The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *
“She woke up. Since you're her husband, Uncle, you should hurry and go see her.”
…Why was I the uncle and Cynthia the big sister? Shouldn’t she be the aunt?

Still, obeying Eugene’s order, Masera dragged his sleepless, exhausted body toward the bedroom.
It felt like heading into a courtroom as a condemned criminal.
'I didn’t say anything wrong.'

But he had caused pain. That much was undeniable.
The woman who always scoffed with a smirk at anything he said… that day, she had made a face twisted with real hurt.
The moment he recalled Cynthia’s devastated expression, Masera shut his eyes tight.

When Rodriguez had asked, “Has Cynthia ever actually experienced an air raid?” he had answered just as the Count had instructed—“She has trauma from following a hunt, that’s all.”
And that damn major had replied:
“Regardless of the cause or severity, the fact is—she’s suffering, isn’t she?”

That was when it hit Masera.
If he couldn’t even empathize with his wife’s pain, wasn’t he just a stranger—worse than a stranger?
That it took Rodriguez to make him realize it only added to the guilt and shame he felt.

Cynthia had already mentioned what scared her back on the cruise ship for their honeymoon.
“Gunshots, anything that explodes, sirens and alarms…”
「P.S. – Regarding Cynthia's mention of an 'air raid' that had nothing to do with her… perhaps it was just a cute lie to gain her husband’s attention, since the Brigadier is so good to war victims.」

That was what the Count’s letter had said—and Masera had believed he’d been deceived by her.
He’d forgotten that war survivors are often treated like defective goods by their own families.
Especially if that person is a child to be sold off in the marriage market.
If it had been the Count who lied, then that siren and explosion must’ve been a massive trigger for Cynthia.

Suppressing the swirl of emotions, Masera stepped into the bedroom—only to turn on his heel and walk right back out.
“……”
Through the crack of the open door, he saw Cynthia hunched forward, tears falling onto the bandages wrapped around her hands.

'Did I make her cry again? Because of me?'
That was the guilty verdict. Sentence confirmed.
He could command troops and draw battle plans, but he had no idea how to comfort a crying woman.

When he returned to the office with heavy steps, Diego spoke up.
“Back from seeing Her Highness?”
“No.”

He had seen her, but Masera shook his head.
Diego, who had been quietly observing their cold war, gave him a scolding.
“Isn’t it time you made up? What if people start spreading rumors about your marriage already falling apart?”

Masera stared silently out the window.
As his aide, Diego had some idea of why Masera had married Cynthia.
'He must’ve felt he had no choice. Everyone expected that much.'

But Princess Cynthia turned out to be someone who couldn’t be treated coldly.
Diego himself had tried to keep things formal and professional…
'It wasn’t easy.'

She had such a pure smile, laughed like a child, and had none of the pretentious airs of nobility.
Even the servants who’d once tried to bad-mouth and bully her had ended up converted by her.
“I was the one who ruined the princess’s shoes. I hated her so much back then. I’m sorry.”
“Huh? I didn’t know. I just thought they were defective.”

Cynthia didn’t even realize she was being bullied.
Or maybe she just didn’t care much about other people’s hostility.
There had been some truly nasty incidents—thumbtacks in shoes, slippery soap poured on the floor.

But each time, Cynthia had accidentally avoided the traps—wearing different shoes on a whim, or a senior maid taking the fall instead—always dodging danger with uncanny luck.
It was like she had divine protection. Something unexplainable that kept people from crossing her line.
Diego clutched the “phoenix feather longevity pen” she had once gifted him and offered advice.

“Brigadier, if I may speak out of turn—why not try getting along with Her Highness?”
“I already treat her well. I give her food and a warm room. Anything more is just greed.”
Masera shot Diego a cold glare.

'Even my own aide is parroting the Medeian queen’s words.'
Did she have some kind of mind-control ability that made everyone like her?
At this rate, she was going to win over the entire residence and take control of the household.

'What’s there to like other than her being pretty, kind, sociable, and clever?'
Masera frowned and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“…I’ve been played.”

It had to be some kind of brainwashing or manipulation. That was the only explanation he could accept.
After a long silence, Masera looked at Diego and asked,
“Was I the one in the wrong?”

“I don’t know why you two fought, sir, but when in doubt, the husband is always wrong.”
Right. It must’ve been my fault.
He’d judged the heart of someone who would throw her body over a child—and spat cruel words in the process.

And instead of trying to understand her struggle, he believed a letter from the Count.
Masera believed in owning up to his wrongs, no matter who the other party was.
Diego, seeing the depth of guilt in his commander’s frown, made a suggestion.

“Why «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» don’t you bring flowers and a gift as a peace offering?”
“You think I’d do something so embarrassingly sentimental?”
Masera growled, frowning deeply as he stood up.

Yet a moment later, he asked,
“So… what kind of gift would be good?”
“It’d be best to get something the princess likes, but in general, sparkly things are a safe bet. I could go in your place if you prefer.”

Masera sighed and slung his coat over his shoulder.
“I’ve got errands anyway. I’ll go myself.”
* * *

Masera stood in front of the flower shop for a long while, staring blankly.
'Never bought anyone flowers before. Never even been inside a shop like this.'
It felt as nerve-wracking as entering enemy territory.

[Jonnenstrüm Florist]
Even the name made him want to turn around.
“What are you waiting for? Be a man and step inside!”

Provoked by the shop owner—a burly man holding a tiny flowerpot—Masera entered before he knew it.
“What kind of flowers are you looking for?”
“Hmm. I don’t really know much about flowers. Something white.”

“For mourning?”
“No.”
“Who are they for?”

Masera cleared his throat with a composed expression.
“My wife.”
The shop owner let out a booming laugh.

“Ah, turning into a romantic, are we? The first step is the hardest, but when you see that happy smile on the one you love, you’ll feel like you rule the world. The joy of giving is as sweet as the joy of receiving!”
'Too much talking. Never coming back here.'
Masera mentally vowed. The endless chatter was as annoying as a clinging shop assistant.

“How about baby’s breath? The flower language is ‘a moment of love’…”
“That’ll do.”
“What kind of ribbon would you like?”

“Please—just do whatever you think is best.”
Masera pressed the issue, eager to leave.
After buying the bouquet of baby’s breath, he dropped by the capital’s defense headquarters to investigate the factory explosion from a few days earlier—and was ruthlessly teased.

“A bouquet?! Wow, ever since you got married, you’ve become such a romantic!”
“Never thought I’d see the day the Brigadier bought flowers. So this is what the Princess’s man looks like—utterly charming.”
Masera was filled with deep regret.

'Shouldn’t have bought the flowers first.'
Enduring the embarrassment, he met with the intelligence officer to receive the report on the explosion.
“The factory that exploded was a firearms plant. Spies had been smuggling weapons there, and when a conflict broke out with another arms trafficking group, the gas ignited. All the smugglers and spies died in the blast.”

Masera reviewed the photos of the dead, now confirmed as spies.
“……”
One of them had been trailing them at the Medeian ferris wheel.

Apparently, after narrowly escaping the hit order Masera had placed, he’d fled and ended up dying in the explosion.
“Looks like the Free Faction’s radicals are mixed in with remnants of the fallen empire.”
At Masera’s comment, the intelligence officer nodded.

“Even after the order to dismantle the Free Faction following the engagement attack, they seem to be operating in secret.”
He added a warning.
“They may target your wife, so please be cautious.”

On the way back, Masera stopped in front of a jewelry store, eyeing an opal hairpin on display.
“Something sparkly.”
Just like Diego said.

Though it looked white at first glance, the opal shimmered with many hues—something about it reminded him of Cynthia.
After purchasing the hairpin, he stopped again at a dessert shop.
“Something edible.”

Cynthia’s favorite.
He bought a chocolate cake topped with a mountain of cherries—he remembered her once saying how much she loved them.
Upon leaving the shop, Masera caught his reflection in the glass and flinched. A lovely cake box in one hand, a ribboned bouquet in the other.

He couldn’t stand the sight of himself. Before anyone could see him like this, he hurried back.
The last errand was buying supplies for building a cat house.
Then he returned to the residence.

And the moment he stepped into the garden courtyard, he saw Cynthia smiling brightly at Brigadier Steve—the same man who questioned everything he did.
She was free to smile, of course, but something about it made irritation boil up inside him.