The Sub Male Lead is Burning with Jealousy - Chapter 10 Part 1
Watching Rahil grow restless with jealousy was a strange experience. In the past, his jealousy had always been directed at Theodore or other men around her, and his actions were largely aimed at them.
‘This time, it must have left a lasting impression on everyone.’
That Rahil’s affections were not for Angelica Calix, who had married Theodore, but for Empress Anais instead. It was clear now that his heart had long drifted from the Duchess of Calix.
It should have been something to celebrate, but despite the smile on her face, Angelica couldn’t shake the strange feeling in her chest. It was as if she had lost something, as though she’d let something slip from her grasp.
Thus, even though she had resolved to strike up a lively conversation with the Empress during this evening’s pre-festival gathering, all she had ended up doing was making a few complaints. They were things she truly believed, but even those comments were addressed by Theo instead.
‘Why do I feel this way?’
She had an inkling of the reason but didn’t want to admit it. Acknowledging it would only make her feel pathetic. So she masked herself with a cheerful expression and tried to focus on the tournament.
The tournament had already progressed to the third match. Now it was the turn of Sir Kirthalros, who had entered first, to face off against Sir Rudwain, a contender who was praised earlier by Duke Odesa. Angelica decided to cheer for Sir Emil Kirthalros, solely because his name resembled Emilio’s.
Theodore, meanwhile, was observing Angelica with a curious gaze. Though he refrained from asking directly due to the crowd around them, it seemed he had noticed something unusual about her demeanor.
In moments like this, Angelica found herself resenting the fact that they were childhood friends. The inability to hide anything, having every emotion laid bare, was exhausting.
‘I’ve loved Theo since we were kids. I don’t regret choosing him.’
And yet, a part of her wondered if, on the eve of the wedding, she should have taken Rahil’s hand instead of Theodore’s.
But because she had feared that Rahil’s feelings might change. And…
‘I was happy when Rahil confessed.’
It was a shameful thought, one she wished to bury forever.
**
Sir Rudwain, who was facing off against Kirthalros, initially tried to parry his opponent’s strikes but soon found himself retreating. Though he had always prided himself on his strength, an instinctual sense of danger crept over him.
And as he expected, even though he dodged, the wind pressure from Kirthalros’s swing grazed his cheek, leaving a faint cut. Having already seen Kirthalros’s swordplay—or what could barely be called such—Rudwain was utterly dumbfounded.
‘He’s fast… and incredibly strong, yet his technique is so crude!’
It was like watching a child wildly swinging a real blade. Concluding that Kirthalros’s strength and reflexes were innate, Rudwain felt not just disdain but outright anger.
‘Despite having Duke Noer’s support, this is the best he can do? He must have wasted his potential relying solely on his talent!’
As someone who prided himself on steady effort, Rudwain couldn’t fathom losing to someone like Kirthalros. Against another opponent, Kirthalros’s strength and speed might have been sufficient for victory, but not today.
‘I won’t lose to someone like you!’
Meanwhile, Kirthalros was growing increasingly frustrated at Rudwain’s ability to slip away from his strikes by what seemed like a mere hair’s breadth. He considered revealing the aura of the dragon within him to intimidate Rudwain, but with Rahil watching, he didn’t dare. On the other hand, simply swinging his sword wasn’t enough to land a hit on Rudwain.
‘He’s clearly slower and weaker than me… so why?!’
Frustrated to the point of recklessness, Kirthalros began swinging his sword wildly. Watching his erratic movements, the knights observing the match seemed to click their tongues in disapproval. At that moment, a sharp thrust struck his side, delivering a jarring impact that made it feel as though his stomach had been pierced
“Urk!”
Fortunately, real swords were not allowed in this tournament. The swords provided were blunt training weapons without sharp edges. As a result, Rudwain’s sword did not pierce Kirthalros’s abdomen but instead sent him flying out of the marked ring in the arena.
“Ooooh… Wooooaahhh!”
A thunderous round of applause and cheers erupted from the stands in response to Rudwain’s clean, decisive strike. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Rudwain stood tall, bowing respectfully toward the Emperor and Empress.
Amid the deafening cheers that rocked the arena, Kirthalros was the only one unable to collect himself. He stared at the ground outside the boundary line, confirming again that he had been flung beyond the ring marked by magic on the ground.
‘Me?’
I lost? To someone as insignificant as him?
And not just anywhere, but in front of Anais, whom he believed to be the reincarnation of Radiel. Even if it hadn’t been in her presence, the thought of losing while being watched by others was utterly incomprehensible to him.
Humiliation surged through him, and a dark urge to annihilate everyone in the arena blossomed in his heart—to erase today’s defeat and the shame it brought.
As Kirthalros remained on the ground, motionless, junior officials approached to help him up. Though he briefly entertained the idea of killing them first…
From high above, a gaze bore down on him from the Emperor’s seat. Kirthalros broke out in a cold sweat, unable to muster the courage to look back.
‘That bast@rd is watching me.’
Kirthalros’s injuries weren’t yet fully healed. He should have spent several more weeks recovering and taking care of his body, but his eagerness to see Anais had driven him to overexert himself.
‘Y-Yes. That’s it. This only happened because my wounds haven’t fully healed.’
Shrugging off the hand of an official who offered to help him up, Kirthalros rose to his feet and headed toward the arena’s exit. The sensation of eyes following him sent shivers down his spine.
‘He’s nothing but an insect, yet…’
Yet he couldn’t shake the memory of the terrifying strike that had once ripped through his wing and slashed open his stomach. Cold sweat trickled down his back as he ignored offers of assistance and hurried to the waiting room.
He needed to leave. To get away from this place quickly.
***
