servants.
If he treated servants that well, his fiancée—the girl who'd hooked him at first sight—stood no chance of being treated with anything but devotion.
She knew this, so she'd cracked the training whip nonstop to break him fully.
Whip cracks, then drought-sparse carrots: light touches, cutesy acts...
Convinced she'd succeeded, his sudden defiance today felt fresh and terrifying.
Being betrothed to rootless trash was infuriating enough; now a future of watching his moods loomed over her.
Compared to her flashy noble peers, her life screamed of miserable injustice.
She was prettier, more refined, and abler than any of them.
Yet her father's botched investments had tanked her into this—tears of unfairness welled in her eyes.
"You... you can't act like that, Ras. If you're upset with me, just say it. Why be so nasty?"
Rizli gnawed her lip, pressing harder.
She was blunter now, her silence screaming, 'I'm pissed.'
But Ras brushed off her fury with a bland 'So?' vibe.
"Sorry, but I have no clue why you're pissed. You used to hate it when my stiff clothes and hair were 'embarrassing.' The dance? Yeah... my bad. I just got way too hyped for our date."
It was a lame excuse, delivered so boldly it lost all its lameness. The kicker? The overt sarcasm.
"Saying everything straight-up... someone told me that's un-noble. I'm grown now—no more kid stuff."
She knew that 'someone' was herself.
Once, when a flustered Ras begged to know why she was sulking, she'd tossed that line at him: Don't ask—earn the answer through effort.
It was petty pride wrapped in faux consideration. Now, tasting her own medicine, her fury boiled over.
‘Hah, so he's been stockpiling every slight?’
She wondered who had taught him to flip the script like this. Her main suspects: his father, or that sassy maid of his.
It was easy to imagine that bitch whispering 'woman-handling' tips to her naive master.
That childhood maid often flashed undisguisable feelings for her young lord.
It was pathetic and irksome, so Rizli usually amped up her affection for Ras just to watch the maid's facade crack. It was pure delight.
In truth, the maid hadn't done anything, but Rizli's mind was set: she’d smack that bitch down later. For now, she had to fix this.
"I got all prettied up for our long-overdue date... How could you? Never mind... I can't do this. Sorry for the mood kill. I'm heading back."
Tears dropped—precisely one per second. Controlled.
Any other guy would've been groveling by now.
"Yeah? Cool, bye. Don't overdo the 'sorry.' I didn't say it to guilt you. Catch you at school!"
Today's oddly cold Ras spun on his heel, waved breezily, and bounced away.
Onlookers to the frosty lover's spat bolted, dodging the splash damage.
"What the hell is his deal...? What's going on?"
A dazed Rizli clutched her forehead. Embarrassment and shame made her skin crawl.
Beep— Beep—
Her communication tool chimed. It was Ras's gift—a contact bauble.
She wanted to smash it, but she couldn't. The caller was someone she couldn't ignore.
"Whew..."
She pulled it out and replied 'got it' to her affair partner's evening summons.
Maybe it was a win—downtime until dusk. She turned and left, already scheming payback on the Etgard pests.
"That bitch is fake-crying like it's an art form. Pitiful."
I snickered, turning away.
Seeing 'that era's' Rizli was nauseating, but seeing her crocodile tears up close? Chef's kiss.
Anyway, she was off to prep for her 'noble' side-piece tonight.
She probably thought it was a blessing in disguise—no more commoner-pandering for the day, just luxury and cheating.
She really was a piece of work.
April 7th, ten years ago today... that was when the original me was completely fooled.
The bracelet, the marriage talk, the afternoon kiss under the cherry blossoms.
A profane smooch that the naive kid thought was a blessing. It was a long, deep, slurpy lie.
One fooled, one fooling—a deceit-perfumed liplock. And that same night? She went straight to another dude. Tsk.
Cheat if you want, but have some morals. Then again, she was from a shameless clan sold into an engagement; no point hoping for morals there.
Second-life me? I'd pass on her kiss, no matter how pretty she looked.
I wouldn't soil my memories of spring with her sleaze.
This was a life-ruining event before the apocalypse; the danger was still real.
Teasing Rizli was just a whim; the future was what mattered.
Quick recap of the ten years: Rizli cheated, I witnessed it, and my life imploded.
It wasn't a simple romance flop. Her cover-up attempts combined with other wild cards led to my ruin—smears, false raps, and the silent slaughter of the Etgards in a filthy noble world.
I wasn't doing an encore of that ending.
"Food first. That reserved spot was killer..."
I hummed as I headed to the restaurant. A man thrives when he's fed and well-rested.
I needed to chew slowly and think about the path ahead. I was en route to that vividly tasty haunt when a familiar face popped up.
"Huh?? Her? Prowling here?"
It was one of the prime architects of my past misery: Irha Livingston. She was standing there, looking hunger-pained and peeking around the street.
A tall girl with a frizzy navy ponytail, sallow skin, and sunken eyes. She had the glare of a starved gull.
"Irha Livingston. What are you doing here solo?"
"Uh... oh... Ras. The festival... just out... playing..."
She used ellipses too, but they didn't have Rizli's bitch-salt. This was pure poverty and hunger.
Same words, but the speaker changed everything. Even the ellipses.