Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 15: When Siblings Are Scarier Than Winter

[Leif’s POV – Weeks Later]

The Trivium Core.

The one stone that makes all other mana stones look like shiny pebbles.

Legend says this thing can outlast armies of mages and hold the warmth of the sun, the breath of the wind, and the patience of a saint—all cramd into one jewel. Which is great for us, except... there’s a catch.

They’re rare. Stupidly rare. Rare enough that the imperial family looked at them and went, "Mine. Ours. Hands off, peasants."

So, of course, they’re owned by the Imperial Palace. Locked, sealed, kissed by bureaucracy, guarded like a dragon’s hoard. aning... we can’t touch them without bowing to the Crown Prince.

Baron Sigurd’s voice rumbled beside , calm but grim. "And since they were inford about your greenhouse project... they’ve co to inspect personally."

"...So that’s why, huh?" My lips twisted. "They ca this fast? Do they... do they want to claim the rights to my project too?"

I blinked at him, then leaned heavily against the frosted window ledge, bundled so tightly in my wool cloak that I looked less like a noble lord and more like a human burrito. Beside , my crimson baby—a fluffy ball of fur with sleepy eyes—mirrored perfectly, tiny nose squished against the glass as though he, too, was pondering the futility of existence.

Below us, the courtyard was utter chaos. Shouts, whispers, nervous chatter. Armor clanged off imperial knights, their silver-plated presence loud and terrifying all on its own.

Because...

Crown Prince Arden. And Lady Sirella.

Yes. That Lady Sirella.

The infamous villainess of the novel. Collector of enemies. Professional reputation destroyer. And laughter so shrill and dramatic it could peel paint off the walls.

And now she was here. In my courtyard.

I squinted at the scene below, my stomach plumting like a stone into an icy lake.

"I feel like..." I muttered, dragging a hand down my face, "...the universe just looked at and said: ’Hey, Leif, rember when you thought life couldn’t possibly get more complicated?’ Well SURPRISE. Here’s the crown prince and the certified queen of chaos herself—at your doorstep."

I hugged my crimson baby tighter, whispering into his soft fur. "Buddy... we might not survive this arc."

Naturally, my little fluffball threw back his big head and howled. Loud. Triumphant. Like he’d just declared war on the heavens themselves.

"...Yeah, thanks for the morale boost," I muttered. "Glad one of us has the courage to scream at fate."

I leaned back into my chair with the weight of a man who’d just rembered every bad decision of his past life and this one combined. Because the problem wasn’t just the Trivium Core stone. Oh no. Fate had decided to bring along the Deluxe Disaster Package:

The Crown Prince. And Lady Sirella.

My two biggest haters. The only people who probably wake up in the morning and think, "How can I ruin Leif’s day?"

And honestly? They’ve got history to justify it.

Original Leif—before my poor transmigrated soul landed in this ss—was dumb enough to clash with both of them. Why? Because he did the worst thing you could ever do in noble society. He took sides.

He chose to support Elowen.

Elowen—sweet, wide-eyed, dirt-poor Elowen. The girl with no family, no background, and nothing to her na but sheer stubbornness. A girl who clawed her way up by using nobles and actually winning.

. . .

. . .

I scratched my cheek, mumbling to myself, "Now that I think about it... Elowen, suing nobles left and right... doesn’t she sound more like the villainess than Sirella does? At least Sirella’s cris involve dramatic laughter and outfit coordination. Elowen went using every higher noble, and she ended up becoming their god."

I sighed, wrapping the cloak tighter around .

"Anyway... I think Grand Duke Alvar is a very big boy with very big magic and very big shoulders. He can deal with these royal headaches himself. Why should I use my brain when we’ve got an Archmage and a Duke standing by?"

I leaned back further, lifting my chin like so tragic noble in exile. "I hereby resign from all plots involving royalty. Effective imdiately."

... Naturally, the universe stamped my resignation, crumpled it, and set it on fire.

Because one hour later, there I was. Standing in the drafty hallway. Carrying five beer bottles like so desperate peasant mule. And right in front of ?

Lady Sirella. Crown Prince Arden.

Yes. Both of them. At once.

My soul physically trembled. I swear I felt my ancestors shiver in their graves.

I... I just wanted to get my beer because Nick, the eternal traitor, was "too busy" to fetch my drinks, so I’d gone myself. I even chose the longest, most out-of-the-way route back to my room specifically to avoid these people. And yet. And. Yet. Destiny clearly had on speed dial.

Sirella’s lips curved into a smile sharp enough to slit throats. "Well, well. Look who crawled back into the light. Long ti no see... Leif."

If malice were wine, her voice would’ve been a vintage.

I bowed so hard the beer bottles clinked like funeral bells. "Greetings, Your Highness Sirella. Your Highness Crown Prince Arden."

Smooth. So smooth. Truly, political diplomacy at its finest.

Arden’s eyes dragged over , cool and assessing, like I was a cockroach who’d sohow crawled onto a velvet cushion. Then, slowly, deliberately, he said:

"You seem... quite well." His tone dripped with disbelief. "We thought you might have frozen to death after hearing you’d co to this forsaken land."

I opened my mouth to retort but froze as his gaze slid down... and locked onto the tiny crimson bundle toddling loyally at my heels.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Suffocating. Until finally, Arden arched one perfectly grood brow.

"...So. The rumors were true, then." His voice dipped lower, weighted with sothing unreadable. "You really tad the Crimson Pack."

I nearly dropped my beer. "’Tad’ is such a strong word," I blurted. "I prefer... coworking relationships."

My crimson baby Howled once. Very proudly. As if confirming yes, in fact, I was his emotional support burrito.

Sirella’s smirk sharpened, her golden earrings catching the torchlight. "Adorable. Our little Leif... playing beastmaster." She tilted her head, eyes glinting like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. "Tell , will you have your packs bow to your darling Elowen as well? Or is she too busy clawing her way up the social ladder with your pity as her crutch?"

. . .

. . .

You know what?

Forget the cold. Forget the Trivium Core.

Soone—anyone—throw into a snowbank and bury alive or....SOONE SAVE FROM THESE TWO WALKING NIGHTMARES.

And then—like the divine answer to my silent scream:

"Leif."

I swear the world sparkled. I turned, in slow motion, and there he was. Alvar. Grand Duke, ice prince, occasional sadist—but in this mont, my knight in a shining fur cloak.

He strode toward , voice deceptively casual. "I’ve been looking for you..."

Without hesitation, I skidded toward him like a man sprinting for the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. I shoved two beer bottles into his hands because my own were full, then imdiately clutched his empty one with both of mine.

"Please," I muttered fiercely, "save from those siblings."

He blinked.I blinked.My crimson baby blinked.

Behind , I could feel it—the royal siblings’ gaze. Hot. Piercing. Their brows furrowed like they were trying to set on fire with pure hatred.

Alvar’s eyes flicked over my shoulder, catching their stares. Then... he looked back at . And smirked.

That smirk. The dangerous, I’m-enjoying-this smirk.

"What will I get?" he asked smoothly.

I froze. "Wh-what?"

He tilted his head, squeezing my hand ever so slightly, his voice dropping low. "You’re asking to intervene, Leif. That sort of service isn’t free."

My soul physically LEFT my body.Was this man—this alleged savior—seriously negotiating my desperate survival?

I trembled, teeth grinding like a squirrel chewing rocks. "...Anything. You. Want."

The smirk widened."Anything?"

I wanted to throw my beer at his smug face. Instead, I nodded like a condemned prisoner signing their last will.

"Yes. Anything. Na it. Just—save ."

Behind us, I could feel Sirella and Arden’s gazes stabbing holes into my back. I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be buried six feet under, with Sirella giving the eulogy while Arden poured the wine.

Alvar chuckled low, the sound vibrating so close to my ear it sent shivers down my spine. He leaned in, his breath brushing the side of my face, voice curling like smoke.

"Don’t forget this promise of yours, Leif... When the ti cos... I will use it."

My whole body froze.

...WHAT.

What did he an by that?! Use it when? Use it how??

I dared a glance up at him. Those sharp, blue eyes glead—not at Sirella, not at Arden, but at . Like I was so deal he had already won, so prey that had walked into his palm willingly.

My crimson baby gave a small whine, as if to say, Dad... I think we’ve adopted a demon, not a savior.

I swallowed hard, clutching my beer like it was a holy relic. Because in that mont, one horrifying truth beca clear.

The Crown Prince and Lady Sirella? Dangerous. Vicious. Annoying as hell.

But Alvar?

...Alvar was worse.

Way, way worse.

And as his smirk deepened, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that I had just sold my soul to the most dangerous man in the entire empire.