I, the Villain, Want to Save Myself, But the Yandere Heroines Disagree - Chapter 89

“That’s right,” Elsa nodded. “It seems you’ve also read the original script of this play, Orson.”

“Mm.” Orson smiled. “That’s because the current version of the play was rewritten by me. Of course, I’ve read the original.”

“…” Elsa looked at Orson in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be so skilled at writing plays.”

But as she thought about it, Elsa quickly came to terms with the idea. After all, Orson was someone capable of publishing books in the Imperial Library. Adapting a play was likely a trivial task for him.

“Since you rewrote this play, Orson, can you tell me why you made these changes?” Elsa asked with a smile.

“The reason? It’s actually very simple—because this is what the nobles prefer to see,” Orson began, explaining his perspective.

“After all, executioners stained with blood often enjoy romantic stories. This has been true in every era.”

“Compared to satirical plays that expose the darkness among the elite, these sugar-coated, feel-good stories clearly have more commercial value. That’s why, before the adaptation, no one knew about *The Bronte Family,* but after the revisions, the play became an instant hit.”

“Plays and musicals are forms of entertainment specifically catered to the upper class. Ordinary citizens rarely concern themselves with such things. For this reason, we must consider the tastes of the upper class. If they like something, cater to that, and success will follow.”

As Orson spoke, he let out a sigh.

“Truthfully, I don’t even like this script. In my opinion, many parts of it are poorly written. Some of the plot developments don’t even make sense. For instance, the emotional shifts between the siblings feel abrupt and jarring.”

“Then why did you rewrite it this way, Orson?” Elsa asked.

“As I said earlier, the highest aspiration for a playwright is to create works recognized and appreciated by as many people as possible—not works that only they themselves can enjoy.”

“I feel like I understand you less and less, Orson.”

“And I feel the same about you, Princess.”

“Well then, back to the earlier topic. Orson, what’s your opinion on the matter of the imperial succession?”

“If you ask for my opinion, of course, I support the Emperor and our future Emperor,” Orson replied with a tactfully ambiguous answer.

“Hah, such a response is truly in line with Young Master Orson’s style,” Elsa said, showing no disappointment. Instead, she pressed further, “Then, if I were to ask for your support, would you help me?”

“My answer is already contained in the response I just gave, Your Highness,” Orson replied courteously yet firmly.

“Do you truly believe entrusting the future of the Empire to my brother is the right choice?” Elsa continued.

“I don’t know. But for a subject to interfere in the inheritance of their sovereign is a grave crime, and I don’t wish to become collateral damage. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

“Your Highness, you must be considering me because you believe I’ll be the future Duke of Antica, correct?” Orson said. “But what if I told you the future Duke of Antica will be Litte?”

“Would you seek Litte’s support instead?”

“Orson, are you joking?” Elsa looked at him in disbelief. “Or are you saying the title of Duke holds no value in your eyes?”

“I’m not joking,” Orson shook his head. “Although there’s much speculation outside about the matter of the duke’s successor, as someone privy to the family’s internal affairs, I can tell you definitively: the future Duke of Antica will be Litte.”

“I, Orson, have been raised by Duke Lucius, my father, for over a decade. Litte, however, is his biological son. Naturally, I wouldn’t lay claim to the family’s inheritance.”

The fact that Orson wasn’t Lucius’s biological son was already common knowledge among the Empire’s elite. While some nobles looked down on Orson because of this, the majority still respected him for his exceptional abilities.

“Still, Orson, you might want to reconsider. Lucius hasn’t excluded you from the line of succession, has he?” Elsa argued. “Besides, Litte is, at best, a mediocre heir. He doesn’t possess the exceptional abilities you do. Are you truly comfortable leaving the family’s legacy in his hands?”

“After all, he’s just someone who showed up halfway through, isn’t he? You may not share blood ties with the family, but you’ve done far more for it than Litte ever has, haven’t you?”

“Orson, are you really okay with this?” Elsa’s voice trembled slightly, as if she genuinely couldn’t believe Orson was willing to accept this arrangement.

“Princess Elsa, if you truly mean well for me, then I thank you for your kindness,” Orson said. “But do you know what your actions feel like to me?”

“You believe my abilities are extraordinary, so you think that if I became Duke, I’d be of greater help to you. That’s why you’re trying to win me over.”

“And now that you see I don’t aspire to be Duke, you’re starting to panic, feeling as though all your prior efforts have gone to waste, aren’t you?”

“Orson, that’s not what I meant…” Elsa protested. “I just…”

“Enough, Your Highness. Pay close attention to tonight’s performance of this play,” Orson interrupted. “I made some changes to the script for tonight’s performance as well. By the end, you might find some insights.”

“As for everything else, I have nothing more to say. I wish you an enjoyable evening.” With that, Orson walked out of the private box, leaving Elsa alone inside.

As Orson exited the box and began descending the stairs, a group of finely dressed guards approached him.

“Young Master Orson, His Highness the Prince requests your presence.”

“Understood.” Orson nodded and followed the guards into Arthas’s box.

“Orson, I heard you were just in Elsa’s box?” Arthas asked as Orson entered. The prince sat alone, sipping red wine.

“Yes,” Orson nodded.

“And what did Elsa talk to you about?” Arthas raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Orson.

“Not much,” Orson replied with an awkward smile.

“Let me guess—Elsa was trying to get you to support her in the imperial succession, wasn’t she?”

“That’s correct.” Seeing that Arthas had already guessed the truth, Orson saw no need to deny it. “Princess Elsa sought my support, but I believe matters of succession are strictly family affairs and that it wouldn’t be appropriate for an outsider like me to intervene. So, I declined her request.”

“Indeed,” Arthas nodded. “This sort of thing should stay within the family. Unfortunately, as the Lancaster family stands at the pinnacle of the Empire, there are always opportunistic insects below, scheming to seize our position.”

Noting the pointed undertone in Arthas’s words, Orson merely smiled faintly, keeping his emotions hidden.

“Still, Orson, have you reconsidered what I told you earlier today?” Arthas asked. “They say it’s better to offer assistance in times of need than to embellish success. If you join me now, you’ll undoubtedly become the second most powerful person in the Empire.”

“I apologize, Your Highness. I lead a humble life and dare not harbor such grand ambitions. The notion of becoming the Empire’s second most powerful figure is far beyond my reach,” Orson replied, bowing his head. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave. Others are waiting for me.”

“Very well,” Arthas nodded.

All he needed was to confirm that Orson hadn’t sided with Elsa.

After all, if Orson aligned with Elsa, combining the support of the Duchies of Antica and Prussia, it would create significant obstacles for Arthas in claiming the throne.

But for now, it seemed that Orson intended to maintain his neutral stance, which was enough.

—

After Orson left, Elsa remained alone in her box, watching the play. According to Orson, tonight’s performance of *The Bronte Family* featured a script he had personally revised.

In the first half, the plot unfolded as Elsa had anticipated, with nothing particularly novel standing out.

It wasn’t until the final act.

After the Bronte family overcame their challenges, resolved their crisis, and united as one, the stage plunged into darkness.

Just as the audience assumed the play had ended, the lights came back on.

This time, the family’s youngest sister, once the least noticeable member, sat in the central seat of power, the head of the family.

Meanwhile, the other family members lay lifeless on the ground, as if they had all perished.

The curtain then fell, marking the end of the play.

The audience was left bewildered, unable to fathom why the once-perfectly-resolved story concluded with such a chilling and thought-provoking scene.

But to Elsa, this ending held infinite possibilities.

Orson had mentioned that he had rewritten the script.

Did this, perhaps, reflect his stance toward her?