I was in the bathroom, taking a long, fresh bath—because why not? It really does help wash away some tension.
After soaking for a while, I stepped out of the luxurious tub, a soft towel in my hand, drying my damp hair. Then came the basics: underwear, pants, a loose button-up shirt. Nothing too fancy yet. I called out toward the door.
"You can come in now."
The same maid as before, a timid girl with wide eyes, stepped inside.
"Yes, young master."
She paused for a moment, her eyes lingering on me—fresh out of the bath, hair still damp and clinging to my forehead, shirt half-buttoned to the point anyone could catch a glimpse of my smooth, pale skin. It was an awkward, almost intimate moment, and I could see the flush rise on her cheeks.
"Are you just going to stare, or will you help me get dressed properly?"
"Y–yes," she stammered, her cheeks a deeper shade of pink. She averted her gaze, taking the prepared clothes from a hanger and beginning her work with a quiet professionalism.
While she fussed over buttons and collars, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror and… well, what can I say?
Oh my god, just look at me. Who in their right mind would think I'm some third-rate villain?
Silky black hair, dark eyes sharp enough to cut glass, smooth pale skin, and a face that could make a Korean idol jealous. Add my height and the lethal edge to my presence, and overall—I look like the kind of boy every teenage girl's wet dreams would shamelessly cast as the lead.
Maybe that's why Emelia came so early this morning. Just to admire my face.
…Well, I wish that were the case.
The actual reason was totally different.
She was coming for a formal duty.
After the political engagement discussions between our two families, they'd decided the young couple should spend some time together before the wedding. Apparently, there were cases where political marriages didn't end well. So, to "make the solution," as they put it, they thought: Why not let them meet early?
The logic was simple — the more time spent together, the less distance between us. The less distance, the more "space for the heart to grow." Eventually, love would bloom. Solid plan, right?
…Yeah, it's basically the newest trend in noble matchmaking. And of course, we had to follow it. Emilia and I agreed to meet on a specific day, and — lucky me — that day happens to be today.
But why did it have to be this early?
Oh, right. Emilia's the type who likes to deal with troublesome things as quickly as possible. And I just happen to fall into that category. Hash… some people just don't seem to understand my charm.
I ran my hand through my hair with a sigh.
The maid's lips twitched. "Young master, please don't mess your hair. I just fixed it a while ago."
I waved her off with a nonchalant flick of my hand, shaking my head at the same time. "Yes, yes. I won't."
But my fingers itched to run through my hair again, as though I couldn't help myself.
After a few more finishing touches—some light makeup to enhance my features, a few brush strokes to make sure my suit didn't have any creases, and a final check in the mirror—I was ready.
The maid took a step back, clearly satisfied with her work. She smiled, admiring the job she'd done. Honestly, I would have done the same if I were in her shoes.
The navy blue suit fit perfectly. My shirt was crisp and well-fitted. The slight back-combed hair looked effortlessly neat, and with just a little finishing powder to my face—man, I wasn't the type to be narcissistic, but damn, I was good-looking.
I studied my reflection for a moment longer before deciding it was time to head out.
"Let's go," I said to the maid as I stepped forward. She followed a step behind.
"Um… there's still some time before the meetup, and Lady Emilia still hasn't arrived, Young Master," she said cautiously.
"Well, that's exactly why I'm going. Uh… what's your name again?"
"It's Roselyn, Young Master."
"A fancy name, huh? So, Roselyn, listen — we're the hosts of today's meetup. That means it's our duty to be there first and make sure everything's set."
"Well, don't worry, Young Master. We've already handled the preparations quite generously, so you don't need to—"
"Roselyn, am I the Young Master, or are you?"
"Of course, it's you, Young Master."
"Then shut up and follow."
After my command, she stayed quiet and gently followed behind.
I walked through the hallway, enchanted by the white marble beneath my feet. The walls were imbued with intricate decorations, and curtains draped elegantly over the tall windows. The place was nothing short of refined — well, that's to be expected from the Marquis household.
And not just any Marquis household, but the elite household of Ravenshade. A name that carried weight… and enough wealth to back it up. One of the richest families in the region.
Servants bowed slightly as I passed, a gesture of respect, and I gave a gentle nod in return — my own way of acknowledging them.
See, these are the people I grew up with. They've seen me from the bratty kid I once was to the man I am now. I'm not the tyrant you might be imagining. Sure, I was a bully… but I never bullied my own people.
The tag of a third-rate villain isn't something I wear proudly. In fact, there's a story behind it. It's not like I actually wanted to bully the protagonist — something just… twitched in me and made me do it.
So, how about I tell you over some tea and snacks?
By then, we had reached our esteemed garden. The lush greenery, the floral fragrance drifting on the breeze — it was a peaceful, mesmerizing view that could please anyone. And within that beauty sat a charming tea table, the perfect spot for an afternoon pause.
Servants moved about, arranging things with precision. A delicate vase of violet flowers sat in the center, their color vivid against the crisp white cloth. As I walked closer, the servants noticed my arrival and bowed.
"Greetings, Young Master. You are quite early today."
"Well, I am early. I just came here to enjoy the garden — thought I might have a quick snack for breakfast, so don't be so tense," I said as I took my seat.
"So… is there anything for me? Or are you planning to bring it out only when the lady arrives?"
At that, the servants moved quickly, placing a selection of sweet snacks on the table. I could understand their hesitation — it's considered proper etiquette to wait for the guest before starting tea.
But do you think I'm the type to always follow etiquette?
Well… sometimes. And sometimes, not at all.
At the moment, I was craving something sweet.
Whether that was because of my transmigration or just my own preference, I couldn't say. Either way, I took a piece of cake and popped it into my mouth.
"Sweet," I muttered as the taste of vanilla melted across my tongue.
The servants looked pleased, their mood brightening almost instantly. Well… good for them.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes — I was about to tell you my grand story of how I became a so-called bully.
Long story short, I just didn't like Lucas constantly interfering with my time with Emilia.
Who's Lucas, you ask? Simple — he's the protagonist of this world. The classic, clean-cut commoner boy. My problem was never that he was a commoner. The real issue? He just so happened to be Emilia's childhood friend.
You see, Lucas's mother used to be Emilia's nanny back when she worked for the Nightshade — a viscount household. Lucas and Emilia were the same age, so of course, they became friends early on.
And that's fine. I'm not so shallow that I'd get angry over that.
But after our engagement was announced and I started visiting Emilia for our meetups, I found myself genuinely wanting to make this marriage work — to be a good couple.
Yet, without fail, Lucas was always there. Always hovering during our private moments, awkwardly sitting like some unwanted third wheel. Making progress nearly impossible.
And the worst part? He didn't even realize it.
Like, seriously, man — what kind of junk is rattling around in your head? Or are you deliberately trying to be a cockblock?
The irritation… it built up slow. Like water filling a cup, drop by drop. I held it in — because I'm a patient man, obviously. I even gave him hints, subtle ones, the kind a halfway-functioning brain should pick up on.
But Lucas? That dense little fool didn't get it.
The final straw?
When he got selected for the Royal Academy. My academy. The place where nobles polish their status and "gifted" commoners try to climb up the food chain. And guess what? He followed us there too, still buzzing around Emilia like some heroic mosquito on a mission.
So I decided to have a "man-to-boy" talk.
Brought along a few noble friends — or lackeys, if you want to get technical. My original plan? Just words. Just a warning. But then… well, one thing led to another. Lucas ended up getting a lesson from my fists. And my legs. And my lackeys.
That should've been it. But it wasn't.
The cycle kept going. And somewhere along the way, I… started to like it.
There's something different about it — watching someone crumble on the ground beneath you. That helpless look in their eyes. That shift in the air when they realize they can't do a damn thing.
It's a taste you can't get anywhere else. Sweet in a way vanilla cake could never be.
It's addictive.
Man, I wish I had more words in my dictionary to describe it… but you get the gist, right?
Hey… but wait. When did I start referring to myself as the previous Evan? And why does it feel so natural? Now that's a good debate topic, huh?
I hummed at the thought, setting my spoon down as I finished the last bite of cake. A servant promptly took the plate away, leaving only the porcelain teacup behind.
I leaned back slightly, letting my gaze drift over the garden—the soft rustle of leaves, the faint floral scent on the air, the way the sunlight dappled the cobblestone path. But my parliamentary-level, contemplative debate got interrupted before it could even begin.
"You seem to be in deep thought, Lord Evan."
A sweet, feminine voice pulled me back to reality. I turned my head, my eyes settling on the woman who had just arrived, her presence a quiet ripple in the otherwise still garden.
"It's been a while. How have you been, Lord Evan?"
The owner of the voice — and the guest of honor for today — had finally arrived. Caramel eyes met mine, bright and composed.
Yes… the star of the day.
And my future problem.
Emilia Nightshade.