Chapter 13
“Where are you going, Ishael?”
“We’re going to organize the storage room with this part-time worker, Mr. Ford!”
“Ah… I see.”
“Oh, Mr. Ford! This is Sir Dylan I was talking about. He’s really skilled in training and quite impressive.”
“Ah. Yes. Very impressive!”
It was obvious he was flattery—so transparent it hurt.
Flatterers usually ended up as sycophants.
Dylan ignored Ford entirely and kept his gaze fixed on Ishael.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, to organize the rusted swords.”
“Then I’ll go….”
At that moment, Ford abruptly cut Dylan off.
“Ah, ah, let’s hurry, Ishael! We’re busy!”
While Dylan froze in surprise, Ishael wore a cheerful expression.
She whispered just low enough for Dylan to hear:
“See you at home later!”
At her words, the icy expression thawed.
His clenched fists relaxed slowly.
“…Yes.”
The redness in his ears was a bonus.
Ford, witnessing this transformation, stood there with his mouth agape.
“W-what….”
Ford’s muttered words were cut off by Dylan’s irritated glare.
He looked particularly unlucky, no doubt about it.
‘Why has that suspicious person been sticking so close to Ishael since earlier?’
It was an illusion.
In reality, they were maintaining proper social distance.
Yet, to Dylan’s eyes, they seemed far too close.
Just like that night of thunder—when Ishael had held his hand.
‘Ford… I need to investigate if he’s a terrorist or not.’
Fortunately, thanks to the suspicious part-time worker, Dylan had gleaned one insight:
‘Ishael likes jokes.’
“Amusing, huh?”
A soft smile spread across his lips.
And that was the beginning of a small, insidious contagion.
“Your Majesty.”
“Done.”
“Already… finished all your work?”
The Grand Magus, Mykol, paused as he looked at the documents atop the desk.
“…Indeed. As expected of Your Majesty.”
The Emperor smiled slyly at Mykol, giving a double thumbs-up.
It was a grin that could make anyone’s neck hairs stand on end.
“Mykol, want me to tell you something funny?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Nope.”
Mykol, who had just been momentarily teased, forced a small smile.
After all, this was the Emperor of the Empire.
While Mykol struggled to control his boiling frustration, the Emperor smoothed his sleek jaw, thinking of Ishael.
Once Mykol regained his composure, he asked,
“Your Majesty, will the part-time job play continue?”
“Yes. It’s fun. Oh, and have you investigated the documents?”
“Yes, here they are. From the house you live in to Ishael’s family background, everything has been checked.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes!”
The Emperor frowned as he shuffled through the papers.
“What’s this?”
“Excuse me?”
“I told you not to use cucumber-style or eggplant-style fonts in these drafts. What’s this?”
Today, Mykol’s world crumbled.
“…Why? Isn’t it cute?”
“Use Mingjo-style fonts when I speak nicely.”
The Emperor crossed his arms over his chest and clicked his tongue.
“By the way, did they move into the special newlywed townhouses?”
“Yes!”
“Dylan probably has plenty of money, so why? They could buy a luxury house in the capital.”
Mykol, deprived of his cucumber-style fonts, mumbled angrily.
“They’re probably hiding their identities.”
“Then why not just buy an ordinary house?”
The Emperor had showered his brother, who’d fought on countless battlefields, with untold wealth.
So why bother using the newlywed special supply policy?
“I suppose….”
“Well, it’s still a good house.”
The Emperor leaned on his chin, thinking deeply.
“But the newlywed townhouses aren’t supplied like ordinary homes. I wonder if they know that?”
“Excuse me? What do you mean?”
“It’s a system carefully crafted by the Empire’s Housing Supply Management Bureau.”
“So?”
“The Director frets constantly over fake newlywed applicants.”
“Fake newlyweds?”
“Yes. Couples who marry just to get a house. Isn’t that outrageous?”
At this time, house prices in the capital were skyrocketing irrationally.
Foreign investors and nobles speculated endlessly, knowing property values would only rise.
Ordinary citizens found it nearly impossible to buy a home.
The Emperor was well aware, having faced this headache himself.
Using this system, fraud couples might sneak in to acquire expensive homes.
“Huh….”
“Think carefully. If you were the Director, how would you distinguish the real newlyweds from the fakes?”
Mykol frowned, perplexed.
“Let’s watch closely. This could get interesting.”
The Emperor’s intuition was correct.
Meanwhile, Dylan and Ishael stared wide-eyed at the notice arriving before them.
- Pretending to be a real newlywed
“So, exactly…”
“Yes.”
“The townhouse administrator sent this program pamphlet, right?”
“Exactly.”
We both looked at the pamphlet, eyes shaking slightly.
[Special Newlywed Supply!
Newlywed Town: Mandatory Participation Program]
Week 1. Picnic for Newlyweds
- All newlywed couples in the townhouses must participate in the weekend picnic.
- Socialize with other residents!
- Administrative officers from the Housing Supply Management Bureau will also attend.
The first thought that came to mind:
‘Administrative officers working on weekends? Poor souls.’
A cynical thought from a city-weary office worker.
Then another thought:
‘Word of our marriage with Sir Dylan will spread faster than expected.’
And finally:
‘Why plan such a picnic?’
Clearly, it was designed to weed out fake newlyweds in the townhouse.
Unfortunately, we were a fake couple, and our relationship was distant.
Anyone looking would think, “They seem suspicious.”
“Uh….”
I recalled my friend Henry once saying:
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch. And people who love freebies often go bald for a reason.”
“If the administrative officers know our faces… I don’t mind, but Dylan might.”
In other words…
“Our marriage could be revealed to the world.”
I didn’t care, since I planned to quit anyway.
But for Dylan, who would start over after a year, it was far from ideal.
“…Are you okay with this?”
“W-will Mr. Ford, the part-time worker, also find out?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Then that’s fine.”
At that moment, Dylan clutched the pamphlet tightly, whispering.
“It’s my first picnic… I’m looking forward to it.”
“Mine too! I’ve never been on a picnic before, so I’m kind of excited.”
Dylan flinched slightly at my words, muttering softly:
“This is also your first time… Ishael?”
I fixed my gaze on the pamphlet.
First, I needed to study the instructions carefully.
Fortunately, the precautions were quite ordinary.
‘Nothing to worry about.’
I nodded and ate the sandwich Dylan handed me, drinking some milk.
“Before the picnic, our family relationships will likely be clarified. That makes me even more excited!”
I wore a mischievous expression.
By now, proper notices must have already reached the family.
At the same time, a storm was raging at Ishael’s home.
In the modest first-floor dining room, Ishael and Mrs. Masa, mother of Soldica, looked stunned.
Before them lay a letter from a private lender.
“What is this? They’re saying the loan review was rejected because proxy applications aren’t allowed?”
Mrs. Masa rubbed her eyes, thinking she had misread the letter.
“We’re family, so why can’t the application be processed? Must be an error. Let’s review it again.”
Ishael’s younger sister, Soldica, tilted her head in confusion.
[After verification, it has been determined that you, Ishael Lorelai, are now classified under a different family relation… (excerpt)]
“Marriage?”
“Impossible! Pedro didn’t say a word either.”
Soldica relaxed, smiling faintly.
“Yes, it must be an error.”
In the midst of this peaceful time, the front door burst open.
Soldica turned gracefully to see Pedro stumbling inside.
He looked exhausted, the beard on his face revealing stress.
“Ishael! Where are you?”
“Pedro? What happened?”
“He sent a warning saying you need to compensate for losses!”
