The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

“Even that got me hated?”

Muen scratched his head in confusion, genuinely baffled.

He had just displayed the most sincere goodwill he could muster. His words, his posture, his tone—utterly flawless. There shouldn’t have been even a hint of offense.

But as it turned out, that kind of approach didn’t work on a protagonist like Ariel.

“Sigh... Looks like the rift between me and the main character really can’t be bridged.”

Grumbling to himself, Muen shook off the mild irritation.

Because no matter how deep the animosity between him and Ariel ran, after tonight, their fates would part completely—two parallel lines, never to meet again.

“From now on, you go save the world, and I’ll go punch a clock. We’ve both got bright futures ahead of us!”

He waved a fist at Ariel’s retreating back, then turned his attention back to the task at hand.

There were still plenty of guests to receive.

“Princess Celicia...”

“Main character Ariel...”

“And future Saintess Lia...”

It seemed that those were the key figures he needed to keep an eye on tonight.

By the time the lanterns truly lit up the hall, Muen had spent a full two hours at the entrance of the grand ballroom, finally seeing the last name on the guest list walk inside. One phase complete.

“Whew. I’m beat.”

Muen rubbed his aching lower back. If not for the original owner’s minimal foundation in cultivation, that twenty-kilogram ceremonial outfit might’ve flattened him by now.

“You’ve worked hard.”

The voice came from his side. It was the Duke of Campbell—Muen’s cheap old man—his lion-like mane of hair looking as wild and regal as ever. He was holding a tray of pastries, which he held out in front of Muen.

“Hungry? Have something to eat.”

“I am, actually.”

Muen grabbed a piece and stuffed it into his mouth. Only at moments like this could he drop the whole noble dignity act.

“How does it feel?”

“Not bad.”

“Did you memorize all the noble names?”

“As if.”

Muen gave a tired laugh.

“With that many noble lords? Just putting names to faces already used up everything I had.”

“Haha. No rush. You’ll get there.”

The Duke beamed, clearly pleased.

“You did far better than I expected.”

“Hah, thanks,” Muen replied with a polite smile. “Just doing my duty.”

“But from here on, you won’t have to work as hard.”

The Duke patted him on the shoulder.

“Take a breather before heading in.”

And with that, the lion of the Empire straightened his back like a veteran general preparing to march onto the battlefield and stepped into the ballroom with measured dignity.

Muen watched that broad, commanding figure disappear and couldn’t help but sigh with some emotion.

He’s a good father.

Strictly speaking, as the star of the ceremony, Muen wasn’t expected to handle reception duties himself.

But this arrangement had been the Duke’s idea.

As the Duke’s heir, Muen would inevitably become the target of the “hyena nobles” at the banquet—the ones who circled like scavengers, trying to carve off a piece of meat, or better yet, rip off an entire limb.

And since the coming-of-age banquet was meant to showcase Muen Campbell, he’d have no choice but to face their onslaught head-on.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how exhausting that would be.

That’s why the Duke had him handle reception duties beforehand—so that those hyenas would already have been “greeted” by the young heir, and thus, would have no reason to bypass the lion and pounce directly on the still-growing cub.

Even though it was called a coming-of-age, it seemed the Duke didn’t quite think his son had truly grown up yet.

Shame. I won’t be living up to your expectations tonight.

The original novel never explained what became of the Duke later on.

But based on how doting he was toward Muen, it was easy to imagine how devastated he would be if the future Muen Campbell turned into what he did—while the Duke could only watch helplessly.

But this time, things will be different.

I’m going to live a good life.

Even if it’s as a normal person.

He swallowed the last pastry, and the warmth of a full stomach gave him a renewed sense of strength.

The twenty-kilogram formalwear didn’t feel quite so unbearable now.

“All right. Time to step onto my battlefield.”

****

Dusk was fading into night.

The ballroom overflowed with music and laughter, goblets raised in every corner. It was lively, splendid.

And yet, Celicia stood alone on the balcony, gazing out at the Campbell estate’s nightscape.

In truth, in this world without electric lights, even the most beautiful scenery was little more than a patch of darkness at night. There was nothing special to see.

But Celicia still stared out at it, unblinking and unbored.

To her, it seemed, the vast and silent darkness was far more beautiful than the noisy banquet behind her.

“Leaving a noble princess unattended... seems I’ve been quite the neglectful host.”

Celicia raised her cool eyes—and met that familiar, gentle smile.

Muen Campbell was still every bit the perfect gentleman. He stood at a precise distance: respectful, yet not cold. Hand over his chest, he extended his invitation with practiced grace.

“Then, Your Highness, might ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) I be so bold as to request the honor of a dance?”

“You’re inviting me to dance?”

“Of course.”

Muen offered a faint smile. “Was my invitation not clear enough?”

“...”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Celicia’s eyes.

But after a pause, she placed her gloved hand gently into his.

“This is your coming-of-age banquet. I have no reason to refuse.”

“...Thank you.”

For some reason, Muen’s expression stiffened slightly—but only for a second. He quickly recovered and led Celicia to the very center of the ballroom.

The eye of every guest.

Music began to play—graceful and slow.

Muen held Celicia’s hand lightly, his other hand resting just above the small of her back. With the first beat of the melody, their bodies moved together—two butterflies twirling in tandem.

“You’re a decent dancer,” Celicia murmured.

“Thank you for the compliment. Though I’d say... barely passable.”

Muen offered a modest smile—like a true noble with hidden depths and quiet confidence.

But in truth...

He was just faking it really, really well.

Muen himself was surprised. For all his reputation as a spoiled wastrel, the original Muen had apparently picked up some solid dance skills somewhere along the way.

He’d been low-key panicking ever since Celicia accepted his invitation.

What confused him even more, though, was this:

According to the novel, Celicia was supposed to reject his request to dance.

So why had she agreed now?

“You’ve changed a bit, haven’t you, Muen Campbell?”

Her words cut clean through the music.

Muen’s heart skipped a beat.

Wait... don’t tell me she’s figured out I’m a transmigrator? Not even the Duke and Duchess had caught on—how did Celicia?

“Do I not behave like a proper noble in Your Highness’s eyes?”

“No. That’s not the change I meant.”

“Then...?”

“It’s the way you ask people.”