Lillian’s question hung in the air, but Ian was ready with a plan.
Winning Eserina’s heart was no simple feat, not when she was the magnetic core of The Dragonblood Rose and Her Poem of Fate.
In the novel, Eserina treated every heroine with a disarming gentleness, drawing them into her orbit like moths to a flame.
She was a veritable lodestone of affection, captivating countless girls.
Yet, when it came to love, Eserina’s demeanor shifted.
Faced with confessions from the heroines, she wielded a repertoire of excuses, each tailored to deflect commitment.
By the story’s end, not a single heroine had claimed the Proud Dragon’s heart.
Take Veronica’s rejection, for instance—Eserina claimed she sought someone independent, someone who didn’t linger in another’s shadow.
But was that the truth?
Ian scoffed inwardly.
Eserina, abandoned by the dragon clans, had clawed her way to strength through sheer will.
Yet, didn’t she lean on her own dragon bloodline for power?
To reject Veronica for relying on others reeked of hypocrisy.
Then there was Lillian’s confession in the novel.
Eserina’s excuse?
Lillian’s “assets” were too modest, a concern for future children going hungry.
An absurd reason, laughable in hindsight.
Ian, freshly awakened to his memories of the novel, had initially bought into Eserina’s excuses.
Now, he saw them for what they were: flimsy pretexts to avoid commitment.
Why settle for one when she could keep charming every beauty in sight?
“Deceptive as ever, Eserina,” Ian muttered, imagining spitting the words at her. “Tch, you player.”
But he’d cracked her code.
To help Lillian win Eserina, he’d mold her into the perfect partner—someone so irresistible that Eserina’s wandering gaze would settle for good.
A devoted, flawless wife could tame even a flirtatious dragon, saving the world from her roving affections.
“To capture someone’s heart, you first capture their stomach,” Ian declared to Lillian. “I’ll teach you to make Eserina’s favorite dessert.”
Years as Veronica’s steward had honed Ian’s culinary skills, including desserts.
Veronica’s approval of his sweets gave him confidence, and he knew Eserina had a particular fondness for them in the novel.
Teaching Lillian to craft the perfect dessert was the key to unlocking Eserina’s heart.
Picture it: after a grueling day, you return home to your favorite meal, prepared with care.
A warm bath awaits, followed by a soothing massage to melt away the day’s stress.
Then, as you slip into bed, a soft, fragrant beauty warms the sheets, ready for intimate moments.
Ian paused, shaking his head.
The image was too vivid—he was almost jealous of Eserina.
As a transmigrator in a yuri novel, Ian harbored no delusions of stealing the heroines for himself.
He couldn’t match Eserina’s prowess, and besides, he’d settle for a quiet life with a kind, unassuming NPC girl.
For now, his mission was clear: teach Lillian to bake, then guide her in the arts of pampering—baths, massages, the works.
A niggling worry crept in.
Lillian was one of Eserina’s heroines.
Helping her might paint a target on his back.
But then he smirked. “Let Iana handle it. What’s that got to do with Ian?”
“What dessert should we make?” Lillian asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Ian hadn’t settled on specifics.
After a moment’s thought, he said, “Let’s make pineapple buns.”
Eserina had a soft spot for them, and they were simple enough for a beginner.
“Pineapple buns?” Lillian mused, tilting her head. “I think there’s some leftover baking supplies from the maids.”
“What’ve you got?” Ian asked.
Lillian rummaged through a rectangular box, pulling out eggs and flour.
She held them up for Ian to inspect. “Is this enough?”
“Not quite. We’ll need butter, sugar, and milk,” Ian replied, eyeing the meager supplies.
“I’ll have someone fetch them.”
Lillian grabbed her communicator, and Ian caught a glimpse of its homescreen—a photo of Eserina.
He sighed inwardly.
“Her charm’s unreal,” he thought, reinforcing his resolve to steer clear of the protagonist’s circle once this task was done.
A peaceful life awaited him.
Lillian made a quick call, and soon a maid delivered the needed ingredients.
Ian, arms full, headed to the kitchen.
Noticing Lillian still standing by the box, he called back, “What’re you doing? Come on.”
“Oh!” Lillian jolted, scurrying after him.
“Making pineapple buns has two main steps,” Ian began. “First, we prepare the crispy topping.”
He demonstrated, pouring flour onto the counter in a circular mound, slightly thicker in the center.
Lillian mimicked him clumsily, her movements hesitant.
“Now, add butter and sugar to the center and mix evenly with your hands,” Ian instructed.
“Slow down! My brain’s overloading!” Lillian’s dark red eyes swirled with confusion, like spiraling mosquito coils.
She froze, hands hovering over the flour.
“Like this,” Ian said patiently, showing her again.
It took twenty repetitions before Lillian grasped the technique, her topping barely passable.
“Maybe this perfect-wife plan was a mistake,” Ian thought, watching her struggle. “She’s hopeless.”
“Look, I did it!” Lillian beamed, proudly displaying her lumpy topping like a child seeking praise.
“Great job,” Ian said, forcing a smile.
Encouragement was key, even if her skills were… lacking.
“You picked it up fast.”
“I’m amazing!” Lillian chirped, grinning ear to ear.
Ian suppressed a laugh.
“Alright, next step.”
After countless demonstrations, Lillian finally managed to produce a passable pineapple bun.
Ian, exhausted, watched her dance with glee.
“Turning her into a perfect wife? I must’ve lost my mind.”
A sudden beep from his communicator broke his reverie.
He glanced at the screen and froze.
The caller’s name glowed starkly: Veronica.
Lillian, noticing his silence, tilted her head. “Who’s calling?”
Ian didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the name, thoughts spiraling into the past.