Ditch the Bad Male Lead and Just Live with Me
“Ditch that no-good male lead and just live with me. Yeah?”
“Ah, Lady Abigail?”
Startled, Yurina froze in place.
“Live... together?”
“Yeah...”
Abigail, who looked anything but in her right mind, nodded. But Yurina couldn't quite make out the sight. Her mind instantly bloomed into a field of flowers.
Did Lady Abigail just... propose to me?
Kyaa! Squealing internally with excitement, Yurina slipped into full fantasy mode. What happens if we get married? Since she's the Carpoem heir, I'd have to move into the ducal house, right? How would I even get permission from His Holiness?
Her pink-tinted daydream shattered when the utterly out-of-it Abigail finally collapsed.
“Ugh...”
“Ah!”
No way could Yurina support her any longer—it was too much. Grimacing, she turned her head.
“Sir Illein, could you help?”
“Yes, Lady Yurina.”
Illein approached with a reluctant expression but lent his aid at her request. Scooping up Abigail in his arms without a flicker of emotion in her stead, he started walking. Yurina hurried after him on light feet.
* * *
“What the hell happened...”
The last scene I remembered was grabbing the crown prince by the collar inside the banquet hall. Grabbing the Empire's crown prince by the collar! Are you insane? Am I insane?
“Disrespect to royalty? Treason?”
I wondered what charges I'd face. Trembling, I clutched my head.
If I ever drink in this body again, I'm a dog. A total mutt. Drowning in self-loathing, I flailed about wildly.
“Lady Abigail? What are you doing here?”
“...Professor Xavier.”
I spotted him in front of my room and managed a hollow smile.
“This might be the last time we ever see each other.”
“Pardon? What do you mean by that?”
Xavier hadn't attended the banquet because it was too bothersome, so he had no idea what had gone down.
“Hah, it's nothing.”
Shaking my head, I asked him for some hangover remedy. He gave me an odd look but pulled out a vial of brown liquid and handed it over. Apparently, knights and soldiers often overdid it and came crawling to him.
I recalled how the knights had cheered and whooped last night when I'd grabbed the crown prince's collar in my drunken stupor. They should've stopped me in horror—instead, they clapped like it was the best show ever? Hell training starts the second my hangover clears. You lot.
Gritting my teeth, I downed the medicine in one go. Something thick and icy slid down my throat. My throat burned strangely.
“Ugh, thanks.”
“...Did you drink a lot last night?”
“Hm, no. Just... one glass?”
Though that one glass had been enormous. And since my memory cut off right after, who knows if I'd had more. All I remembered for sure was that single glass.
Xavier tilted his head curiously.
“I thought advanced knights don't get drunk easily.”
“...I thought so too.”
Sighing deeply at those bone-chilling words. Knights who handle mana don't get drunk easily. Sure, some deliberately don't circulate their mana to savor the buzz. But usually, to drink more, they cycle mana to flush out the alcohol before it builds up.
Did I pass out before I could even circulate mana?
How could one glass knock me out like that? Sighing at Abigail's body, which was way too vulnerable to booze. I'd been a drinker in my past life, but not to the point of living off it. Life here had been too hectic since adulthood to bother seeking it out. So I shouldn't miss it much.
But there was a big difference between not drinking and can't drink. My mouth soured from the medicine.
“Are you alright?”
“...Yeah, of course.”
So what if I couldn't hold my liquor? The real problem was what I'd done to the crown prince last night.
I gazed at Xavier with a tragic expression.
“Professor, can mental incapacity get you leniency for disrespecting royalty?”
“Pardon?”
“...Never mind.”
Sighing, I returned to my room and clutched my pounding head, lost in thought.
“Ugh, guess I have to apologize?”
[Is that even worth calling an apology?]
Pel sounded incredulous. Surprisingly level-headed for a spirit beast.
“Hey, did I mess up anything else? I only remember grabbing the crown prince's collar.”
[You don't even remember beating him down?]
“I beat him too...?”
Aaaah! Screaming internally, I tore at my hair.
[Hmm, beat down... or maybe he just tripped. Anyway, the humans watching got all riled up and started brawling.]
“Agh, aaagh!”
Tensions between the north and south were already bad enough—I'd just poured oil on the fire. If word reached the emperor's ears...
He'd definitely hear about it, right? I'm done for. Dead. I'd tried so hard to live well after possessing this body, only to die for treason in the end.
[Why worry so much? The crown prince seemed to like you. He'll forgive that much, no problem.]
“What?”
I widened my eyes at Pel's nonchalant words.
“The crown prince? Likes me?”
[Yeah.]
“Haha.”
I shook my head. Pel didn't know the original story, so of course he'd say that.
“No way. He hates me.”
[Why?]
“Huh?”
[Why do you think that?]
“Well...”
I was Abigail Carpoem. The villainess of this novel. And the male lead, the crown prince, had hated her since they were kids. I took that simple fact as gospel. No room for doubt.
“It's definite. The crown prince hates me.”
[Hmm.]
Pel tilted his head at my firm declaration.
[You're too quick to judge others' feelings.]
“...”
His words hit too close to home. Frowning, I averted my gaze and muttered,
“Anyway, I did offend him.”
[That guy would gladly forgive you with one apology.]
“Aren't you being too sure?”
[Hmph, just watch.]
Pel swished his fluffy tail confidently. I eyed him suspiciously before flopping onto the bed.
First, I needed to recover a bit, then go find the crown prince. Groaning, I drifted off to sleep.
* * *
“Your Highness, this matter must be handled severely!”
Corin, sporting a massive bruise on his cheek, raised his voice. Michael sighed wearily at the repetition.
“I have no intention of blowing this out of proportion.”
“But, Your Highness...!”
“Enough.”
Michael's sharp gaze silenced him—a clear command to hold his tongue. Corin, his face a mess of bruises, shut his mouth.
“You're dismissed. Training resumes tomorrow.”
“...Yes, Your Highness.”
Once Corin left, Michael rubbed his forehead. Naturally, he wanted to write off last night's incident as a drunken slip-up. But public opinion wouldn't cool so easily.
It was a clash between the crown prince and the little duchess—one where she had clearly laid hands on him first, a blatant insult to royalty. To Michael, smitten as he was, it was just adorable drunken antics. Others wouldn't see it that way.
By tomorrow, word would reach the emperor. Or knowing Corin's hotheadedness, maybe even today. Headache-inducing damage control.
Knock knock.
“...Is that you, Patrick?”
Michael looked up at the knock.
“Yes, Your Highness. Ah, but...”
“Come in.”
The door clicked open, and a flustered Patrick entered—followed by Abigail.
“Little Duchess?”
Michael shot to his feet.
Abigail bowed without entering.
“Sorry for not announcing myself. May I come in? I have something to say.”
“Of course, don't worry about it. Please, enter.”
“...Thank you.”
Abigail stepped inside calmly and sat across from him. While Patrick fetched tea, Michael stared silently. Her face was pale, bloodless.
He found himself speaking without thinking.
“Are you still not feeling well?”
“Pardon?”
Abigail startled, touching her cheek, then shook her head.
“No, I'm fine now.”
“...I see.”
Patrick set tea before them. Abigail stared at hers, lips pressed tight. Michael had a rough idea why she'd come.
But for some reason, seeing her face made him reluctant to grant her request easily. Last night, drunk and unguarded, she'd let her walls down—now she was rebuilding them, and worse, had forgotten it all. It irked him.
“So, why have you come?”
“Ah...”
Abigail looked up, meeting his eyes. Michael's heart raced at that gaze alone. Those crimson eyes, once repulsive, now struck him as utterly lovable.
“I came to apologize for last night.”
“You remember?”
“Well...”
She shook her head awkwardly.
“Not everything—just a few scenes... Ahem.”
“Hm.”
Michael felt a pang of regret, but it didn't matter. He could say those unfinished words now.
“Last night, I asked something of you.”
“So... could you tell me what it was?”
She swallowed nervously. Michael smiled.
“When this battle ends, I plan to propose to you.”
“...Pardon?”
Abigail's eyes widened like saucers, shock plain on her face.
But she composed herself and spoke evenly.
“I've requested annulment of our engagement, Your Highness.”
“I'll make sure it's invalidated somehow.”
“Your Highness!”
She jumped up, agitated. Michael replied calmly.
“Sit down, Little Duchess. Don't you intend to clean up this mess?”
“...”
She clamped her mouth shut, like someone caught out. Glaring, she sank back into her chair.
For some reason, Michael found himself enjoying the situation more and more.