Never Die Villain

"Lord Ilya... is it true that people in the North wrestle bears?"

The two of them continued walking through the streets of Volnograd. Compared to the capital, the city was quieter, but it was by no means lifeless.

"Where did you hear that?"

Sherry laughed awkwardly.

"There are all sorts of stories in the capital. They say people here wrestle bears, drink spirits with every meal, and that children learn to hunt before they learn to read. I always assumed they were just exaggerated rumors."

"Hm..." Ilya thought about it for a moment. "Well... the bear wrestling part is true."

Sherry stopped walking.

"...."

"Not whenever we feel like it, though," Ilya corrected. "It’s part of the Day of First Frost, or as we call it, Den Pervogo Snega."

"...?"

"The younger hunters challenge specially raised frost bears in ceremonial matches every year. The bears aren’t killed, and the participants wear restraints to prevent either side from being seriously injured. Originally, it was a rite of passage to prove that someone had become an adult. These days it’s mostly a festival attraction."

"...Seriously?"

"I’ve participated before."

"You’ve wrestled... a bear?"

"Yes."

"And won?"

"I’d rather not talk about the time I lost."

Sherry looked at him for several seconds.

"I... I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me anymore..."

Ilya gave the faintest smile.

"I told you. People have strange ideas about the North."

"But that one’s actually true!"

"Yes."

"...That doesn’t help."

After wandering through the streets for a while longer, Ilya suddenly changed direction and stopped in front of a small storefront hidden away between a tailor’s workshop and an old bookstore.

Sherry looked up at the wooden sign hanging above the entrance before tilting her head in confusion.

"What is this place?"

"You’ll see."

Without another explanation, Ilya reached for the door before pausing.

"Oh, right."

He looked down at her feet.

"You should take your boots off."

"...Here?"

"Yes."

She glanced at the snow-covered street, then back at the shop, then at Ilya, whose expression remained completely serious.

"O-Okay..."

Although she had no idea why, she obediently crouched down and began untying her winter boots, carefully placing them beside the entrance before following Ilya inside in nothing but her stockings.

The moment they stepped through the doorway, the elderly shopkeeper behind the counter looked up from the newspaper he had been reading.

His gaze immediately fell to Sherry.

"...Young lady."

"Yes?"

"Why are you barefoot?"

"...."

Sherry slowly turned toward Ilya.

Ilya calmly looked away.

"...."

The shopkeeper frowned.

"This isn’t someone’s home. Keep your boots on."

"...."

Realization slowly dawned on Sherry’s face.

She walked back outside, picked up her boots, put them back on one at a time, then returned inside without saying a word.

Only after the door closed behind her did she look up at Ilya, her face completely red.

"...You did that on purpose."

"I was curious whether you’d actually do it."

Sherry stared at him in disbelief before letting out a defeated sigh.

"...You’re a terrible person sometimes, Lord Ilya."

"This is why you shouldn’t have such strange expectations about the North," Ilya replied. "You’ll end up believing all sorts of things."

"...So mean."

Sherry puffed out her cheeks before hurrying after him, still unable to believe she had actually taken her boots off in the middle of the street just because he had told her to.

The shop itself wasn’t particularly large.

Wooden shelves displayed all manner of northern crafts collected from across Severye. Hand-carved nutcrackers, painted wooden nesting dolls, birchwood carvings, and shelves of amber jewelry.

Unlike the souvenir stalls near the city gates, everything here had clearly been made by hand.

Ilya wandered between the shelves. Every now and then, he’d stop to pick something up before placing it back exactly where it had been. Eventually, his hand settled on a small painted nesting doll no taller than his palm.

He turned around.

"Here."

"...For me?"

Ilya nodded in response to her bewildered expression.

"I don’t need it, Lord Ilya," she replied with an awkward smile. "Besides, souvenirs are supposed to be bought when you’re leaving a place, aren’t they?"

"You’re assuming you’ll have another chance."

"Hm?"

"Once we arrive at the Grand Ducal estate, you’ll be busy learning your duties, and I’ll be occupied with mine. There won’t be many opportunities to wander around Severye like this."

He placed the doll into her hands.

"So you might as well buy your souvenir now."

Sherry looked down at the little wooden doll in her palms.

"It’s cute..."

"I noticed you looking at them when we walked in."

"...I was only looking."

"And now you can keep one."

For a moment, Sherry stared at the doll before smiling.

"...Thank you, Lord Ilya."

"Don’t thank me yet."

"Hm?"

"You’re paying for it."

Sherry’s smile disappeared.

"...Eh? I mean, of course. But to be so shameless about it..."

At that moment, her thoughts wandered somewhere they absolutely shouldn’t have.

In stories, wasn’t this usually the part where the gentleman smiled, insisted on paying anyway, and the heroine spent the next few minutes awkwardly refusing before eventually giving in?

Why had she expected something like that?

No, more importantly—what on earth was she thinking?!

Was she seriously comparing the Young Lord of House Belozersky to the male leads from the romance novels she secretly read before bed?

And who exactly did she think she was supposed to be?

The heroine?!

Before she could spiral any further into embarrassment...

"...I’m kidding."

Sherry raised her head.

"...You’re really so mean."

Still smiling to himself, Ilya began looking through the shelves on the walls. The shop carried all sorts of winter goods alongside its handmade crafts.

"You should pick out a few things," he said without looking back. "I’ll pay for them."

Sherry immediately shook her head.

"Ah... it’s really alright, Lord Ilya." She smiled sheepishly. "I’ve received my wages already, and the household has provided me with everything I need. I couldn’t possibly ask you to spend money on me."

Ilya picked up a pair of fur-lined gloves before setting them back down.

"I’m not asking."

"H-Huh?"

"You’ve been working hard ever since you entered the household, and you’ll be staying in Severye for the next month. There are a few things here that are difficult to find in the capital. It would be a waste to leave without taking advantage of it."

Sherry still looked hesitant.

"But... they’re expensive..."

"You’re speaking to the son of the Grand Duke."

"Th-That’s exactly why I can’t accept them!"

"Then think of it this way." He gestured toward the shelves around them. "If you don’t buy anything, I’ll have come all the way into this shop just to trick you into taking off your boots."

Sherry blinked.

Then she let out a small laugh.

"...That’s not fair."

"I know."

After a moment’s thought, she finally gave in.

"...Just one thing," she said. "If it’s only one, I think... I can accept that much."

"That sounds far more reasonable."

With that settled, the two of them continued browsing the shelves. Sherry eventually wandered toward a display of hand-knitted winter accessories while Ilya offered his opinion whenever she asked which color looked better.

By the time they approached the counter, she had finally settled on a small knitted ornament wrapped in a tiny woolen scarf

The elderly shopkeeper accepted the doll with a broad smile.

"My, my... The colors suit your beloved quite well, young man."

Sherry’s face flushed scarlet instantly.

"B-Beloved...? M-Me and Lord Ilya...? N-No, you’ve misunderstood! This is the Young Lord of the North, and to say something so disrespectful to the Beloze—Mmph!"

Before she could finish, Ilya, standing behind her, covered her mouth.

"Please don’t mind her," he said with an apologetic smile. "She’s a little too earnest sometimes."

"Mmph! Mmph!"

The old shopkeeper blinked before breaking into a hearty laugh.

"Hahaha! Young love, eh? I remember being like that myself."

Ilya closed his eyes for a second.

"...That isn’t helping."

Realizing he had only made the misunderstanding worse, he slowly lowered his hand from Sherry’s mouth.

"L-Lord Ilya! He thinks we’re—"