Arina shot Lathel a disdainful glance, then pulled an envelope from her bag—sealed with wax.
Her cheeks flushed as she stared at it.
Lathel noticed and gave it only a brief look.
Even if she was just an NPC, she was undeniably beautiful—like a flame dancing wildly, her movements fluid and elegant.
She wasn't as alluring as Catrina, but every curve of her figure was exquisitely sculpted.
If only she were a little less arrogant, a little less cold, if she knew how to show some respect—she'd easily be one of the rarest beauties in this world.
Still, what surprised Lathel most was her expression—she was smiling.
In the two years he (or rather, the old Lathel) had chased after her, she'd never once smiled like that—radiant and genuinely happy. This was the first time.
Lathel sighed. Even though he knew this world was nothing more than a novel, and every person here was just an NPC, the emotions of those two years were real.
He might have taken over this body—the "old Lathel" was dead—but the memories, the feelings, the heartbreak... they lingered.
Inwardly, he cursed that fool. 'You idiot. You knew she didn't like you, so why chase her so blindly?'
He exhaled again, already guessing what that letter meant.
It was part of a silly pastime among bored nobles—a game called "Secret Letters."
Two anonymous correspondents exchanged letters without ever revealing who they were. The only thing they knew was that their partner was of the opposite sex.
In other words, there would never be a man-to-man or woman-to-woman pairing—only man and woman.
Each pair had a private cabinet with a unique passcode known only to them, where they left their letters.
Lathel knew all this because he'd once joined the game himself. He didn't particularly care for it, but it was a way to kill time and ease the boredom.
Arina, meanwhile, read her letter tenderly, stroking it like it was treasure, completely oblivious to her surroundings.
When she finished, she pressed the letter to her chest, inhaling deeply, her eyes turning dreamy—as if imagining something wonderful.
Lathel watched her expression, rolled his eyes, and leaned toward the carriage window.
Feeling his gaze, Arina smirked. "Jealous?"
Lathel: "..."
"Ah, don't overthink it," she said with a mocking smile. "Even if you are jealous, there's nothing you can do. You'll never figure out who he is."
Lathel nearly blurted out, 'Are you delusional? If you've got that much free time, maybe schedule a visit to a psychiatrist.'
Instead, he replied dryly, "No. I've already given up."
"Given up?" Arina's tone sharpened instantly. "Given up on what?"
Her sudden reaction caught him off guard, and he opened his mouth to answer—but the carriage jerked violently to a stop.
"Agh!" Lathel yelped as he slammed shoulder-first into the carriage wall, grimacing in pain.
Arina frowned. Her hand instinctively reached out toward him... but froze halfway, trembling slightly—then quickly withdrew.
"Huh! You can't even sit properly." Arina sneered. "What can you possibly do right? Useless."
Her words stung—an irritating mix of humiliation and pain welled up inside Lathel. Yet, at the same time, something about it felt... strange.
'This feeling... could it be leftover from the old Lathel?'
[No. That's yours. More precisely—it belongs to the character named Lathel. Whether it's you or the previous one, the emotions tied to this body are the same.]
Lathel: "..."
'Can you just remove these emotions?'
[Impossible. Those emotions are part of the character's flow. If I separate them, the current of fate will collapse.]
Lathel sighed heavily. 'Why would you attach all these feelings to a bunch of NPCs anyway? Isn't that just annoying?'
[Lathel! I'll repeat myself one last time—this is a real world. Everyone here truly exists. They're not fake!]
'Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever you say.'
Now that he knew these emotions were just "necessary character feelings" to keep the story moving, he trusted the System's "real world" speech even less.
If this world were truly real, why force him to experience the emotions of a fictional character?
He frowned, ignoring Arina entirely, forcing down the ache in his chest. 'These feelings belong to the novel's Lathel, not to me.'
He reached forward, sliding open the small carriage window. "What's going on?"
Today's coachman wasn't Alex, but another servant. The man frowned, glancing toward the street ahead. "Young Master, there's a large crowd blocking the way. I can't drive through."
Lathel peered through the narrow window. They were already at the entrance of the kingdom's busiest district. He nodded. "Alright. I'll walk from here."
He opened the carriage door and stepped down—then, out of habit, closed it behind him.
BAM!
"AH!"
A startled scream came from behind.
Lathel turned—and froze as Arina shoved the door open furiously, eyes blazing like twin fireballs aimed straight at him.
He scratched his head awkwardly. Right... he'd forgotten she was still inside. He'd nearly slammed the door into her face.
Arina's jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly.
Lathel gave her only a brief glance, then asked calmly, "Which direction is your mother's business?"
Arina ignored the question, snapping, "Lathel! Are you even a man? You're not going to help me down?"
The carriage sat only three steps above the ground. Any other gentleman would have immediately offered his hand to assist her down.
But Lathel wasn't any other gentleman.
He clearly remembered—back when the old Lathel rode with her, he always tried to help her down, and every single time, she refused to touch him.
He sighed. "I used to offer my hand every time, but you never wanted to touch me. So why bother now? It's just three steps. Even a kid could jump down."
He didn't bother to look back. He simply started walking ahead, ignoring Arina completely.
Arina stared after him, mouth wide open, eyes full of disbelief.
Then—
"Lathel! You bastard!" She stomped furiously on the carriage floor before climbing down and chasing after him.
"Hmph! I know exactly what this is," she sneered, quickening her pace. "You're jealous of the man I'm exchanging letters with, aren't you?"
"Well, you should be. He's an extraordinary man—mature, intelligent, someone who understands me perfectly. Not like you..."
She shot him a look so full of disdain it could've curdled milk.
Lathel felt an ache in his chest, sharp and cutting, as if someone had stabbed him again and again with a dull knife.
But he reminded himself over and over: 'It's just the character's emotion, not mine. Just the damn emotional coding of this novel's Lathel.'
"Speechless?" Arina smirked. "I must've hit the mark, right?"
Lathel's frustration grew. What began as dull pain twisted into irritation—a buzzing, endless irritation, like a fly that refused to die no matter how many times you swatted it.
"Arina," he said suddenly, voice calm but strained, "can you shut up for a minute?"
That single sentence made her explode. Her face turned crimson, voice rising like a storm. "Lathel! How dare you talk to me like that?!"
Lathel turned around, his face calm but with a faint trace of anger in his eyes. The look startled her—she even took an involuntary step back, momentarily forgetting that she was the prodigy mage, and he was just an ordinary man.
"Arina," he said flatly, "I really don't understand you. You didn't want me to chase you, so I stopped. But now you won't stop insulting me, mocking me, yelling at me."
He frowned. "What exactly do you want from me?"
Arina clenched her fists, shouting, "You're yelling at me now?! Lathel, you never raised your voice at me before! Why are you yelling at me now?!"
"Because I don't like you."
BAM.
The words struck her like lightning. Arina froze, her expression blank, her mind going utterly still.
"I chased you before because I was a fool," Lathel continued, tone weary but firm. "Now that I understand reality—you're already engaged—I shouldn't bother you anymore. Shouldn't you be happy about that?"
"You..." Arina's voice trembled with fury, teeth grinding audibly. "You're lying! You're just saying that to get my attention, aren't you?!"
Lathel sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. 'Unbelievable. Does she seriously think like this?'
Then, a thought crossed his mind. 'Could it be because the original novel's setting forces her to believe that Lathel's character exists only to adore her no matter what?'
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.
[Or maybe...]
The System's voice suddenly echoed.
[Maybe she's a Tsundere—someone who actually likes you but hides it behind that cold, sharp tongue.]
Lathel blinked, speechless. 'System, you've been reading too much manga.'
'If she really liked me, why didn't she accept my feelings for the past two years? Tsundere, my ass. Even a rock would've softened by now. Her heart's made of titanium. Only the main protagonist, Alex, could possibly melt it.'
'Me? I'm just the villain. No way she'd ever fall for me.'
[You... haah. Fine, whatever. I was just giving an opinion.]
The System fell silent again.
Lathel, too, had no desire to keep talking to Arina. He turned to walk away—
—but then, a sultry voice called out from behind them.
"Ah... what kind of wind brought you here, Lathel?"