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

(5000 curses and swear words missed)

...

...

“Despicable! Absolutely despicable! I will never accept this! Using such underhanded methods!”

After the bloom of spring, Muen launched a protest at Anne, standing before him.

Though, admittedly, his voice lacked conviction. Maybe it was because his body had been thoroughly wrung out and was now too weak to support his outrage. Or maybe it was because he was currently completely naked, making his posture less than commanding.

“At times like this, Young Master is just like a little boy,”

Anne said with a lingering flush on her cheeks, slowly and leisurely redressing herself in full view of Muen—who glared daggers at her. Or perhaps more accurately, at her body, as if trying to claw back some semblance of dignity through his gaze.

But Anne didn’t show a hint of shame. Instead, she tossed him the occasional teasing glance, as if to say:

Would Young Master like another round?

Muen’s teeth ached from grinding. His eyes flicked toward a spot of red staining the floor, and he cursed inwardly.

What the hell is wrong with these women? Why are they all so damn feral?

Celicia could still go straight into combat after it was over, and Anne... Anne acted like nothing happened. Hell, she looked like she could go another three hundred rounds.

Meanwhile, Muen looked like he’d been drained of life. His body wasn’t getting up any time soon.

...Wait, is it me? Am I just not good enough?

No. That couldn’t be right. It had gone on for over two hours, hadn’t it? Plus, with the drug boosting him, Muen had honestly felt like a beast.

No... it’s not that. It’s because I’m still too weak. If I don’t get stronger, I’ll be ruled by terrifying women like this for the rest of my life!

Muen clenched his teeth in frustration, once again reaffirming his desperate need for power.

“It’s getting late. You should rest for a bit, Young Master.”

Anne gracefully picked up Muen’s discarded clothes. She’d slipped effortlessly back into her role as his personal maid, bowing respectfully as she said:

“I have some matters to attend to. Please excuse me for now.”

“Wait!”

Muen cried out in alarm.

“You can go—but leave my clothes behind!”

“Hmm?”

Anne tilted her head, seemingly confused.

“Does Young Master still have a need for clothes?”

“Of course I do! I’m a living human being! Humans need to wear clothes!”

“Oh? Has Young Master forgotten our little agreement?”

“Agreement...?”

“Yes, the agreement.”

Anne lowered her head and smiled—a beautiful, entrancing smile. But beneath that smile, Muen felt something chilling. A dark, unnameable terror seemed to be staring at him from just behind her expression.

“Young Master... you’re my property now,” Anne whispered sweetly.

“That means I control everything about you. Including whether or not you’re allowed to wear clothes.

And right now, my decision is...

There’s no reason for you to wear anything, is there? After all, besides me, there’s no one else here.

And I’m afraid... you’ll be staying here a very, very long time.”

“...”

Muen wasn’t cold, but his teeth began to chatter. The way Anne smiled at him—gently, innocently—was far more terrifying than the stare of any bloodthirsty beast.

“Well then, rest up, Young Master. Once I’m finished with my tasks, I’ll come back to play~”

Anne patted his head, then turned and left, taking his clothes with her.

Muen stared after her until she vanished into the shadows.

...

“She’s gone?”

“...”

...

“Anne? You still there?”

...

“Moshi moshi? Anybody?”

...

“I know you’re still here! Stop pretending!”

...

The darkness gave no reply.

Once he was finally certain Anne had truly left, Muen let out a deep breath of relief.

Then his expression twisted into a scowl.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘your property’?! I don’t remember agreeing to that!”

...Well. Maybe there was something like that. He vaguely recalled saying something under the influence of the drug...

But that didn’t count! It was the drug! There’s no way it should be legally binding!

Can you really trust anything a man says when he’s thinking with the wrong head?

And even if his lower half made a decision—that’s its own business. What’s it got to do with his current, very sober upper half?

If anyone should be held responsible, it should be Second Brother, not his brain!

So naturally, Muen decided the second part—“never leave Anne”—had never even reached his ears.

In any case, his top priority now... was escape.

There was no way he was going to live out the rest of his life in here like some decorative doll for Anne’s amusement!

There’s always a way out. Heaven never seals every exit!

He tried to pump himself up.

...

Once his mind settled, Muen finally had time to examine his surroundings carefully.

It seemed to be a basement of some kind.

The walls and floor were unnervingly smooth—perfectly rectangular, dimly lit by a single flickering oil lamp overhead.

Directly ahead of him was a set of cold iron bars. The bars were as thick as his wrist—no way his skinny arms or legs were bending those.

The gate in the bars appeared to be the only exit, and Anne, ever so thoughtful, had locked it shut with a padlock bigger than Muen’s fist.

“Goddamn it. I’m already shackled—was this really necessary?!”

He couldn’t help but curse under his breath.

As for the rest of the room...

He reached back and ran a hand along the wall, then nudged the floor with his foot—and felt a chill run through his bones.

Metal.

The walls and floor were made of metal.

She actually built an entire prison out of solid metal?!

Anne had gone this far to ensure Muen wouldn’t have even the slightest chance of escape. She’d forged a fully enclosed steel cage.

There was no way he could tunnel out like in those old prison-break movies.

The only possible exit...

Muen craned his head upward. In the farthest corner of the ceiling, there was a vent—clearly some kind of air duct.

But it was tiny. Maybe a rat could squeeze through. Maybe.

“How the hell am I supposed to work with that?”

Muen’s heart sank into despair.

A fully metallic secret prison. No guards. No visible route of escape. And the only way out was the iron gate.

But Anne would never forget to lock it. As someone who’d been served by her for years, Muen knew—Anne was meticulous. The kind of maid who never left loose ends.

She knew his strength. She knew his habits.

She knew he couldn’t use magic. That aside from being a Tier 1 Warrior, he was effectively useless.

So she hadn’t bothered using any exotic locks or enchantments. She’d simply made the restraints sturdy enough that Muen couldn’t hope to break them.

You could say she’d plugged every hole in advance. She’d strangled any dream of escape in the cradle.

And right now, Muen didn’t even have a way to break the manacles binding his wrists.

“...Am I really going to spend the rest of my life ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) here?

As Anne’s... property?”