The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
“I told you, you have to read that novel.”
“Unni, real life is already sad and tragic—why should I read something just as depressing in a novel?”

My sister and I had completely opposite tastes in our past lives.
Clothes, food, pretty much everything—we were polar opposites.
She liked arrogant male leads who were constantly told to “Replace the ML already!” in the comment sections, while I preferred straightforward, kindhearted ones. Our taste in male leads couldn’t be more different.

“The female lead marries a male lead who hates royals, but she’s actually a fake princess, right? After he finds out, she tries to run away… Anyway, it’s got enemies-to-lovers, escape, imprisonment!”
My sister’s enthusiasm far exceeded her ability to explain.
To sum it up roughly:

The male lead finds out the female lead is a fake princess and keeps her locked up, forcing her to continue pretending to be royalty. He subjects her to emotional wounds and humiliation.
In the end, unable to take it anymore, the female lead dies by her own hand. Only then does the male lead realize he loved her all along and follows her into death. A hopeless, angst-ridden regret novel.
“I’m only reading happy stuff. What if I die and get reincarnated into one of those novels or mangas I read? Oppa’s probably already born in Konoha and training to be a ninja. Or maybe he became a pirate.”

“Then how about this one? A war story where a crazy duke kidnaps the heroine!”
Unwilling to lose to my sister and her gospel of magic grimdark novels, I countered by thrusting forward a radiant, sunshine-healing romcom where the female lead is literal light itself.
“No way! Here’s a comedy where the male lead is a housekeeper and takes care of all the chores!”

“If he’s holding her captive while doing the chores, don’t even bring it up!”
We had different preferences, but we got along. She was my last remaining family—and my only anchor.
“You know,” she once said, “I think you’d turn anything into a romcom no matter what kind of world you landed in.”

She used to joke that even if I fell onto a deserted island, I’d survive just fine.
“Besides, you were born with luck.”
Who knew that luck would later be called a curse—that I survived by stealing it from others?
WEEEOOOOHHH—

One day, the debris of a collapsing building from an air raid fell on top of us. More precisely, it fell on my sister—who pushed me out of the way.
“Hang on, I’ll get you out!”
But there was no way to lift the massive slab of concrete trapping her.

My sister reached her hand out through a narrow gap. I grabbed it.
“It’s cramped, but I guess I could live here rent-free. You probably can’t do this on your own, so go find help, okay?”
She was calm. She even joked.

I forced a smile.
“Okay, wait for me.”
And then I ran, leaving her behind. I heard her shouting behind me.

“Hey! If you survive again thanks to your damn luck, swear on the River Styx that you’ll read it! I read Sunshine Angel Lady Beats Everyone like you told me to! I’m seriously hurt!”
“So what’s the title?!”
I turned to look back at her—just as an explosion ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) sent flames shooting into the sky.

BOOM—!
The place where she’d been was already engulfed in fire.
In the end, I couldn’t save anyone.

I still don’t know what novel she was talking about.
…But maybe, because there are so many stories with similar premises, what she described feels awfully familiar. A lot like my current situation, even?
* * *

I muttered to myself, waking from what may have been a memory—or a dream.
“Did I pass out?”
It was the familiar ceiling of the official residence.

It felt like the warmth of my sister’s hand still lingered. I turned my head and saw a small hand clasping mine.
Eugene had fallen asleep curled up beside me, gripping my hand on the bedsheet.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be hurt.

As for me, my arm was bandaged from the back of my hand to my elbow. I must’ve been cut by flying shrapnel.
A wave of emotion surged up, numbing the pain.
“I… I was able to save someone…”

This time, my luck had protected someone else—not me.
With my bandaged hand, I covered my damp eyes and lowered my head.
In a dark, subterranean interrogation room.

A place infamous for swallowing people whole and never returning them intact.
“Eugene’s birth mother was an Esat, marked for forced detainment. She fled with help from her Medeian husband.”
The man under interrogation, Emil, spoke.

He still had his pride and refused to reveal that he’d once been a servant.
He had no intention of naming Eugene’s parents either.
In truth, Eugene’s father had been a high-ranking noble in Medeia—a man of considerable influence.

If it came out that Emil was the one who sold out their hiding place for money, it would cost him his life.
'They’ll probably throw me in one of those hellish underground prisons for the living…'
“Brigadier Visente, my country was occupied by Esats. The Duchy suffered air raids for the same reason. If you think about it, isn’t that why Eugene turned out the way he did?”

Emil tried desperately to justify himself.
“I lost my family, my home, my very life. Surely you understand my thirst for vengeance.”
Across the cold metal desk, Masera said nothing as he stared.

Thinking his story was getting through, Emil smiled.
“That’s why you married the fallen princess, isn’t it? For revenge. As a fellow refugee…”
Masera removed his watch and rolled up his sleeve.

THUD—!
A heavy impact rang through the sealed room.
Masera stood, pulling the leather glove tighter on his hand as he looked down at Emil, who’d fallen over in his chair.

“And what, you think a dog from a war criminal state gets to equate himself to me?”
A cold violet hue flickered in Masera’s narrowed eyes.
'Damn it. I didn’t think he knew. Just how much does he know?'

Emil, nose bloodied, stared up in fear.
“Is this kind of violent torture really allowed in a republic that values freedom and justice?”
“I’m treating you the same way your beloved imperialism would. What’s the problem?”

At Masera’s chilling tone, Emil clamped his mouth shut.
“You scum only cry for justice when it suits you—and use that freedom to trample others.”
Masera had already uncovered the truth: Emil had committed treason and fled.

Countless people must’ve been dragged off to camps and killed because of this man’s betrayal.
Masera leaned back in the iron chair, glaring down at him.
“And for the record—this isn’t even the beginning of torture.”

Emil’s face turned ghostly pale as he slumped on the floor.
* * *
All of Emil’s crimes were revealed. He was sent to a prison camp for war criminals.

Masera only emerged from the interrogation room the next morning.
The sunlight pouring through the frosted glass window made him squint.
“That’s why you married the fallen princess, right? For revenge.”

What’s left after revenge?
Something had taken root deep in his chest—a shard of glass that always stabbed him when he tried to associate Cynthia with vengeance.
Maybe he was just looking for a reason to hate her.

He recalled the day he followed after Rodriguez, Cynthia, and Eugene.
She had said the trauma came from the sound of hunting rifles—but to panic at the sound of a siren like that…
Didn’t that mean she’d actually experienced an air raid?

He didn’t want to believe it. But everything she’d shown—the symptoms—fit the pattern of a classic war survivor.
Still, she’d never once said what caused it.
'…Because psychological issues are grounds for divorce.'

Objectively, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity—to institutionalize her and take legal proxy authority by claiming she was mentally unfit.
Masera gazed out at the snow-blanketed garden.
Snow had piled atop the remains of the cat house Cynthia had built—only for it to collapse right after.

“Uncle.”
A tiny hand tugged on his sleeve.
Eugene stood with his head bowed, voice trembling in confession.

“My mom was an Esat, always on the run. That’s why we got kicked out of hospitals and orphanages. I’m sorry I hid it… I was scared you’d hate me…”
Eugene’s clear eyes looked like tender green sprouts pushing up through the white snow.
“Even after I realized the princess noona wasn’t going to kick me out… she just looked so much like my mom, so I avoided her.”

He hiccupped as he tried to hold back tears, shoulders shaking.
“Noona didn’t do anything wrong. I was just looking for a reason to hate her. She said she wanted to be my family, just like me…”
A reason to hate.

Masera’s eyes widened at Eugene’s words—because he realized the boy had been thinking the exact same way as him.
There was no doubt anymore. Cynthia hadn’t tried to abandon Eugene in a mental hospital.
Masera lowered himself and met Eugene’s eyes.

Eugene grabbed his fingers tightly.
“I was scared… I’d be abandoned again.”
“I understand. I’d have felt the same.”

Masera took out a handkerchief and wiped Eugene’s runny nose.
“Your mother wasn’t a criminal. She was a victim. And I don’t abandon family.”
Eugene’s eyes widened in astonishment at the words he had longed to hear.

“I’m… family?”
“That’s right.”
Masera smiled gently, his eyes crinkling.

“Then… that means Princess Noona is family too, right?”
Masera’s lips tightened into a line—then curled upward again as the child looked up at him.