Digging Trap Between Each Other

Exactly—Luke was playing dumb. Or rather, feigning density.

Romance-novel protagonists often got roasted: “If it were me, our kid would be walking by now.” “Still clueless? I’m dying here!” “Won’t make a move—does the MC have issues downstairs?”

But Luke’s take: huge upside. For clingy admirers he didn’t like, pretending not to notice spared direct rejection—no hurt feelings, no awkwardness.

Now, on romance-brained Iris? Perfect.

“This…” Iris’s first instinct: Lady Elia likes you! But she swallowed it.

This wasn’t Earth, but some norms held.

Girls reserved, passive. Confessing first? Desperate, low-class.

As Elia’s closest maid— privy to bedroom secrets—Iris couldn’t blab.

“Huh? She’s that gorgeous, and you feel nothing?”

Thankfully, a certain redhead, seeing no stakes, forgot his “career first” spiel.

Luke didn’t expect a pro, but pro-killer Luke had a counter. “So, Brother Charlie—you like Lady Elia?”

“Nah, just a little sister and someone to respect.” Charlie shrugged, casual—Iris wouldn’t misread.

“Same here.” Luke smiled. “As for her liking me… From what I know, Lady Elia cares for the world, its people. Pure all these years. No way she’d notice a mere 250th Hero.”

“Nonsense. Your strength rivals Top 50. Looks… well, just a hair below mine.” Charlie glanced at Iris, shameless.

Iris knew Elia was smitten, but if Luke felt nothing, no need to test fidelity.

Even if he hooked up with noblewomen later, no grounds to blame him.

[But if that happens, secretly crushing Elia would be pitiful… Make Luke like her? No—forcing it brings no happiness… Have Elia confess? Unseemly—and with her self-sacrificing nature, she’d give up… AHH, WHAT NOW?!]

Iris spiraled into torment.

Luke wasn’t letting her stew. The pinkette didn’t like him anyway—his “coldness” would only bruise her ego from constant worship.

Once she realized it aided her plan? She’d celebrate. Unacceptable.

He didn’t want the pinkette happy—at all. Their goals? Polar opposites.

So when Charlie returned to training and Iris prepared to leave, Luke called: “Miss Iris, one question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Does Lady Elia have someone she likes?”

“Huh? No, no—Lady Elia has no one… for now.” Iris panicked—Did I slip?—then backpedaled to leave an opening.

“Good.” Luke nodded softly.

Iris turned, took a few steps—

“Sorry, one more.”

“No problem.”

“Are many pursuing her?”

“Of course—but she rejected them all.”

“Good.” Luke nodded, smile creeping.

Iris stopped walking.

“Really sorry for holding you up.” Luke looked apologetic. “But this time, truly no more questions.”

“Lord Luke, why the sudden curiosity?”

“Nothing—just wondered. Did I trouble you?”

“Not at all. Ask me anytime about Lady Elia.”

“Big help. Thank you.”

Luke’s handsome face radiated childlike, uncontainable joy.

“You’re welcome.”

For Iris, enough. Her favorite romance novel: the male lead, first crush, grilled the best friend exactly like this—blushing, oblivious when asked why.

Elia, also a romance rookie, claimed “just admiration”? Iris’s matchmaker soul blazed.

Must pair them. Must make them happy!

…

[Ever consider I might’ve read that novel?]

After Iris left, beaming, Luke roasted inwardly. He hadn’t—just mind-read. Result? Solid acting.

Image set: emotionally dense but does like Elia.

Benefit? From intel: the pinkette hated Iris’s constant shipping. What pinkette disliked, Luke championed. You attack, I counter—self-defense.

Plus, same as Charlie: poach her trusted circle, leave her a lone commander. Picturing her fuming yet forced to smile—Luke cackled.

Meanwhile, post-tea-party Elia was ecstatic.

The most notorious wives and misses? Obsessed with Luke. Post-courage-buff? “Luke” triggered feral eyes—ready to pin him down and devour.

[Hee hee hee…]

Elia couldn’t wait to see him trapped.