The Villain Bought the Female Lead - Ch. 140

Vargan rejected Frieda’s proposal without a moment’s hesitation, and Frieda gave an awkward smile.

“Well… of course. You must have prior appointments, right…?”

She already knew that Vargan had plans with Alicia. Frieda had no intention of interfering with Alicia’s schedule.

She had always witnessed how devoted Alicia was to Vargan, how deeply she cared for him.

Even if Frieda coveted the spot beside Vargan, she couldn’t bring herself to push Alicia aside to take it.

However, if the prior appointment didn’t solely involve Alicia…

“By any chance… do you also have plans with Lady Erica?”

Vargan responded in a calm tone, devoid of any consideration for Frieda.

“Yes.”

“…….”

Frieda lowered her head slightly, ensuring her expression remained hidden.

She concealed even the smallest, uncontrollable reactions, knowing Vargan would surely notice.

A petite woman of noble appearance.

The second daughter of the illustrious Portlet family, a lineage rivaling that of the Schugenharts.

Born with everything — status, beauty, and even the title of Vargan’s fiancée — without any effort on her part.

Erica Troa Portlet.

Freida knew little of what had transpired between Vargan and Erica, only the interactions and attitudes she had observed at the Academia.

The conversations and gestures exchanged between Vargan and Erica.

Only a handful of rumors had reached her ears.

Forcing a smile, Frieda said.

“… Lady Erica still has your affection, doesn’t she?”

Frieda never envied nobles by nature.

Born in the slums, she had clawed her way up through hardship and perseverance, while they enjoyed luxury as though it were their birthright.

Though she found it distasteful, dwelling on her origins wouldn’t change anything.

No one cared about her past.

Survival in her world demanded resilience, not weakness.

But Erica…

Frieda resented the young noble lady who effortlessly claimed the spot Frieda desired, only to treat Vargan coldly from her high perch.

“… Lady Erica is fortunate indeed.”

Frieda couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy.

And at the same time, <she didn’t like her>.

“…….”

Vargan gazed quietly at Frieda.

The once cheerful expression she wore had now darkened with shadows.

He reflected on Frieda’s character.

The moments in the original story when she clung to him, tormenting Erica.

Even as a proud member of the Portlet family, Erica often found her self-esteem crushed by Frieda.

Frieda never directly harmed Erica, but Erica, proud as she was, might have preferred outright conflict to the subtle humiliation.

Frieda’s talent lay in manipulating the narrative.

She framed Erica as a pitiable figure, using that perception to her own advantage.

Still, much of this stemmed from Vargan himself. He had unknowingly encouraged Frieda to act this way.

Choosing her as a tool to distance Erica from him.

… even though he would come to regret that decision later, by then, it was far too late.

“Frieda.”

Vargan’s voice brought her head up.

Meeting her pale brown eyes, which resembled reeds swaying in the wind, he said.

“I hold you in high regard.”

Her indomitable spirit.

Her unyielding desire to ascend, even in a rigidly hierarchical world.

And the intelligence and determination to achieve her goals.

“It’s true that I want to keep you by my side for as long as possible.”

Among the many talents at Arbol Frutal, none could replace Frieda.

She was a valuable resource and a remarkable woman.

“… however.”

Vargan’s steady gaze faltered, his eyes flickering.

Like a ripple on a calm lake.

Frieda felt slight disturbance, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor.

Vargan spoke.

“If you ever try to harm Erica…”

The ripple grew into a wave of hostility.

An unmistakable warning.

“I will not forgive you.”

***

“A… choo!”

Walking down the corridor, Erica suddenly sneezed.

She hastily pulled out a handkerchief to cover her mouth. Diphelia, seated in her wheelchair, asked.

“Are you catching a cold?”

“No, I don’t think so. It just came on suddenly… achoo!”

Diphelia chuckled softly at Erica’s tiny sneeze. When Erica looked at her in confusion, Diphelia explained her reason for laughing.

“Sorry. Your sneeze sounded so cute I couldn’t help laughing.”

“…I know it’s weird, but I can’t help it… I should work on that.”

“You don’t need to. I think it suits you — very Erica-like.”

“<Suits me>… you’re not teasing me, are you?”

Diphelia laughed and reassured her, continuing their conversation as they walked.

Eventually, they passed by a door just as a woman with softly glowing golden hair stepped out.

It was Francesca, a second-year student.

“Oh, hello.”

“…….”

Diphelia bowed politely, while Erica gave a slight nod.

Francesca glanced at them briefly but walked on without a word.

The two had never interacted with Francesca, but they knew she had served in the student council the previous year, so they greeted her out of courtesy.

As Francesca disappeared down the hall, the small bird perched on Diphelia’s shoulder swiveled its head to read the nameplate on the door she had exited.

“Room 110. Professor Lucien.”

Each professor at Academia was assigned a personal office for their duties.

This particular office belonged to Professor Lucien, a renowned golem artisan and the one in charge of Class 1-B.

Most of the golems at Academia fell under Professor Lucien’s jurisdiction, providing students with practical experience in handling them.

Diphelia tilted her head in curiosity.

“What business would Francesca, a second-year student, have with Professor Lucien?”

Lucien wasn’t currently teaching second-year classes.

And Diphelia couldn’t think of any connection between them.

Erica shrugged.

“They’re from the same family. Maybe she had something to discuss with him.”

“Professor Lucien and Francesca are related?”

“Oh, right. You might not know. Both of them are from the Victoria family of the Ocel Kingdom.”

It was a fairly well-known fact among the nobles at Academia, but since neither of them made it obvious, those uninvolved might never know.

After Francesca’s father was killed by Sylvester, the top-ranked hero.

The person who took in Francesca, who had lost both parents, was her uncle, Lucien Victoria Ocel.

Francesca’s father, Nicholas, had been executed for the grave crime of researching forbidden necromancy and attempting to overthrow Academia.

Most members of the Victoria family sought to erase the stain he left behind by eliminating Francesca’s existence. However, the one who opposed this and chose to protect her was none other than Lucien.

“The heroes and professors don’t use their family names, so I had no idea…”

Diphelia nodded at the newly learned fact.

Even Erica, who was well-connected within noble society, knew little about Francesca.

‘Similar to Schugenhart…’

After being entrusted to her uncle Lucien, there had been no news about Francesca.

She never appeared at social gatherings, which she had rarely attended even before, and there was no information about where she was or what she was doing.

Then, suddenly, Francesca appeared and enrolled in Academia.

She was now excelling as a necromancer, ranking second in her year…

‘Come to think of it… that’s strange.’

Erica suddenly felt something odd.

Francesca’s father, Nicholas, had been executed for his involvement in forbidden necromancy.

Moreover, after her mother’s death, Francesca had apparently stopped pursuing necromancy, despite her earlier talent in it.

Yet now, Francesca was actively researching necromancy.

Despite the painful memories tied to it.

“Erica, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Just… thinking.”

As Erica responded to Diphelia’s question and continued mulling over Francesca, her gaze caught something unpleasant.

In the corridor, a woman with fox ears and a swishing tail, exuding an irritating presence.

Frieda noticed Erica’s gaze and locked eyes with her.

“… tch.”

Clicking her tongue as if she’d seen something revolting, Frieda turned and walked away. Erica, having registered the reaction, exclaimed in disbelief.

“What the…?!”

“She seemed upset about something. Maybe something happened?”

“Diphelia, what are you even saying? Didn’t you see? She clicked her tongue at me and walked off.”

“Did she? I didn’t notice.”

“She definitely did! That rude little fox…! Who does she think she is?!”

Just as Frieda disliked Erica.

Erica also found Frieda insufferable.

With a stomp of her small foot, icy energy emanated from Erica.

“Why on earth is Schugenhart keeping someone like her around?!”

As a result, the seed of thought Erica had planted about Francesca remained dormant.

***

After her conversation with Lucien, Francesca returned to her dormitory.

Without wasting a moment, she resumed her research.

Working alone, she felt the absence of Vargan but she still continued progressing in perfecting her unique spell formation.

She hadn’t been to the tombs recently due to Clemens somehow catching a whiff of her activities and becoming watchful.

‘It’s fine… I’ve already gathered all the materials I need. I can handle the rest without going back there.’

Francesca opened a massive book and began reading her notes.

The handwriting, meticulously written, transitioned midway to Francesca’s own.

This was evidence that she had taken up and continued the research her father had left behind.

‘Not much longer now… soon…’

Immersed in her work, Francesca didn’t even realize when darkness enveloped the room.

One hour.

Three hours.

Six hours passed…

The long-awaited moment was now just within reach.

Finally.

Fwoosh—

The formations floating in the air began to glow.

Driving away all the surrounding darkness, they shone more brilliantly than stars. The wandering formations transformed into new shapes.

Like pieces of a puzzle finding their matches, they connected.

The formations, which had been glowing blue, now took on vibrant, multicolored hues.

Francesca watched the phenomenon in awe.

She didn’t cry.

But her hands trembled violently in sync with her emotions, and her breathing grew erratic.

For this moment, Francesca had poured in countless hours of time and effort.

Her carefully prepared spell formation was practically complete.

All that remained was to connect the formations with her hands… and her father’s ambitions would finally be within reach.

Her trembling lips parted, and a voice escaped.

Soft and fragile.

The voice of a child yearning for her parents.

“Dad… Mom…”

Her frail arm, quivering like a brittle branch.

Reached out toward the formations.

At last, Francesca’s hand touched the formation.

A thick aura of mana spread out like smoke, enveloping her. She began to channel the mana within her body.