The Male Lead Changed the Genre

Had he really scouted out the Vera Moth's habitat just to impress her? This was hardly something you could just pick up off the roadside. She supposed she'd have to file this man under "scheming male lead" after all.

Perhaps surprisingly bashful, Jorel gave an awkward greeting and hurried away. For someone who'd left on reconnaissance as sleek as an arrow, the sight of him shuffling and creaking back down the corridor was painful to watch.

After Jorel came Muki, knocking on her door. He, too, was loaded down with an armful of something.

"This is a special sleeping draught from my hometown. Take it right before bed and you'll be out like a light."

"A sleeping draught? I don't really need any—"

"And this is my own pillow. Hug it while you sleep and it's so cozy…"

But Muki, fully absorbed in piling things into her arms, didn't seem to hear her refusal at all.

Barely before Muki had left, Munash, Orlando, and Bertel came looking for her.

"Oh? What brings you three here?"

"You said you were turning in early, hyung. Why are you here?"

"You said the same. Why are you here?"

"Ah, our Miss Pereira is a remarkably popular lady. I was just coming up to make sure she was safe—if I hadn't, who knows what might have happened."

At Orlando's smoothly glib answer, Bertel standing beside him quickly piled on.

"I also stopped by to check on her before bed."

Then Muki, deeply wounded in his pride, let out a sullen growl.

"Nothing will happen, not with me around. I'll protect her."

"Why would you protect the lady? I'll protect her."

It was McLane's frosty voice that silenced the whole commotion at once.

"Stop spouting nonsense, all of you, and get back to your rooms."

Take off the tinted glasses, and there it was. Natalie, it turned out, was a woman with a dangerous charm.

The kind of woman who made anyone want to draw closer, who made them desperate to earn her favor—drew the eye, summoned a smile. It wasn't just her beauty, either. She was warm, yet had a quiet steel to her.

With those timid eyes of hers, she still knew how to step forward with courage.

And oddly enough, it was precisely that which grated on McLane.

Watching his crew members trip over themselves to fawn on a woman made his blood pressure spike. It was bad enough that it irritated and annoyed him—now it was pushing him toward outright fury.

It wasn't the woman's fault. He knew it wasn't. And yet he kept snapping at her, at a woman who responded to everyone with the same kind courtesy.

Anger flared, and then his gaze would snag on her again. He'd catch himself staring like a fool, and get angry all over again.

It was enough to make him wonder if he'd developed a mood disorder he'd never had before.

"This is driving me insane."

Which meant this couldn't go on.

If he just sat still, he might one day find himself hopelessly smitten, barging in and begging her to take him.

Get a grip.

You're not the real McLane, and that woman isn't the real Natalie.

If there were no way back and he had to live believing this body was his own, that would be one thing.

But he knew a way back.

A reasonably certain one.

And he had to go back.

His family, his real friends, the company he'd built from the ground up—they were all in that other world.

Because that side was the true reality.

It was a mercy, if nothing else, that he'd come to his senses before losing his heart to a woman badly enough to throw it all away.

Besides, the woman didn't seem to have any intention of settling into Natalie Pereira's body for good either.

If fortune smiled on them both and they returned to reality, they would be strangers to each other.

Sharing the same hours here in this place meant nothing—they'd be two unfamiliar faces starting over from scratch.

Moreover, everything he knew about her amounted to the character Natalie and nothing more.

About the real her, he knew practically nothing.

No—well, there was one thing.

That she was an office worker who'd weathered a fair share of corporate life.

Even if luck brought them together again back in reality, he couldn't promise he'd feel this pull toward her then.

Which meant this current attraction was deeply irrational, unreasonable, and a complete waste of energy.

The fantasy worldview of this world was clearly what was stirring up these treacherous feelings.

It only made sense, in a world with mages and Sword Masters, demons and monsters.

So he must not indulge his curiosity.

It was absolutely forbidden.

That was exactly what he told himself as he walked. Exactly what he'd told himself… and yet.

"Ah, our Miss Pereira is a remarkably popular lady. I was just coming up to make sure she was safe—if I hadn't, who knows what might have happened."

"I also stopped by to check on her before bed."

The familiar voices gnawed at his nerves.

"Nothing will happen, not with me around. I'll protect her."

"Why would you protect the lady? I'll protect her."

The same tired squabbling he could recite by heart now. He frowned and lifted his head—and found himself already standing in front of the corridor where her room was.

He should have turned back. Instead, he got angry all over again.

Those bastards.

These were men he'd chosen with painstaking care, men whose trust was absolute, men he'd carried each other's lives alongside for years—

And right now, he wanted nothing more than to sprint over there and chuck every last one of them out the inn door.

"Stop spouting nonsense, all of you, and get back to your rooms."

Ever since the night McLane had erupted in fury and sent the crew packing, Natalie kept finding herself strangely, constantly watching her step around him.

And none of it was her fault, none of it was a situation she'd wanted. Even so.

She felt self-conscious around him, and he kept occupying her thoughts.

What even is this. I never dated that man, so why does it feel like I got dumped so coldly?

She couldn't make sense of her own feelings either.

When you really broke it down, McLane was the most prickly member of the expedition toward her—

If you set aside the fact that he was a fellow transmigrator and the original novel's male lead.

And the fact that he was the most handsome and powerful man around.

And the fact that he was the only person who knew her true identity.

Okay, that might be leaving out a lot, but setting aside those few trivial details, he was a hopeless candidate as a romantic prospect.

Expecting sweetness from him? Expecting pretty words?

We're the only two transmigrators in this strange world. Shouldn't two people in the same boat be able to open up a little, talk things through, and get close?

There's no need to treat your one and only bamboo grove—the one place you can pour your heart out—like this.

Granted, he hadn't never been unexpectedly warm to her, but such moments could be counted on one hand.

He couldn't even compare to the other crew members, who came equipped with kindness and affection as a passive skill.

At this point, the correct conclusion was simply that whoever sat inside McLane was prickly by nature.

And yet, every time she tried to choose a different option, she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he kept weighing on her mind.

Wait—am I the type who falls for bad boys?

Rationally, this is not the move. The affection rating is literally handing me the right answer.

That man's favorability was the lowest of all the men—

"Hm?"

Her eyes shot up to McLane's head on reflex—and Natalie was confronted with something she never could have expected.

"Uh… what?"

She was seeing it with her own eyes, and still she couldn't believe it.

What on earth was the reason? Natalie struggled to close her gaping mouth at a message she couldn't begin to understand.

Forty-eight percent.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the number didn't change.

The last time she'd checked, his favorability had been languishing at a mere 12%.

At this rate, when would he ever hit 100%? she'd scoffed, and written him off the male-lead shortlist entirely.

When, at which exact moment, had it climbed that high? She couldn't even begin to guess.

After all, since that conversation in the village when he'd been at 12%, everything they'd exchanged could fairly be called the dictionary definition of a bad relationship.

Icy glares, orders to hurry up and depart, or hurry back to the lodgings, or stop spouting nonsense and get back to his room—that was the entire extent of it.

And that wasn't all. Lately she'd been quietly avoiding running into him, out of a pointless guilt over playing with a different calculator, so to speak.

She was staring at him in astonishment—no, to be precise, staring at his favorability rating—when it happened.

Sensing the intense scrutiny, McLane turned his gaze toward her.

And the very first thing to surface on his face when their eyes met was a faint flicker of joy.