The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

Dalia, who had been entrusted with the task of delivering the photo, marched toward the newspaper office with a face full of determination.
Since the hug with Helene had already been shown off at the villa, I figured we could skip it this time.

Back at the official residence, I decided to do something Masera would like, based on the information I got from Diego.
“He always drinks a latte while working. Two spoons of sugar.”
“He likes inventions and machines. He often visits related museums, expos, car shows, and airshows.”

It was a valuable moment that helped me learn more about Masera.
“Coffee, curious machines…”
Lost in thought, I suddenly came up with a great idea.

Wasn’t I a modern human from an advanced civilization? I should show him something fun and fascinating!
I smiled at the image of Masera clapping in amazement and headed straight for his room.
“Are you busy?”

I flung the door open and asked. I forgot to knock, but I assumed he'd understand once he saw the cool trick I brought.
Masera frowned and quickly tried to hide something. He hastily grabbed a magazine he’d been assembling before it hit the floor.
“Don’t you knock?”

“Wanna have some coffee?”
“I already had—”
“Coffee mix, fast and easy, without hurting your arm.”

I raised the electric drill while reciting my teaser.
His expression twisted with disbelief when he saw a teaspoon tied to the end of the drill.
I began laying out the ingredients—instant coffee powder and a mug filled with warm milk—on his desk.

“Now we add the coffee powder into the mug.”
Curious now, he watched silently as I scooped some powder into the mug.
“Amazing results incoming!”
I activated the drill, and the spoon spun round and round in the mug.

Whirr—splosh.
Instead of the glorious coffee whirl I’d imagined, the milk splattered and splashed all over Masera’s face.
“That was a lesson in centrifugal force. Mysterious science thief, tune in next time…”

Yeah, I should probably get out of here fast.
Wiping his face with a handkerchief, Masera asked:
“How do you explain the milk splashing?”

“An error in angular motion—no, uh, molecular tension collapsed… I’m sorry!”
I spewed out nonsense and bolted out of the room.
* * *

I fled to the kitchen, sniffling, and began whipping cream using the drill spoon.
“Oh, that’s quite the invention,”
Zade, the chef from Francia, clapped with interest. The kitchen staff joined in too.

‘Well, at least I got applause.’
Zade asked,
“Are you baking a cake?”

“I’m making a peace offering for the brigadier.”
“A peace offering?”
Zade’s eyes sparkled, and the kitchen staff immediately surrounded me.

“Did you two fight?”
“Who won? No wait, we need to brainstorm ideas for the peace offering first.”
After a long meeting, we settled on a blueberry whipped cream cake. I had bought the blueberries for recovery purposes, but oh well.

Zade baked the cake, trainee maid Maery spread the cream, and I diligently decorated it with blueberries.
As we finished up, Zade asked,
“Director Isaac and the lady will be joining tonight’s post-tea dinner, right?”

“Yeah. They said they want to eat your ratatouille again.”
The Duke of Recanosa, Helene, Carlos, and the Prime Minister’s daughter Valeria were also coming. Looked like I’d be dining surrounded by enemies.
“Not surprising.”

Zade nodded, then handed me the boxed cake with a smug look.
Leaving the cheers of the kitchen behind, I headed to Masera’s room with the finished cake. This time, I remembered to knock.
“I brought a cake. Thought you might want a taste.”

Hearing my voice, Masera set down his fountain pen and looked up.
He’d changed from his uniform into a suit—probably because of the milk explosion earlier.
“You made this?”

“About 90 percent of it.”
I said proudly.
I had whipped the cream, mixed the batter—done all the hard work, so I deserved at least that much credit.

Carefully, I placed the cake box on his desk, and he picked it up and stood.
“I can’t eat this alone.”
“You can share it with the others.”

“That wouldn’t be enough.”
Then what are you trying to say?
He made a gesture toward the sofa table, and I caught on.

Oh—he meant for us to eat together? Is this… reconciliation?
I followed him and sat across the table as he took out the cake from the box.
When he saw the lettering on the cake, he bit his lip.

I only care about you.
The bright red letters, written with strawberry chocolate pen. In a formal script, no less.
I stared, speechless, at the radically altered cake.

‘Zade must’ve written that when I wasn’t looking! No wonder he was grinning like Cupid!’
“…Thank you for the cake.”
Masera cleared his throat and began slicing it.

Choking on the awkwardness, I stuffed a bite into my mouth and asked,
“Is it good?”
“I haven’t tried it yet.”

What do I say now? My mind went blank, so I blurted out the first thing I could think of.
“I heard you like playing tennis.”
“Yes.”

“I’ll practice hard.”
As he tasted the cake, he said,
“If you get good enough to rally with me, I’ll grant you a wish.”

“Really?”
Then… if it ever comes out that I’m a fake princess, pretend you don’t know, okay!
I almost said it aloud.

Just then, Masera suddenly reached out. He wiped a bit of cream off my lips with his finger, and his eyes curved softly.
“Yes, the cake is delicious.”
My heart skipped a beat.

“Um… you’re not mad?”
At my cautious question, he tilted his head and asked indifferently,
“Why would I be mad?”

‘So he… was never mad at me from the start.’
A sudden realization struck me.
He’d trusted me all along. Look at that smile!

I felt a surge of joy.
Alright, I’ll train like crazy and become a tennis prodigy. We’ll become a doubles team, enter the world championships, and he’ll treasure me as his soulmate—too afraid to lose me!
Grinning at my own daydream of a sports drama, I beamed.

* * *
As dusk settled in—the perfect time for me to act—I quietly grabbed a tennis racket and ball and slipped outside. I sprinted toward the empty backyard.
If I tried too hard, it might look like I lacked the natural talent required to reach world-class level.

“Meow.”
A mother cat approached me and let out a long cry. Was she asking for something?
“Meee-ow!”

She looked around, searching for her kittens.
One by one, the kittens began to gather—but one was missing.
“One, two, three, four… huh? [N O V E L I G H T] Where’s Masera Cheese Jr.?”

The most stubborn and temperamental cheese-colored kitten had vanished.
I glanced up at the sky, already heavy with snow clouds, and spotted tiny pawprints leading toward the forest.
At the end of the trail, far off, the little cheese kitten was staring back at me.

“Come here! It’s dangerous!”
If he goes into the forest, he could be eaten by a wild animal!
At that moment, a huge eagle appeared and began circling above the kitten.

“I can’t take this!”
Panicked, I ran after the kitten.
* * *

Night fell, and Dalia appeared in Masera’s room, pale-faced.
“Is something wrong?”
Masera asked. Dalia clasped her hands tightly and bowed her head.

“Lady Cynthia—no, Her Highness is missing.”
Sharp snowflakes slashed through the darkening sky. A snowstorm was coming.
“When did you realize this?”

“I found out when I brought her dinner. I immediately asked the troops to begin a search.”
Masera, rising to his feet, recalled the past kidnapping incident.
‘But no spy could’ve gotten all the way into the residence.’

Dalia added,
“I checked the area outside. It looks like she headed toward the forest. We need to send reinforcements and search quickly.”
The forest? Did she leave because of the scandal?

There’s a path beyond the forest that leads to a small train station.
Masera immediately grabbed his coat and headed out.
‘She left—without a word? In this weather?’

“Dalia, how did she react to the scandal article?”
Dalia looked at him with a tinge of reproach.
“She was very upset. She was worried the brigadier would misunderstand and hate her. It seemed like she was trying her best to ease your heart…”

He recalled the moment Cynthia brought the cake, looking unsure.
“Um… you’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”

He reviewed his own answer in his head—was it the right one?
Did she think he didn’t care from the beginning?
Just then, a maid came running with something in her hand.

“We found this in Her Highness’s room.”
Masera’s eyes widened as he took the paper the maid handed him.
‘…A will?’

Suddenly, Cynthia’s smiling face flickered in his mind.
And with it came the memory of a subordinate who had taken their own life—wearing that same bright smile. His heart dropped.