“The way I asked? I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

As a villain whose entire existence was slated to be unceremoniously axed in under twenty chapters, Ewan had absolutely no idea how his former self used to ask women to dance. The original’s memories were a chaotic landfill of arrogance and idiocy, impossible to sort through on demand.

“It was at the last academy ball, I believe,” Celicia said, seemingly unfazed by his convenient amnesia, as she recalled the memory with chilling precision. “You wished to invite someone to dance—the daughter of a viscount. If I recall correctly, this is what you said.”

Celicia tilted her head, her lovely brows furrowing in concentration. Though her expression remained a mask of ice, he could see she was putting her all into mimicking a posture of supreme, overbearing arrogance.

“‘Woman! Rejoice and celebrate, for this young master, in his infinite mercy, has deigned to bestow upon you the grand privilege of a dance with me!'”

“…”

“Well? Was my impression accurate?”

“…” Accurate? It’s so painfully accurate my toes are currently trying to excavate a three-bedroom apartment out of the ballroom floor!

Ewan Campbell, you absolute moron! It was bad enough that you were an idiot, but did you have to be such a cringey, chunni idiot? In public?! At least you got to make a clean getaway by dying. What about me?! I’m the one left dealing with the soul-crushing social fallout!

“Those are merely embarrassing ghosts of a past best forgotten. I implore Your Highness to have mercy and strike them from your memory,” Ewan pleaded with a sheepish grin. In a desperate attempt to escape the crushing awkwardness, he tried to speed up their waltz.

But Celicia remained a portrait of graceful composure. Even as he deliberately quickened their steps, completely ignoring the rhythm of the music, she never once lost the lead. In fact, by the end, he was the one being effortlessly guided by her.

She truly was the ever-noble, ever-proud white swan of the court. No wonder she was the hardest character to romance in the original novel. Ewan let out a silent, internal sigh.

…

The final note of the song faded, and their dance came to a close.

The hall erupted in a wave of thunderous applause.

Ewan pointedly ignored the murderous, jealous glare coming from a certain black-haired protagonist and offered the crowd a polite, charming bow. A few fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, but Celicia’s expression was as serene as ever.

“It seems Your Highness is tired as well. Perhaps we could find a quiet place to enjoy a drink?” Ewan seized the pleasant atmosphere to launch the next phase of his operation.

“Very well.”

This time, Celicia agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

Success!

Though he fought to keep his expression neutral, inside, Ewan’s mental avatar was doing a series of triumphant, mid-air backflips. The first step is always the hardest. With this, his grand mission was halfway to its glorious, self-destructive conclusion!

…

“My apologies, but I do not partake in alcohol.”

“Huh? It’s just red wine. Surely a little…”

“Red wine is also unacceptable.” Celicia gracefully tucked a stray lock of silvery-white hair behind her ear. “My constitution does not permit it. Not even a single drop.”

“…” Standing in the lavish private room, holding a bottle of pre-drugged red wine, Ewan’s eyes widened in horror.

She can’t drink?

Not even WINE?!

Then how in the seven hells am I supposed to drug her?

Come to think of it, the novel never had described Celicia drinking. So this new complication wasn’t exactly a plot hole. And the original Ewan had, in fact, drugged her tea. Ewan could have just done that.

There was just one, tiny, glaring problem. The potion he’d bought was red.

Blood red.

If he put that in a cup of tea, would she really not notice?

“Is there a problem, Lord Ewan?”

“N-no… not at all. It’s just, if Your Highness does not drink wine, what may I offer you instead?”

“Cof—”

“We only have black tea.”

“?”

“I said, we only have black tea,” Ewan repeated, staring into Celicia’s eyes with the gravity of a man announcing the apocalypse. “Due to certain… unavoidable logistical challenges, we are unable to provide any beverages other than red wine and black tea this evening.”

“Only… black tea?” For the very first time, a crack appeared in Celicia’s icy facade, revealing a sliver of genuine confusion. She didn’t seem to suspect foul play yet, likely chalking it up to his incompetence. “In that case, black tea will be acceptable.”

“Thank you.” Ewan wiped a bead of cold sweat from his brow and scrambled to prepare it.

“Wait.”

Celicia’s voice stopped him in his tracks. A flicker of sharp suspicion entered her cool eyes. “You are preparing it yourself?”

“I am. Is there a problem?”

“…No.” Celicia shook her head. “I am simply surprised that Lord Ewan would deign to perform a task usually reserved for servants.”

Crap, she’s on to me!

Ewan’s heart hammered against his ribs, but he forced a placid smile. “It cannot be helped. The staff is stretched thin tonight. Even my personal maid is occupied. Such a small task is no trouble for me to handle myself.”

“I see.” Celicia nodded slowly, as if she actually believed him. “In that case, I shall look forward to it. Tea brewed by the hand of Lord Ewan himself.”

…

“As expected of the Ice Witch. I can’t let my guard down for a second,” Ewan muttered, staring at the cup of terribly brewed, now-drugged tea in his hands. He wiped away another nervous sweat. If his poker face had been any weaker back there, he’d have blown his cover completely.

“Who said this part was easy?! The parts the book didn’t describe are the real boss battles!” he gritted his teeth. So much for the world’s “plot correction” helping him out. A single, unmentioned character detail had nearly torpedoed his entire mission!

“But it’s too late now. The only way is forward!”

Ewan took out the two vials.

“Black tea is reddish. This should blend right in. As for the ‘little gift’…” He opened the “free sample” from the unscrupulous shopkeeper. It was a fine white powder. “No idea what this is, but if she said to use them together for a ‘miraculous effect,’ it must be some kind of booster.”

“No time for second guesses. In it goes!”

“I can only pray she drinks it before her super-genius brain figures out something is wrong.”

“Heheheh, since you’re so clever, Your Highness, you can’t blame me for using the extra-strength dose!”

Picking up the cup of tainted tea, Ewan flashed a villainous smile so wicked that even he didn’t realize it had crossed his face.

…

“Your Highness, your tea.”

Performing his role with the grace of a professional butler, Ewan presented the “carefully prepared” tea to Celicia.

“Thank you.” She politely accepted the cup, but instead of drinking, she held it up, scrutinizing the liquid within.

“Lord Ewan,” she said, her voice deceptively casual. “This black tea… is remarkably red.”

“Isn’t black tea supposed to be red?” Ewan replied, his smile unwavering.

“Is it? The black tea I am accustomed to is more of a light, amber red.”

“A regional variation, no doubt,” he improvised smoothly. “Much like the oranges from North Donnell are smaller but sweeter than those from the Southsea territory. Tea from different regions surely has slight variations in color.”

“A sound argument,” Celicia conceded. But she still didn’t drink. Instead, she lifted her glacial blue eyes and fixed them on him, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

“In that case—why don’t you have the first sip, Lord Ewan?”