The Main Heroine

A moment of respite claimed us on our return journey.

I found myself facing Isabel, a flabbergasted expression plastered on my face.

And for good reason. Isabel had uttered words I couldn’t have foreseen in my wildest imaginings.

She’d attacked the Third Imperial Princess to protect the Niflheim Earldom.

It sounded like utter madness.

Back then, Vikamun, along with the Third Princess, had ambushed Lucas when he entered the Demonic Palace.

What Isabel was referring to was undoubtedly that very incident.

Why on earth would Isabel harbor such a misunderstanding?

The answer arrived easier than I’d anticipated.

Niflheim, as I mentioned earlier, had long maintained a close relationship with the Robelia Ducal House.

This was evident through Xenia’s reaction.

A story of houses intertwined for ages.

As with anything old, naturally, multiple interests had become enmeshed.

Everything from territorial ventures and personal connections, many things, were tangled.

A relationship that couldn’t be severed rashly.

Even if one were to cut it clean, they would have to sacrifice their own flesh in the process.

That was the nature of the bond between the Niflheim Earldom and the Robelia Ducal House.

Therefore, Niflheim had naturally come to support the Third Imperial Princess as well.

‘Then, someone bearing the name of Niflheim attacked the Third Princess.’

The Niflheim Earldom couldn’t afford to be disliked by the Third Princess’s faction.

Cutting off their own flesh was simply not an option.

Ultimately, the Niflheim Earldom was driven to disown their eldest son.

And that disowned son was none other than me.

Vikamun Niflheim.

But what significance did this disownment hold?

The answer could be found in the subsequent actions of the Niflheim Earldom.

Having gone so far as to disown their eldest son.

They needed to put forward a new heir to restore their image by any means.

And the person put forward was none other than Xenia Niflheim.

She was a user of Saint-Rank magic, even graced with the moniker of “Jerion’s blood.”

In lieu of the Nippleheim Count’s eldest son, there was no one more suitable to put forward.

With no eldest son, power naturally gravitated towards Xenia.

Even at a young age, Xenia somehow came to wield considerable authority within the Nippleheim household.

What’s more, Xenia controlled Saint-Rank magic.

The Nippleheim Count could only cherish Xenia all the more.

The authority thus granted was to such an extent that Xenia could move the Count’s household on her own.

Though Xenia herself did not exercise it.

Already, Xenia was practically the face of the Nippleheim Count’s house.

So much so that some knew Xenia’s name, even if they didn’t know that of the Nippleheim Count.

Furthermore, if the fact that she contributed to capturing the mystics were to spread, her power within the household would become even greater.

And now, Xenia had come to hear one crucial truth.

The Third Princess, Iris Hisirion, was a vessel for the Archdemon.

Naturally, the Robleia Duke’s household must be involved in these inner workings.

Here, what choice would Xenia make?

The answer could be known soon enough, without much agonizing.

To join hands with the Archdemon was akin to turning the entire world into an enemy.

Knowing this, Xenia would naturally distance the Nippleheim Count’s house from Robleia.

Protecting the house in place of the Nippleheim Count, who, blinded by power and position, could not make the correct judgment.

That was the duty given to Xenia.

Or so Isabel thought.

“…So, even though *you* were abandoned by your own house, you were still willing to protect a house like that?”

For a moment, taken aback, she silenced her mouth.

This was merely a coincidence, where circumstances aligned.

Of course, no intention of mine lay anywhere within.

Whatever Bikman’s intent might have been, it was not *mine*.

My gaze fell upon the carriage.

If Xenia were to discover my true identity, what would happen if she were to misunderstand in the same way as Isabel?

Suddenly, the future began to feel frightening.

I would rather receive scorn, for receiving praise falsely did not settle my heart.

But Isabel, it seemed, took my silence as agreement.

Isabel exhaled a long, slow breath.

“The truth is, you weren’t there, were you? Why are you always so self-sacrificing, now as then?”

Even as she spoke those words, a warmth lingered in Isabel’s gaze.

It struck me anew – my standing in Isabel’s eyes had risen considerably of late.

Though that elevated assessment had now birthed this preposterous misunderstanding.

“Thinking back, it did seem strange. No matter what, it was unlike you to attack the Third Princess and Lukas without reason.”

Just what *was* my reputation in Isabel’s estimation, anyway?

I’d achieved a meteoric rise from the boy who’d cursed her childhood friend.

‘Perhaps I’ve shown her too much of my calculated side lately.’

It appeared she believed my every move was driven by some hidden agenda.

The problem was, this time, nothing could be further from the truth.

‘How to explain this…’

My face clouded over.

The me of that time wasn’t Vicamann.

Back then, Vicamann was simply a man blinded by love.

‘Even if that *had* been my intention…’

I had no way of confirming it.

Vicamann no longer existed in this world.

The emptiness I found in the soul realm was proof enough.

But at the very least, I should correct one of her misconceptions before leaving.

“Isabel, the reason I attacked Lukas *was* because of Nikita.”

Back then, Vicamann was in love with Nikita.

Even if I felt nothing now, I didn’t want to deny the emotions Vicamann once held.

Isabel, sensing my sincerity, regarded me in silence.

“Even if Iris-nim was involved, at least what you did to Lukas was venting your anger.”

To deny that would be to deny Vicamann himself.

So I conveyed the unvarnished truth.

“…”

Isabel remained quiet for a moment.

Was I… disappointing to her, perhaps?

If so, I can only apologize.

“Is Nikita-sunbae alright?”

Come to think of it, I hadn’t told Isabel about Nikita.

She’d believed that I had led the boycott group because of Nikita’s death.

As such, even now she couldn’t know for sure if Nikita was alive.

“Yes, she’s alright.”

Nikita, who had even told me she’d see me next year.

Perhaps it was due to the flurry of recent events, but I felt a slight longing for Nikita.

The time I spent doing student council work with her was incredibly comfortable.

“So, you still… like Nikita-sunbae?”

Isabel knows I lost my love.

Even so, I could only blink at the question of whether I still liked Nikita.

Do I like Nikita?

Simply put, you could say I do.

Even if the love had vanished, the truth was that I cherished Nikita, the character itself, in the past.

But that was only an emotion I held because she was my ultimate favorite.

Since the love has been lost, I don’t really know what that emotion is anymore.

‘Vikaman liked Nikita.’

Just as I found solace in looking at Nikita, Vikaman also found solace in looking at Nikita.

Vikaman’s love was sincere.

“I don’t know.”

So, I could only say that.

“Maybe I’ll know if I ever get my love back.”

Thinking of Nikita brings a feeling of longing.

That meant, regardless of emotion, that Nikita was a precious person to me.

“I see.”

Isabel said that, exhaled, and then lifted her head.

Then, a smile like the sun bloomed on her lips.

“Then, I’ll give you back all the emotions you’ve lost.”

Isabel had somehow drawn near.

A wave of citrus washed over me from her.

“If you lose your sorrow, I will show you the sorrow I’d forgotten, thanks to you.”

The day she lost her brother, and then Lukas.

She learned what it meant for the world to crumble into grief.

Sorrow, for her, remained a scar carved deep.

So, to show her sorrow would be the easiest thing of all.

“If you lose your rage, I will show you the rage I reclaimed, thanks to you.”

The deep, abiding anger she felt seeing me vilify Lukas.

Isabel remembered that rage with crystalline clarity.

And that rage became the driving force that brought her life back to her.

So, she understood the preciousness of rage better than anyone.

“If you lose your love, I will show you the love I came to know, thanks to you.”

Finally.

Upon hearing the next words, my pupils widened in reflex.

Isabel’s face was flushed, more so than before.

Her crimson face was not a reflection of the sunset-painted sky.

No, the emotions swirling within her were painted across her features.

Her face bloomed into a bright smile.

A beautiful sun, irreplaceable, smiled.

Isabel Luna.

The flower that pointed to her was the sunflower.

A flower that lifted its head only to follow the sun.

Perhaps the sunflower gazed at the sun because it, too, wished to become a sun.

And in this moment, Isabel became a sun herself.

Not chasing the brightness of another, but a star shining brilliantly on her own.

That was the true form of Isabel Luna, the main heroine.

“I love you.”

Isabel poured out the feelings she had kept locked within.

“I love you more than anything else in this world.”

Her brimming emotion felt so vividly real.

“So, the day you regained your emotions.”

Isabelle had somehow closed the distance, now mere inches away.

Unable to avert my gaze, I stared at her, dazed.

“I’ll confess one more time, so please answer.”

Isabelle’s lips met mine.

The sensation, softer than anything I’d ever known, made my head spin.

She broke away, cheeks flushed, giggling with bashful delight.

Though the sunset had long faded, Isabelle shone brighter than anyone.

“I hope a little of it got through this way.”

The sunflower’s love for its sun was intense.