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

“Phew.”

Muen let out a long breath, opened his eyes, and stared blankly at the white, hazy daylight.

His gaze was dazed for a moment, as if he still hadn’t come back from the scene just now, until a trace of cold sensation flowed into his mind and completely dragged his soul back from that night of blood and blades.

Sparse snowflakes drifted down from the sky, melting on his skin. The sycamore’s bare branches were sheathed in silver frost, like works of art under a painter’s brush.

Right now he was sitting beneath the sycamores he often visited. It was very quiet around him, with no one to disturb him.

Serene and beautiful.

“It’s been a while since I trained in the Black Book. I feel like... maybe I played it a little too hard.”

Feeling the faint emptiness in his head from mental dryness, and the phantom pain that seemed to still linger in his limbs, Muen rubbed his temples and couldn’t help showing a wry smile.

Unconsciously, this duke’s son who used to be pampered had already turned into someone who can’t sit still at all.

Clearly he’d only just escaped Teacher Meladomir’s devilish hands not long ago and could have enjoyed some of this shamelessly idle leisure—but not only at night. The moment he spaced out even a little, he was once again standing in the virtual space the Black Book created, facing those near-real records, gripping Elizabeth.

Edge against edge, flesh against flesh, fighting to the death.

And it even felt kind of exhilarating.

Wait a second...

Muen jolted.

Exhilarating?

Getting slashed hurts like hell—how could I possibly find that exhilarating?

Don’t tell me getting cut so much has turned me into a masochist.

“No, no, no—this is not masochism!”

Muen shook his head hard in denial.

The reason he felt exhilarated was only because the brain, in order to counterbalance the body’s pain, goes crazy secreting dopamine.

Just like how people who work out regularly get increasingly addicted to the gym, this is not some psychologically twisted masochistic tendency; it’s simply the most normal chemical reaction in the body.

“Exactly. I’m a man who’s sworn to be on top—how could I be a masochist.”

Having obtained a scientific explanation, Muen smiled in satisfaction, then twisted his body and sprawled completely across the bench.

Anyway, best to relax first...

“Muen Campbell!”

A sudden, familiar call startled the snow off the branches.

“So you were here after all!”

“Hm?”

Muen tilted his head casually to dodge the falling snow and looked toward the direction of the voice.

A head of black hair spilled loosely. The unpainted face wouldn’t strike anyone as stunning, but it was very easy on the eyes, the corners of her lips hooked in ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) a touch of unbridled, confident smile.

Hands on hips, the girl wore a somewhat loose, plain uniform, and beneath it was her signature... flat chest.

Ariel.

And... Liya behind her.

But Liya deliberately cocked her head and wouldn’t look at Muen, clearly with no intention of talking. Naturally, Muen wouldn’t force a conversation.

His gaze slid back.

Muen let his eyes sweep once over the chest Ariel was deliberately puffing out, and couldn’t help showing a trace of pity.

Absolutely no change.

Well, makes sense. According to Liya, Ariel’s still stuck eating black bread every day—how could there be any change.

“What are you looking at?” Ariel’s willow brows suddenly shot up as she barked.

“Ahem.”

Muen coughed twice in embarrassment, covering his impolite gaze, and smiled:

“Long time no see, classmate Ariel. How have you been lately?”

“Hmph, drop the fake courtesy. We’re not that close.”

“...”

Still just as unfriendly.

“So, did you need something from me?”

“Mm... I saw you’ve been showing up to class lately, so I came to return your thing, that’s all.” Ariel folded her arms and spoke coldly.

“Return my thing?”

Muen blinked.

He didn’t recall Ariel owing him anything.

While he was still puzzled, he saw Ariel pull out a huge suitcase.

She opened it.

Inside, naturally, was crammed full of bills Muen knew all too well.

“Take this one million back. I don’t want your filthy money!”

“...So it is that.”

Muen sighed. “You don’t have to return it. I told you, it was compensation for what I did to you before, and also thanks for back then.”

“I don’t want it.”

Ariel curled her lip and sneered:

“Who knows what scheme you’re running—trying to corrupt my soul with this and make me lower my guard against you? Keep dreaming!”

“...”

“In short, take your filthy money back. We owe each other nothing!”

Ariel flung the suitcase at Muen, grabbed Liya, and turned to leave.

Muen lowered his head to glance at the case in his arms, then flicked a look at Liya, who hadn’t said a single word, and called after Ariel’s back:

“Really don’t need it? I heard you’ve had it pretty rough lately. I can treat it as a loan, interest-free.”

“...No need.”

Ariel’s body paused, then she said in a firm tone:

“Those difficulties—I’ll break through all of them with my own effort. I don’t need your pity!”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. A guy like you, secretly napping here in broad daylight and wasting time, wouldn’t understand.” Ariel said disdainfully.

“Wouldn’t understand...”

Muen tilted his head and thought for a moment, then laughed freely. “Can’t be helped, then.”

Since Ariel didn’t want it, he couldn’t exactly force her, could he?

“Hmph.”

Ariel snorted, pulling Liya away. Her retreating figure was as proud as the hero in a story who always forges ahead and never loses, about to stride bravely into...

But halfway there, the hero suddenly turned back and marched toward Muen step by step with aggressive momentum.

She extended a small hand.

“Hm?”

“The case...”

“What?” Muen looked blank.

“I said the case!”

Ariel ground her teeth, cheeks hot with shame as she snapped:

“The case costs money too. You don’t expect to just take it for free, do you!”

“...”

In the end, the great hero turned back—for the suitcase fee of 126 Aemils.

...

A few minutes later.

A figure returned to the spot.

It was Liya.

“Sorry.”

Liya came to stand before Muen, fingers twisting together, and said softly:

“Ariel’s too stubborn.”

“I don’t recall anything you need to apologize to me for.”

Muen arched a brow at her and smiled:

“And besides, isn’t that temper of Ariel’s pretty cute?”

Stubborn.

You could also call it persistence.

Guarding a bottom line, guarding a belief.

Without these strong qualities, even if one bore fortune and opportunities, there’d be no way in a world this terrifying to become that sole destiny-favored, phoenix-proud main character.

In a sense, Ariel’s decision right now isn’t surprising.

It’s just that when you focus too much on the road ahead, you subconsciously overlook the people at your side.

Like the cute girl standing in front of Muen.

“I’ll start then.”

“Mm.”

No extra words. In the sycamore grove where there was no one else, as agreed, Liya raised her violin and began to play.

Muen closed his eyes to listen.

The music flowed like a mountain stream, gently smoothing away fatigue.

Unknowingly, Muen drifted into sleep...

...

“Was... was my playing that bad?”

He didn’t know how long had passed. When Muen opened his eyes again, what he saw was Liya’s puffed-cheek, pretty face.

“It actually bored you to sleep!”

“Ah, sorry.”

Feeling the emptiness in his head gone, Muen stretched contentedly and smiled:

“It wasn’t boring at all—quite the opposite. Music this wonderful, that lets me feel utterly at ease, is extremely rare.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Muen pulled a wad from the million Ariel had just returned and handed it to Liya, teasing:

“Have a little more confidence, Miss Liya. You’re my highly paid private musician—if you don’t live up to the name, I won’t be paying.”

“Hmph.”

Liya took the money with a cute little huff. Who knows what she thought of, but her pretty face flushed red again.

...

After Liya left, Muen was still sprawled on the bench, watching the sky grow dark and listening to the laughter and chatter drifting from not far away after afternoon classes ended.

“It really does feel... like things have calmed down.”

No Evil Gods.

No enemies.

No life-and-death crisis.

No love-combat hellscape.

And no hatchet pressed to his throat at any moment.

Classes.

Cultivation.

Killing some monsters in the Black Book, taking some abuse under Teacher Meladomir’s hand.

Listening to classmate Liya’s wonderful music, and every now and then sneaking out of the Academy to secretly go find a senior and spend a lovely night.

Everything, so peaceful.

“This is the beautiful everyday life on campus I’ve been hoping for.”

Feeling this intoxicating atmosphere, the corners of Muen’s lips unconsciously curled into a blissful smile.

No matter what, the villains couldn’t possibly stir up trouble again so soon, and with Teacher Meladomir sitting in town at the Academy, there was no way anything unexpected would happen.

Even in the original book, this stretch of the plot was glossed over in a single stroke. There was no way any unforeseen waves would arise.

So he might as well take this chance and thoroughly enjoy...

“Pretty leisurely lately, Muen Campbell.”

Right then, at the other end of the bench, a figure Muen knew well suddenly appeared.

He wore a perfectly fitted, close-cut gentleman’s suit. The top hat on his head sat properly and seemed not the least bit askew. In his hand he gripped a silver cane inlaid with exquisite gems and etched with arcane patterns.

He sat down on the bench without a hint of warning. Though there was a trace of teasing in his tone, his aged face remained stiff and stern.

“Pr... Professor Prang?”

The smile at Muen’s lips froze at once. He turned his head stiffly to look at the old man sitting beside him, a sudden bad premonition rising in his heart.

“I’ve been attending class properly lately. I haven’t been skipping!” Muen instinctively straightened up and spoke in a ringing voice.

“I’m not here to hold you accountable for skipping.”

“Then... I also haven’t forced Liya. What’s between us is pure...”

“That too—don’t worry.”

Professor Prang shot Muen a sidelong, half-smiling glance and said:

“Even I admit I’m a stuffy old man, but not so stuffy I’d interfere with a fair, willing transaction like that.

...So long as you don’t really take things too far afterward and bully the young lady, the Academy will turn a blind eye.”

“Haha, is that so...”

Muen chuckled dryly in response, mind racing.

He wasn’t here to catch me skipping, and not here to stop my arrangement with classmate Liya...

Then what did Professor Prang come for?

I haven’t done anything bad lately!

Surely he didn’t come to discuss life ideals with me!

“Student Muen.”

While Muen was puzzled, Professor Prang flexed his five fingers around the cane. On that stern, old face, there appeared a kindly smile that only made Muen more uneasy.

“Do you know... the Life Church’s Holy Ablution Rite?”