IATVWAMOLS 68

68. The World’s Greatest Stalking Contest (3)

“What?! Young Lord!”

Philip jumped up reflexively at Icart’s shocking declaration.

His exhausted face, already worn down to his chin, now showed a glimmer of despair.

As the others turned their eyes toward him, Philip quickly lowered his voice.

“…You promised me last time, didn’t you?”

He looked up pitifully at his superior, but Icart didn’t budge an inch.

Perwyn, for his part, didn’t scold Philip for his sudden discourtesy. He only curved those red lips of his into a charming arc.

A faint but unmistakable smirk slipped from his mouth.

“Seems like you’re not the only one hoping he’ll return to the Academy. Since the topic’s out, why not leave immediately?”

“There’s even a carriage ready outside,” Seraphine chimed in enthusiastically.

“No. I’m not going.”

Despite the pressure from those who wanted his return, Icart was firm.

“Why not? If you’re worried about the lady, don’t be. While you’re gone, I’ll take good care of her.”

Perwyn’s eyes turned toward me.

Those arrogant, listless eyes—as though nothing in the world could interest him—locked on me.

He pinned me down within his gaze, relentless and unyielding.

I flinched back, but he only gave a sly, crooked smile.

Then, suddenly—like a wave crashing down without warning—he pulled me into his arms.

His broad chest pressed against my shoulder blades, his cool yet sharp scent stinging at the tip of my nose.

Icart’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

“Take your hands off her. You’ve got guts, laying hands on my sister under the Duke’s roof.”

“What did I do? Don’t overreact, brother-in-law.”

Perwyn’s long, elegant fingers curled around my shoulder, his gesture bold, almost as if he were showing off.

Seraphine looked up at him with a shocked expression, as though betrayed.

The atmosphere chilled rapidly. Unable to stand it, I finally rebuked Perwyn.

“Don’t you think you’re taking the joke too far?”

But Perwyn only shrugged, as though he had no idea what he’d done wrong.

‘I know you’re itching to pick a fight with Icart, but still…’

Once sparks flew between those two, it never ended with just words.

Hadn’t they nearly come to blows before?

That damned mouth of his had the talent of driving even gentlemanly Icart to madness.

Clicking my tongue, I wriggled free from Perwyn’s hold.

“You don’t need to pressure him so much. My brother will return to the Academy soon enough. So please, stop needlessly rushing him.”

“No, Roselia.”

Oblivious to my attempt to smooth things over, Icart calmly contradicted me.

“I was actually considering seriously postponing my return.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They say the carriage has defects, might not withstand long-distance travel.”

“…”

‘That’s clearly an excuse.’

Such a transparent pretext—I glared at him.

Of course, the carriage Icart had brought wasn’t just an ordinary one.

Unlike regular carriages, his was specially reinforced for long-distance travel—durability, comfort, and even defensive systems taken into account.

But supposedly, while traveling through rough mountain roads, part of the protective mechanisms had been damaged.

Fine. That much I could believe.

But…

‘That defect was discovered when he first arrived. And he still hasn’t fixed it?’

Even if he hadn’t gotten it repaired yet, not returning to the Academy over a single carriage was nonsense.

It was the lamest of excuses.

Perwyn must have been thinking the same, for he snorted in disdain.

“You’re delaying your schedule over a single carriage? Does that even make sense?”

“They said the protective barrier stones require processing by a specialized craftsman who can handle demonic energy—or else, repairs would need to be commissioned to another race altogether.”

“If that’s the issue, I’d be willing to help. Of course, you’d have to pay the price.”

Perwyn offered smoothly, but Icart let out an outright laugh.

“Knowing who His Highness is, you think I’d dare borrow your hand? I’d fear my whole family getting mortgaged off in the process.”

Well… he wasn’t wrong.

I, too, had once ended up owing Perwyn a favor, only to have the repayment wrung out of me.

“You worry too much. Would I really do something terrible to my brother-in-law?”

“I appreciate the offer, but even if it takes time, I’ll handle it myself.”

“I think you’ll end up needing me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You definitely will.”

“I won’t.”

It was a clash of spear and shield—an unstoppable force against an immovable object.

Watching their petty pride battle unfold, Seraphine muttered with a weary face.

“Are they always this bad with each other?”

“As you can see,” I replied.

“Even children wouldn’t fight like this… My lady, it must be hard on you.”

I only gave a vague, awkward smile.

What sin had I committed, to have these two as fiancé and brother both?

But come to think of it, they were originally her men—Seraphine’s destined entanglements.

Yet Seraphine looked at me pitifully, as though I were the poor one caught in the middle.

‘Is this really right?’

In the original story, they should’ve been competing fiercely for Seraphine’s affection, not bickering over whether to return to the Academy.

And yet… the male leads showed her not a shred of interest.

Indifference wasn’t necessarily bad, but the problem was—

Ping!

【SYSTEM: A plotline similar to the original has been detected.】
【SYSTEM: “Count Vermon and the Love Potion” event has been triggered!】

“Ooooh! An angel descended from the heavens!”

“……!”

A disaster, inescapable, now loomed over her.

A little earlier.

When Seraphine had appeared in the drawing room, Icart had quickly risen to his feet.

[An uninvited guest seems to have arrived. You may leave now.]

Yet despite his dismissal, Count Vermon hadn’t left the ducal estate.

He had merely taken his time before moving toward the source of the commotion.

And now, at last, Count Vermon approached Seraphine with a cry of admiration.

“Ooooh! An angel descended from the heavens!”

Luxuriant, curling brown hair. Clear green eyes.

Features as delicately sculpted as a porcelain doll, skin white as the first pure snow.

Her cautious, sheltered demeanor only heightened the impression.

He had never seen such beauty in his life.

It was as though she radiated a divine halo. Nothing else entered his eyes.

“All the beauty in this world gathered together could not match the loveliness of this nameless lady—my angel.”

My angel, after seeing her once?

Roselia frowned, but Count Vermon, unfazed, went so far as to kneel before Seraphine.

“Won’t you grant me the honor of knowing your name?”

He brought her delicate hand to his lips.

His face oozed with oil, his eyes sly and serpentine.

A man steeped in materialism, draped head to toe in luxury brands, exuded unpleasantness with every step.

Seraphine shrank like a timid herbivore.

“M-my name is Seraphine, from the Blaine Viscounty.”

“Seraphine… even your name is beautiful. Truly, God is unfair.”

Though the Crown Prince was right there, Count Vermon had rushed straight to Seraphine first.

Such rudeness made Perwyn lift a brow.

“Count Vermon! Show proper respect to His Highness the Crown Prince!”

The reprimand jolted Vermon to his senses.

He belatedly offered Perwyn a bow, but his eyes remained fixed on Seraphine.

She was a beauty so great that anyone might drool.

Of course, Lady Roselia beside her was no less of a peerless beauty—but Vermon’s tastes guided the comparison.

That delicate frame, enough to rouse protective instincts. Those naïve, tearful eyes, as if she might cry at any moment.

Every detail tugged at his desires.

“If I had known such a beauty existed, I would’ve frequented society gatherings far more diligently.”

His greedy eyes swept up and down Seraphine’s form.

Even next to Lady Roselia, even compared to the famously beautiful Princess of Phyron, she was no less dazzling.

Her shabby dress caught the eye, but to him, that was no flaw—only opportunity.

Unlike the Crown Prince’s fiancée, Lady Roselia, or a princess out of reach, Seraphine was a target he could realistically seize.

Whether by money or title, he would find a way to bind her to him.

His mind having already leapt that far, Count Vermon licked his lips.

“Lady Seraphine, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“…What?”

Blinded by lust, Count Vermon lunged recklessly forward.

Seraphine gasped and immediately hid behind Roselia’s back.

A purely instinctive retreat—like foreseeing the wretched entanglement awaiting her.