My Husband is so carefree and constantly Cheats on me, so I Kept making him Suffer as Payback, but somehow, he’s started to seem Kind of Cute. - Chapter 3

“I can’t take this anymore! I’m going to become a knight! Don’t try to stop me, Yuffie!”

“Haah…”

What’s wrong with this fool this morning?

Well, given his rather straightforward way of thinking, he must have reflected on how he collapsed in fear after being threatened by a knight the other day.

So now, in his infinite wisdom, he has decided that he should train to become stronger.

… That was far too generous of an interpretation.

More likely, he’s simply holding a grudge against the knight who frightened him and now wants to get back at him by becoming a knight himself.

Honestly, the fact that he can even say such a thing with that pathetic, cotton-candy-like physique of his is so beyond ridiculous that I can barely bring myself to feel anything other than contempt.

Perhaps it’s time I send him off to a summer estate or a temple for a while…

At least until the height of the social season passes.

…Hmm? Would it be safe to bring that idiot to social gatherings?

Of course not. I loathe the thought.

But since we are married, I cannot very well attend official social events alone.

That would be handing ammunition directly to my enemies and to those who live for scandalous gossip.

That said, if my little cotton candy husband were to behave as foolishly as usual in the middle of the social season, the entire nation would start seeing our household as a source of comedy.

Declaring myself a provider of entertainment could be amusing in its own way, but certain noble families would undoubtedly exploit it, and then I would end up receiving an earful from the Duke.

After all, my dear cotton candy husband would no doubt mention our Crusroden name in the first breath, and then immediately invoke his own family’s name—House Arzenberg—in the second.

Meaning we’d both end up as the punchline.

…If the current Duke ever decides to betray us, I will personally drag him down to hell with me.

But for now, our relationship remains solid, our joint ventures are thriving, and thanks to the recent tribute of our new specialty product, we have earned even greater favor with the royal family.

So there’s no need for such drastic self-destruction.

Every year, before the social season begins, the Duke arranges for a powerful sorcerer to cast a spell that prevents my husband from making a fool of himself in social settings.

It seems to be quite an expensive endeavor, but since this was part of our marriage agreement, it remains the Duke’s responsibility to handle it properly.

The only thing I feel guilty about is forcing such a distinguished sorcerer to perform such a ridiculous task.

That being said, if my husband intends to return before the social season begins, then training isn’t a bad idea.

“My dear husband, that is a splendid idea. As a noble, maintaining one’s physique is indeed part of one’s duty. I will lend you our summer estate until the month after next. Feel free to go. You mentioned before that you wanted to travel—this should be a wonderful opportunity for that as well.”

“Oh! So you do understand, Yuffie! Truly, a good wife is a blessing!”

Judging by the look on his face, he’s likely thinking something along the lines of:

“Heh. She’s so easy to manipulate. Well, of course—she’s in love with me, after all.”

But for me, this arrangement is perfect.

It allows me to imprison him for a while without anyone complaining.

As for his training, I must apologize in advance to the knights who will be burdened with this idiotic task.

I’ll assign the 12th Division to him.

Since they recently wiped out a band of thieves, I’ll frame this as a reward—sending them to the summer estate for a well-deserved break.

Of course, they’ll also be stuck babysitting my cotton candy husband, but…

I trust they will squeeze every ounce of laziness out of him—I mean, train him diligently.

“Are you certain about this?”

The head butler asked as we watched the 12th Division haul my husband away in a cage.

“Certain? This is ideal. The only concern now is making sure the 12th Division doesn’t kill him.”

“Haah. He seemed to be screaming about something inside the carriage.”

“Oh? I didn’t hear a thing.”

That was a lie.

He had clearly realized what was happening.

Of course, he knew there was no way he’d be allowed to bring his mistress along when he was surrounded by the muscular warriors of the 12th Division.

Just to be extra sure, the carriage was completely reinforced with iron bars.

“If he actually returns stronger and is no longer a cotton candy fool, I shall reward the 12th Division handsomely.”

“I’d bet that within days, he’ll break a bone and spend the next two months sulking in his room.”

That was a serious response—why did he have to make it sound funny?

I couldn’t help but cover my face.

“Then I shall place my own bet: He will feign illness to avoid training from day one. When the 12th Division refuses to bring him meals, he’ll become so weak that he’ll collapse and need to be nursed back to health. Then, while in the infirmary, he will attempt to seduce a female healer—only to be slapped unconscious. Afterward, he’ll throw a tantrum, and the estate staff will send pleas begging for his return. Eventually, out of sheer necessity, he’ll be sent back to us.”

“…Pffft.”

Ah.

I did it.

I finally managed to make the head butler laugh.

“What are you doing?” you ask?

…Escaping reality.

Now then, just how pathetic will his performance be?

Ideally, he will actually train, develop some muscle, and return with a physique that isn’t utterly humiliating for social gatherings.

More than that, if the training builds his character, I’d be willing to forgive everything and even take him to a soirée.

After all, he was quite the handsome boy in his youth.

…

No.

That’s a fantasy.

And fantasies do not come true.

Even so, I was mildly surprised to find that a part of me still hoped.

Naturally, that hope was crushed the very next day—when my husband returned…

…because he had broken a bone while thrashing around in the carriage.