The Doll Has a Name Chapter 6 - The Wild Doll

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“Father… please forgive me. Hena, I’m sorry. Kill me.”

 

Clenching her trembling hands tightly on her lap—hands that could no longer even shake properly—Kise begged for forgiveness from the Marquis and Herciana, who were back at home.

 

Five minutes before the performance began. She was now seated in what could be called the front row of VIP seats. She had hoped for a dark corner where she could disappear, but in the end, she ended up in a spot that drew everyone’s attention.

 

Thus, against her will, she was crowned today’s Lady of the party.

 

How did it come to this? Someone else might wonder. Well, step by step, this is how it happened.

 

“From the moment you entered, my eyes were drawn to you as if by instinct. I felt an irresistible pull. As though I could find you no matter where you were. Isn’t it a marvelous twist of fate?”

 

And here she was, face-to-face with yet another absurdly troublesome psychic—this one wielding the power of a human magnet.

 

“Do you know that today’s opera is about romantic lovers?”

 

The culprit behind this dazzling honor was sitting right next to her, leaning an arm against the back of her chair while gazing at her intently. He had even turned fully toward her. 

 

At this rate, his spine might twist into a spiral.

 

“No, this is the first I’ve heard of it. I was under the impression it was about a playboy who sold his soul to the devil.”

 

“Haha, of course! You don’t take jokes well, do you?”

 

She knew—no, she didn’t know. What jokes could she possibly share with him? She had deliberately responded seriously to the man’s jest.

 

Yet he laughed it off cheerfully… She was already exhausted. The surrounding murmurs made her feel as though yesterday’s digested meals might come right back up.

 

“Um… Your Highness.”

 

“You may call me Perez. Let’s not create distance between us.”

 

“…”

 

“Herciana.”

 

Please, don’t do this. I beg you to spare my life!

 

Kise broke into an invisible cold sweat. 

 

In her 18 years as a Baby Doll, she swore she had never faced such an ordeal.

 

Had there been a major shift in the game last night? 

 

No, there hadn’t. There was none. Not even a single tremor—just a peaceful night’s sleep. And hadn’t she dutifully prayed to the goddess before bed? 

 

— “Goddess, please grant me success in a splendid plunder tomorrow!”

 

At the time, she truly believed the goddess had answered her prayer. But if this was the answer, it felt like betrayal.

 

Shivering with frustration, Kise made sure not to let her gaze stray even accidentally to the side. 

 

The one who had taken the seat beside her without permission—the Sixth Prince, Perez Haven.

 

A man who, if stripped of his title as prince, would be nothing more than a corpse. She had never engaged in fishing, yet here he was, a fish caught in a net she hadn’t even cast.

 

Even if the world were reduced to just him and her, she’d rather become a vegetarian, shave her head, and retreat to the mountains.

 

The Kingdom of Haven has six princes in total. 

 

The eldest is the crown prince, and the second died at birth. The third was poisoned—or at least suspected to be—due to concubines’ schemes, while the fourth went hunting drunk, only to be struck in the chest by a bear’s paw and meet his end.

 

The fifth is so frail he’s practically bedridden, and the sixth is infamous for his lack of intellect.

 

Among them, the only ones who could pass as functional humans are the first and sixth princes. 

 

The eldest, reliable enough, ascended as heir—thank the small mercies—while the youngest, spoiled rotten, grew up to be a brat.

 

Yes, so the guy next to me right now is that infamous Sixth Prince. 

 

It’s an accepted truth, more undeniable than the fact that fire burns, that no noble lady who gets entangled with him ends up well.

 

What do I do? I’m screwed. If I go home, Herciana’s gonna snap my waist in half and kill me.

 

Just as my mind was spinning wildly with anxious thoughts, I sensed a heavy presence approaching. 

 

Perez leaned his upper body toward me.

 

With sharp reflexes, Kise noticed his impure hand creeping toward hers resting on her lap. In a flash, she snapped open her fan and waved it fiercely.

 

Whoosh, blow, wind! Shoo this prince away! Someone save me!

 

Perez smirked faintly, as if amused by her eel-like evasion of his touch. His expression seemed to say, Playing hard to get, huh?

 

When we first entered the theater, he tried to guide me to my seat by grabbing my waist.

 

Waist, hands—next would be the lips. 

 

A shiver ran down my spine. Thanks to the prince’s sudden appearance, like a bolt from the blue, people around Kise hesitated to approach.

 

All that effort I put into raising familiarity and favorability, chattering away until my facial muscles cramped—gone in an instant. The moderately respectable, moderately dim-witted sons of decent families vanished like shadows.

 

Damn it, damn it! I was supposed to plunder them!

 

Now, I genuinely felt like crying.

 

“Herciana.”

 

“…”

 

“Lady Darein.”

 

“…Yes?”

 

“There’s an evening garden party after the opera. Won’t you join me?”

 

What kind of party is this now? Stop it. I’m not leaving!

 

Kise’s fanning visibly slowed in disgust.

 

Seizing the moment, Perez reached out, grabbed her fan-holding hand, and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

 

“Won’t you give me the chance to be your partner tonight? I beg you to grant me this hand, beautiful lady.”

I can hear the sound of my patience melting away. 

 

Swallowing hard to suppress them, Kise first withdrew her hand. Then, without even pausing for breath, she blurted out, “No. I wish to return home immediately.”

“Hmm, and why is that? I’ve heard people call you a ghost. If they saw you with me, such talk would naturally fade. If you’re worried about returning late, I can offer you a comfortable room in my residence where you may stay. It would be lovely to share refreshments and admire the night sky together.”

How delightful—just what I needed, thorns planted every millimeter along the path of an unmarried woman already struggling to find a match.

 

Good heavens, does this utterly baseless flirtation even make sense? 

 

No matter how hard you gild it, nothing will come of it. The real one is at home, and I’m the fake. I’m not her. No matter how hard I try to feign calm, a storm rages inside. 

 

If only my inner turmoil would settle along with my composed exterior.

 

Kise parted her lips with an “I’m sorry,” conveying her refusal while tilting her head pitifully, as if regretful. Her glossy black hair cascaded softly over her shoulders with the movement.

 

Staring intently at her, Perez whispered with sudden gravity, as though struck by profound realization,

“Blinking those striking blue eyes behind delicate strands of hair… You look just like a wounded baby bluebird.”

 

A baby… My limbs curl up so much I can’t even finish reading. You’ve just insulted me! 

 

Overwhelmed by fury, I throw down my fan, and as the curtain rises, darkness descends.

 

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Too tense while watching, I can’t remember a single thing I saw.

What on earth gave the philandering male protagonist Anton the confidence to fool around with this woman and that woman, only to get betrayed by a demon and dragged to hell in the end? 

 

That’s it?

 

With stiff shoulders and arms hidden, Kise pushed through the crowd with an expression that seemed to say, I’ve just returned from hell, but none of you would notice, and stepped out through the grand doors of the Mist Palace. 

 

Quickly, quickly—fast strides.

 

“Herciana!”

 

“…”

 

No. I think I can guess what the theme of the opera was. 

 

So the core message of that lengthy performance was to encourage free love. 

 

“Young people, love freely! You have the right to free love!” 

 

What nonsense… Then, shouldn’t they also give us the right to refuse free love?

 

Kise Ohara, whose steps had been halted by Perez following behind, mulled over the thought above.

 

Perez, who had shown remarkable synchronization with the opera’s protagonist, puffed out his chest and declared grandly:

“I’d like to escort you home. May I have your permission?”

 

What? Of course not!

 

This was creepy consideration. Kise shuddered and tightly gripped the hem of her dress to shake off the discomfort. 

 

Fortunately, just beyond the clock tower, the figure of Sir Moens, waiting as arranged, came into view.

 

If she could just make it that far, she’d have an excuse to shake him off. Slowly guiding their progress forward, Kise began reinforcing her defenses.

 

“The distance from the royal palace to the Natura Forest is quite far, Your Highness. It’s not a convenient route for you to take.”

 

“Escorting a lady would make the journey feel otherwise.”

 

“But it’s notoriously long. Didn’t the great writer Lafan describe it in his book? ‘That traveler heading to Natura Forest, willingly offering his suffering to the goddess. Foolish youth, turn back at once!’ You must have heard that line before?”

 

“Hmm, I know it. That book—the one highly recommended to the kingdom’s youth—”

 

“A tedious must-read.”

 

“Right. Extremely tedious. I couldn’t even finish it.”

 

“The forest path is arduous. That’s a widely held prejudice and preconception. You know full well how important it is to follow the trend in such matters. For us, the trend is like a mother we must not defy.”

 

“True. Following the trend is crucial. We shouldn’t stray from it.”

 

“Exactly. So, please erase any thought of escorting me. I’ll keep it absolutely secret—I won’t tell a soul.”

 

I know full well how foolish this conversation is. But for nobles, this method is quite effective—and royalty is no exception.

Perez, too, was left bewildered, his train of thought tangled in the paradox created by logic.

As Kise walked away briskly, leaving him behind, Perez seemed to snap out of it and hurried after her with near-running steps.

“But I can feel it—fate. I keep thinking I mustn’t let you slip away like this.”

 

Fate. Such a self-centered, self-serving, self-made word.

Should I kindly tell him that I, too, feel a fate—one that makes me want to smash the world to pieces over his insufferable meddling?

 

Resisting his so-called fate would require too much focus, so Kise concentrated solely on walking faster.

 

“When you look at a man, where do you usually focus?”

“His face.”

“Haha, I suspected as much from the start. You’re quite skilled at wordplay. That’s why I find you amusing.”

“Pardon? How could I ever dare to jest with Your Highness? I’ve been answering you sincerely all along. I look at a man’s face, Your Highness.”

 

Ferrais’s appearance was thoroughly ordinary. Though his title was prince, his looks were far from fairy-tale—firmly grounded in reality.

And, unfortunately, reality dictated that “ordinary” simply wouldn’t cut it.

Even from Herciana’s perspective, let alone Kise’s, that was the case. For one, Viscount Darein wasn’t ambitious enough to push for his daughter’s marriage solely for social climbing.

And if he had to provide a dowry to make this fool a prince consort, the entire family would surely cough up blood, lamenting the wasted money. Since any man entering the family would have to be a live-in son-in-law, looks were undeniably the priority. 

 

After all, a man must at least be presentable.

 

Perez seemed to have been struck by the blunt remark a second time as he touched his own face.

 

Yes, please go ahead and touch it. Maybe you’ll finally realize on your own that you’re an absolute ‘nope’ with zero room for reconsideration.

 

Kise swiftly moved her feet, quickly closing the distance to the carriage.

 

Yes! Escape at last!

 

With a glance, she silently urged, Sir Moens, hurry up! Sensing the unusual tension as he alternated glances between Kise and the prince behind her, Sir Moens quickly approached the coachman.

 

Before boarding the carriage—not for looks, not for reputation, not for background, and certainly not for personal taste—she paused briefly to bid farewell to the prince.

 

“Thank you for escorting me this far. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

 

She bent her knee slightly in a crisp curtsy. If she dragged this fool along any further, she’d meet her end at Herciana’s hands. It was best to cut ties here.

 

Perez, with a hint of reluctance, glanced at the black carriage of the Marquis’s household and showed signs of lingering attachment.

 

“My carriage is far more spacious and cozy than this, you know. It’s like a pumpkin carriage crafted by fairies. A golden one pulled by white horses.”

 

So, what, you want me to ride it and bask in the feeling of being Cinderella or something?

 

For a moment, Kise pictured the fairy-tale prince who married Cinderella in her mind.

 

A guy who knew nothing about the girl except that their dancing chemistry was decent, made his subordinates suffer, turned the whole kingdom upside down, and still managed to marry her.

The thought that he was a psycho-obsessive and a walking nuisance made her nearly blurt out What the hell? Without even a running start—it jumped straight to the tip of her tongue.

 

When Perez extended his hand to help her into the carriage, she pretended not to see it, as if by accident, radiating the energy of My legs work just fine, so mind your own business. 

 

Put that hand away! 

 

She stepped firmly onto the footboard and climbed in on her own.