When the Guide Stopped Playing a Villainess, the Obsession Began - Chapter 27
Mid-chew, she suddenly leapt onto his lap.
A calculating move, assuming that he didn’t dislike her in fox form.
Lea shoved her small head under his large hand and whimpered softly.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me. I’ll really do better from now on, Cal. So… will you forgive me in this life?’
To her, it was a desperate gesture. But Calix interpreted it differently.
“Are you unhappy it’s an apple again?”
He assumed the fox was being picky. Since it didn’t seem to like apples and he was offering one again, he thought it was throwing a tantrum. After some hesitation, he called for Daisy.
“Oh? Your Highness the Crown Prince. Where did you get this fox?”
“Daisy, do you think there’s another kind of fruit a fox might like besides apples?”
“Hmm… well, aren’t foxes omnivores?”
“Really?”
“Yes, they even catch and eat mice, I think…”
As Daisy continued speaking, Lea lifted her bowed head and began to wail.
‘What do you take me for? I’ve never eaten a mouse in my life!’
She couldn’t express it in words, but she truly absolutely did not want to eat a mouse. Overcome with disgust, she howled loudly in protest.
Calix suddenly burst out laughing.
“Haha, Daisy, isn’t it a bit much to offer a guest in the Crown Prince’s palace a mouse?”
“A guest? But Your Highness, it’s a fox.”
Daisy, her expression skeptical, stepped out for a moment and returned with a plate. On it were some carrots and small pieces of raw meat.
“Is it okay to feed her something like this?”
Seeing the bright red raw meat, Calix asked with a frown. Daisy nodded slightly and added,
“She’ll probably like meat more than fruits or vegetables. That’s what the foxes I saw in my hometown were like.”
“I see.”
“Then I’ll be going now.”
“Alright.”
Calix stared at the plate, then lifted a piece of raw meat on a fork.
Turning to Lea, he spoke.
“Here. Ahh—”
Lea clamped her pointed snout shut and wouldn’t open it. A real fox might have gobbled up the raw meat eagerly, but she was not a beast—she was a werebeast. As an intelligent being, she had no desire to put raw meat in her mouth.
When the fox that had been sitting quietly in his lap suddenly jumped and scurried into a corner, Calix stood up in confusion, still holding the meat on his fork.
He approached her and gently tapped her snout with a fingertip.
Lea kept her mouth firmly closed as if to say she couldn’t eat it. Having come to check on his mood, she now found herself in a humiliating situation and desperately tried to escape his grasp.
Watching her behavior, Calix asked lightly,
“You don’t like raw meat?”
She wanted to nod in agreement, but what kind of animal understands human speech?
Unable to do anything, she paced back and forth, and Calix looked down at her curiously.
Worried he might suspect her true identity, Lea leapt onto the table and quickly bit into a carrot.
She didn’t particularly like carrots either, and the raw taste filling her mouth made her face twist involuntarily.
“You really don’t like meat, huh.”
Only then did Calix understand what the fox was trying to say and set the fork back on the plate.
He picked out more carrots and laid them in front of her. The fox began munching on them hungrily. She ate as if her life depended on it, and watching her, Calix felt a twinge of pity.
“You must’ve been really hungry. If it’s not enough, I’ll bring more, so eat all the carrots you want.”
He understood the pain of hunger well. Calix placed even the leftover apples in front of her and quietly watched.
The golden eye color that had reminded him of someone no longer bothered him.
He saw only a pitiful creature before him now. Just like Daisy did to him, he opened his heart without reservation to the fox.
Perhaps animals really were better than people. Staring at her intently, he spoke on impulse.
“If you’ve got nowhere else to go, why don’t you stay here?”
Lea, who had been eating an apple with her nose buried to the floor, instinctively lifted her head.
She tried to act like she didn’t understand human language, but she couldn’t ignore those words.
