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

“This place is...”

Following Anna’s steps, Muen walked through a cramped, shadowed alley until they stopped in front of a small shop.

It was tiny and worn-down, tucked away at the very end of an equally old street. A massive tree stood before the entrance, its trunk too wide for one person to wrap their arms around. The yellowed leaves rustled as they fell.

The shop had no name, no customers. In fact, it was so remote that it was hard to imagine anyone ever passing by—let alone that a store could exist here at all.

“It’s very secluded here, so...”

Anna brushed aside a lock of hair from her forehead, gazing at the faded signboard and speaking softly.

“This is... a place I can return to, at least once in a while.”

“Return...”

Muen rolled the word around in his mind.

Anna stepped inside. Her gaze swept casually over the room before settling on the figure behind the counter—a man who looked as though he’d been sitting there forever, without ever moving.

The old man was ancient. His wrinkled skin was dotted with liver spots. His eyes were closed as if napping, and he didn’t stir even when people entered the shop.

“I’m back,” Anna said quietly.

Ding-ling.

Muen accidentally brushed the wind chime hanging overhead. He gave an apologetic smile and quickly stilled the out-of-place noise.

The shop fell silent again. Only after a long moment did the old man make a sound—a faint “Mm” from his nose.

“My room... it’s still there, right?” Anna asked.

Another long pause. Another soft “Mm.”

“All right.”

Anna turned to smile at Muen.

“Wait here, Junior. I’ll go change clothes.”

“Mm... okay.”

He had started to answer with an “Mm” himself but thought better of it at the last second.

“Look around if you like.”

Anna moved with familiarity, weaving past the piles of clutter behind the shop before ascending the creaking stairs and vanishing from sight.

Muen craned his neck to follow her until she disappeared, then sighed helplessly.

Changing clothes was fine, but really—wasn’t there such a thing as trust?

Still, once she was gone, he became aware of how... heavy the air in the shop felt.

“Why does this feel... awkward?”

Lowering his head, Muen glanced cautiously at the old man.

The elder seemed entirely unconcerned with the presence of a stranger, still dozing, eyelids unmoving.

Though Muen had plenty of questions, this hardly felt like the moment to ask. He shifted his focus instead, pretending to examine the shop’s wares.

It appeared to be a general store.

Small in size, yet filled with all manner of odd, mismatched goods—many of which Muen had never even seen before. There were strange tools and devices, and even dolls shaped like beautiful girls.

From them, he could sense faint traces of magic.

“These... are actually all magic tools?”

He was a little surprised. They looked bizarre, nothing like the standard products sold on the market.

Which meant... the old man had made them himself?

Muen stole another careful glance at him. If he really could craft all of these, the old man was no ordinary figure.

Still, as the son of a duke, Muen lacked for nothing in terms of magic tools, and soon lost interest, letting his gaze wander elsewhere.

“Huh?”

Something caught his eye, and his expression brightened.

He reached up to the higher shelves and pulled down a book in a prominent spot.

Calling it a book was generous—it was more like a photo album. On its cover was an unmistakably eye-catching image of a beautiful young woman.

Her hands were clasped as if in prayer, her face pure and saintly, but her clothing was shockingly revealing. It was clearly a heavily altered nun’s robe.

“Whoa...”

Muen’s eyes darted to the lettering beside the cover image, and his hand nearly trembled enough to drop the album.

“Saintess Photo Album.” This was that kind of thing?

As the Duke of Campbell’s son, the original Muen had seen portraits of several Saintesses before. And indeed, the girl on the cover bore a striking resemblance to one from the Life Church.

Even knowing it was certainly not the real person, the sheer forbiddenness of that resemblance was enough to send a thrill through the nerves.

Muen swallowed and reflexively started to open it—

“Waiting for your girlfriend to change clothes, and you sneak a peek at a dirty book? If she steps away again, are you planning to juggle a few more women?”

His hand froze mid-page. Slowly, he turned his head to see the old man, at some point, had opened his clouded eyes and was silently watching him.

Somehow, though he didn’t even know this man, Muen felt absurdly guilty—like a kitten caught stealing fish.

“No, no, I wasn’t looking at a dirty book. I was just... curious about the beauty of past Saintesses.”

Awkwardly smiling, he slid the album back into place.

“And besides, Senior and I aren’t that kind of relationship yet. You’re reading too much into it.”

“Is that so? She’s never brought a man back here before.” The old man’s tone was flat.

“Before? Back?”

Those words struck him, making his earlier suspicion feel even more plausible. His heartbeat quickened as he swallowed and asked,

“Could you be Senior’s...”

“I’m just a lonely old man.”

The elder beckoned. “Come here.”

Thinking of what his identity might be, Muen found himself unable to resist, obediently stepping forward.

“Give me your hand.”

“Oh, oh.”

He extended his hand, letting the old man’s dry, branch-like palm rest against his wrist.

At the moment of contact, a powerful sense of being examined washed over him, as though all his secrets were laid bare to the elder’s gaze.

His heart jolted sharply—only now realizing the old man might be far stronger than he’d imagined. If this probing was anything like what Professor Meladomir had done...

Fortunately, the elder seemed not to delve too deeply—or perhaps Meladomir’s method ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) had been the unusual one. In any case, the man appeared not to notice anything abnormal about him.

“So you’re only at late Second Rank in martial cultivation, and your magic is pitifully underdeveloped. Your foundation isn’t bad, but you don’t seem to be that girl’s match yet.”

He withdrew his hand, eyes skimming over Muen’s face.

“Good-looking enough though. Are you the pretty boy she’s keeping?”

“I am not!”

Muen bristled in indignation.

He was a duke’s son—he was the one who kept others, not the other way around!

...Though being kept by Senior didn’t sound entirely unpleasant—

No, no, no! He had to hold himself upright. He was a man who aimed to be on top—how could he fall so easily?

“Old man, what exactly do you want?” Muen forced a smile.

“Nothing.”

The elder lifted his eyelids again, giving him another long, deep look.

“Just wanted to see what the pretty boy she’s keeping looks like.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“But to be here at all means you’ve got guts,” the old man suddenly said. “You haven’t shamed the Campbell name.”

“...Eh?”

Muen blinked.

He knows who I am?

And... that means—

But before he could ask, the elder had already closed his eyes again, his demeanor once more one of ignoring the world.

“In that case, struggle a bit...”

Only the faint, drifting murmur of an aged voice remained, brushing Muen’s ear.

“I’ll buy you both time—until the final moment comes.”