Behind That Smile
"...?"
In that instant, Cesare doubted his own ears. A silence like cold water dumped over the hall settled across the room.
Wait, what did he just say...?
If he hadn't misheard, Leoneld had just burned that precious Imperial Wish Grant—something that could have bought him anything from the Emperor—on nothing more than a date with a man.
Not for revenge. For a date!
Fuck, no way...!
Cesare felt a chill race down his spine.
Has he fallen for me?
All because he'd handed over a single antidote?
It made no sense. Nowhere in the original novel—which he had read through dozens of times—was there a single passage suggesting Leoneld was the type to fall head over heels at the drop of a hat.
Just as Cesare stood there, face drained white and lips flapping uselessly, Leoneld looked at the man frozen in bewilderment and flashed that same crisp, cool smile he had worn moments before.
"Will you accept, Duke Valois?"
The moment he met those eyes, Cesare knew instinctively.
...No.
That was not affection. Not even close.
That's... the look he wears when he's plotting something.
Leoneld was clearly working some other angle entirely. Having reread the original novel countless times, Cesare could recognize it—that expression only surfaced when the man's insides were twisting with something ugly.
I should refuse...
The problem was that he had no grounds to.
This was an Imperial Wish Grant, backed by the Emperor's own authority. Rejecting it without justification could cost him serious standing—or worse, be construed as defiance of the imperial house itself.
Cesare barely suppressed the tremor in his eyelids and forced his lips apart.
"...It would be my honor. I accept."
He answered as calmly as he could manage, wearing the composed smile of a man who had seen it coming all along.
The moment those words left his mouth, gasps erupted from every corner of the hall.
"Oh, good heavens..."
"Dear God... did the Duke Valois actually accept?"
The nobles' stares pierced him like arrows. Shock, suspicion, and eyes brimming with curiosity of the since when have those two been an item? variety.
Fuck.
Cesare smiled outwardly while swallowing a torrent of curses inside.
This is not the blushing romance you're all imagining.
However open this godforsaken omegaverse world might be to love between men, he was not remotely thrilled about it. He didn't like men, and he never would—not in this lifetime or any other.
Absolutely not!
The day of the date arrived faster than expected. Without granting him a single opening to invent an excuse and flee, time flowed with cruel speed, and before he knew it, the appointed day was upon him.
Dressed to the nines with painstaking care, Cesare dragged his leaden feet to the meeting place. His adjutant had asked, My lord, are you truly going?—but he had no choice in the matter.
In the very center of the plaza, beneath the pouring sunlight, stood a man drawing every eye in the crowd to himself. That overwhelming physique, rooted motionless before the fountain. Through the crisp curtain of falling water, Leoneld's profile came into sharp focus—deep-set blue eyes, a sharply chiseled nose, and lips curved into what seemed like deliberate gentleness.
I used to wonder why the author went on and on about a male character's looks like this...
Face to face with the real thing, all he could produce was awe. It was an unrealistically handsome face—enough to make him understand exactly why the original author had devoted three or four pages to describing it alone.
And in that beautiful man's hands, incongruously, hung a bouquet. Sensing his presence, Leoneld turned his head slowly.
"Ah."
And then he smiled brilliantly.
"You've come, Duke Valois."
For a moment the world seemed to brighten before Cesare's eyes, and he stood there dazed before he managed to collect himself.
"...You're early, Your Highness."
"Haha, I couldn't very well keep someone who adores me waiting. Here—take these."
Leoneld held out the bouquet. Blue roses swayed gently in the breeze, releasing a subtle fragrance.
...Ah. Right.
Only then did the reality of his situation hit Cesare.
I'm supposed to be playing the part of someone in love with Leoneld.
He belatedly wrestled his facial muscles into submission and accepted the flowers with a shyly disguised smile.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Inside, a voice was screaming flowers between two grown men, gross, blegh—but he didn't let it show. There was nothing to gain from looking suspicious to the protagonist.
The plaza was in full festival swing for the Crown Prince's birthday. Colorful flags rippled across the sky, and from every corner of the street came the performances of jesters and the sizzling aroma of roasting meat. It was the kind of crush he would never have set foot in under normal circumstances, but standing beside him now was the protagonist—and a dangerous element who might one day threaten his very virtue.
"Quite the crowd."
Leoneld naturally extended a hand toward Cesare's shoulder, shielding him from the throng. At the heat radiating from the man at that almost-touching distance, Cesare's neck went rigid on instinct.
...Why are men being so gross about this?
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Cesare clutched the bouquet tenderly to his chest and put on an expression of being deeply moved.
"With Your Highness beside me, even this commotion feels rather pleasant."
The words made his tongue curl as they left his mouth. Across two lifetimes, he had never delivered a line so repulsive.
"How reassuring. I'd assumed a man of your nobility would find a commoner's festival distasteful."
"Not at all. Every moment spent with Your Highness is special to me."
Write a damn novel, why don't you. Marvelling at his own revolting acting chops, Cesare followed where Leoneld led. At this rate he deserved a Best Actor award.
Inside, he wanted to grab Leoneld by the collar and scream What do you actually want?—but outwardly, he simply cradled the bouquet and wore the shy smile of a man in love. It was, truly, an abomination without equal.
Along the roadside, a shooting game was in full swing. A crowd had gathered around a stall with stuffed toys and trinkets lined up as prizes. Leoneld stopped in front of it and turned to look at Cesare.
"Duke, does that jewel box over there catch your eye?"
What he was pointing at was a small box studded with cheap fake cubic zirconia. It was worth less than the pebbles rolling around the ducal warehouses—but right now, Cesare was playing a man in love. He did his best not to look reluctant as he nodded.
"Ah... it's lovely. That blue shimmer, just like Your Highness's eyes."
"Is that so? Then wait right here."
Leoneld picked up the rifle with complete confidence. Pop, pop—each crisp report drew fresh cheers from the onlookers.
Every shot dead center. As if buffed by protagonist's luck, he casually set a new high score and claimed the gaudy little jewel box.
"Here. A gift."
Leoneld held out the box, bending slightly to meet his eyes. Under the pouring sunlight, those blue pupils tracked Cesare's reaction with unnerving focus.
"...Thank you so much. I'll treasure it for the rest of my life."
Cesare accepted the box while desperately rubbing the gooseflesh from his arms.
Treasure it my ass. The moment I get home, this thing's going straight into the back of a drawer.
But watching Leoneld's smiling face, he felt an odd chill crawl up his back. A look that seemed to find the entire situation hilarious—or like a cat that had cornered a rat in a dead-end alley.
"......"
Cesare fought to keep the corners of his mouth from spasming as his mind raced.
There's no way he burned that precious Imperial Wish Grant just to enjoy an ordinary date.
Leoneld, the protagonist, was not the type to act without purpose. He was ruthlessly calculating—a cold-blooded operator who would exploit even himself if the situation demanded it. And yet this man had demanded a date with the Duke in front of a hall full of nobles, only to stroll leisurely through a festival once he got here.
The more peaceful the situation appeared, the colder the sweat running down Cesare's spine became.
What is he playing at?
Unable to shake the spiraling suspicion, Cesare stole a glance at Leoneld beside him. Their eyes locked head-on, as if Leoneld had been waiting for exactly that.
"......"
Leoneld was still smiling. His smile, bathed in sunlight breaking beneath the streetlamps, looked impossibly warm and tender—beautiful enough that passing strangers stopped dead in their tracks.
But Cesare saw it. Beneath those crescent eyelids, blue eyes glittered, unrestrained. His lips curved in a soft, gentle arc—but the cold depths beneath held not a single trace of warmth as they dissected every flicker of Cesare's expression.
As if measuring exactly how far he would take the act.
...Fuck.
Gooseflesh erupted wherever that frigid gaze landed. And at last, Cesare understood with perfect clarity.
This bastard doesn't trust me one bit.