A Story Without The Villains Is Boring

Chapter 41: A more better than the theatre

Sitting with a book in his hand, flipping through the pages, a man retorted to the young man.

"You hate that person, huh?"

Hearing this response, the young man's lips quivered.

"I-I-It's not love or anything...right?"

"Love? You're just a kid! Are you kidding me, son?"

"B-But my heart was pounding so hard!" said the young man, attempting to prove it was love.

But despite that, his father corrected him. It wasn't love. Not all rapid heartbeats are caused by love – his father's foolish mistake.

"Ray, will you tell me the name of the girl who insulted you?"

".... I would like to know too.... But she didn't tell me her name..." The young man replied sadly.

And so, his father stood up and approached his son. He placed his hand on the young man's head and patted it gently.

"Listen, Ray, love is not that easy. You're still a kid, and as a member of House Bourghess, love is not our main goal."

◇◆◇

A year had passed since then. My family received another invitation. This time, it was for a theater. I was the only one sent by my family since no one else in the family had taken a liking to watching a drama portrayed on some boring-looking stage.

History repeated itself. Just like what happened at last year's soirèe, the poor service and the nobles' murmuring sounds made me lose interest and want to leave the theater hall. If it weren't an invitation from the royal palace, I would have ridden a carriage and gone back to the mansion.

Outside, many carriages could be seen galloping as they lined up, waiting for the passengers to step outside.

I had no intention of going back inside, so I stayed and waited for my carriage.

As I waited patiently, a familiar figure emerged from a particular fancy carriage – a girl wearing an overdesigned lolita gown. It wasn't her face that caught my attention, but the flash of jewelry embedded in her dress that sorely hurt my eyes.

When our eyes met, a single glare from her made me feel looked down upon. I suddenly felt pathetic under her gaze.

Just then.... The red glint of her crimson eyes reminded me of what happened a year ago.

What my father said...

‘The person that I hate.’

In that moment, a tremor ran through my body as my heart kept beating rapidly. I was standing on the pathway to the theater hall, where a face-to-face encounter with her was inevitable.

Her hand was up to her face, holding a fan that covered half of it. A middle-aged woman was also following her.

“Litecia.....” She said, glancing at her back while concealing her mouth with the fan. “That boy blocking our way seems to be under the influence of drugs. I can hear his panting noise even from afar. Can you make him go away?”

“.... Yes, young miss.”

So that was the response.

Father was right.

I hated her...

HOW DARE SHE INSULT ME!!

But because of that, I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I couldn't flinch nor move a muscle. Perhaps I was really under the influence of drugs.

After that fiasco, I waited for my carriage for about an hour outside and never went back inside the theater hall again. I didn't want to feel looked down upon by those crimson eyes.

Finally, my carriage arrived, and a sense of relief washed over me. But before stepping into it, a loud slap resounded.

The slap was so loud that it immediately caught my attention. A fierce voice followed, filled with indignation.

“Gods! How dare you step on my dress.”

To my surprise, the person getting slapped was none other than the girl with the crimson eyes, wearing the overly fashioned gown. It was an unexpected twist, and I couldn't believe my eyes.

‘How is that possible for the girl with crimson eyes to step on her dress when the gown’s support should have kept it at a distance?’

I was probably thinking the same as the girl with the crimson eyes – no, probably the whole crowd witnessing the scene.

Considering that she was just a child and the person who slapped her was a teen, the one who slapped her should have shown more consideration.

But... as I observed the situation, I felt a strange mix of emotions.

Why don't I feel happy? Shouldn't I be delighted to see the girl whom I hated being humiliated?

“You ruined the dress!! Don't you know that this one is a limited edition and so expensive that it could cost a castle!?” The teen angrily complained.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged woman who followed the girl was at the back, attending to her mistress. They were whispering to each other, and both of them seemed to pay no attention to the person berating them.

Then, both the servant and the girl nodded their heads, and suddenly, the crimson eyes started glittering with excitement.

“Oh, sorry. Did I step on you?”

“Of course, you did!”

“Praise be, Saint Olivia! I thought I stepped on a shit! Who could have thought it was your dress!” I heard a mocking tone in her voice from a distance though her face was expressing worries.

“AHAHA. That was way better than the theater.”

I couldn't hold back my laughter. It was an unexpected turn of events, and the irony of the situation amused me. Witnessing this scene somehow lightened the heavy feeling inside me caused by the girl with the crimson eyes.

And now that I had seen something that intrigued me, I finally stepped inside the carriage.

“I hope I'll get to see this interesting theater one more time.”

As the carriage pulled away, I couldn't shake off the strange mix of emotions that I felt. It was as if witnessing the humiliation of the girl I hated should have made me happy, but instead, it left me feeling conflicted.

As the days passed, I couldn't get the image of the girl with the crimson eyes out of my mind. I found myself thinking about her, and even though I despised her for insulting me, I couldn't help but be intrigued by her audacity and boldness.