Derek wandered through the shop. The shopkeeper buzzed around him, enthusiastically introducing items, but his chatter felt unbearably noisy.

Just glancing at the goods, Derek was nearly blinded by their self-generated radiance.

This sparked a thought: should he use his past-life knowledge to invent light bulbs?

Nobles here adored light. Stringing bulbs as necklaces might become a wildly popular, uniquely fashionable trend.

Picturing the absurd image of "light bulbs suiting fools best," Derek chuckled inwardly—he had a humorous business mind to bring to Doranbar Kingdom.

Most shop items glowed brilliantly, but some avoided the flashy-gold style.

After so much dazzle, Derek found the slightly plainer armor and weapons refreshingly simple—even though they were still studded with diamonds and rubies.

He longed to appraise every item properly, but unfortunately, he lacked that skill.

Last night, he’d only summoned his character panel, not an appraisal function.

Beyond that panel, there was nothing else.

Like in a game, the system granted no cheats—just the right to understand yourself, to guide your next move.

So this outing, he could only rely on past memories to choose items.

Derek ignored anything unfamiliar, unknown, or unrecognizable.

After skipping those, he realized he could leave this shop and head to the next stop.

True—truly valuable items, listed in the game system’s inventory, weren’t easy to find.

Learning Derek had no intention to buy, the shopkeeper felt deep regret.

Yet he personally escorted Derek out—who wouldn’t, since Derek was Duke Wudewen’s son?

In Doranbar Kingdom, even royalty dared not lightly offend the powerful Duke Wudewen.

For their own futures, nobles sought his favor. So the shopkeeper offered Derek a free trinket.

But seeing its blinding "brightness," Derek flatly refused—the dazzling glow clashed with his villainous style.

As he neared the shop door, Derek heard commotion outside…

"Little maid, with such a golden chance, why hesitate? Just submit to me and serve at my mansion. I’ll buy you anything—far better than slaving for pennies!"

Derek spotted a bloated "little fat pig."

A swine dressed in human clothes, strutting with misplaced pride.

He leered at Teresia standing by the door, his fleshy face rolling, making ugly jokes, snorting heavily.

Derek guessed this must be some mansion’s young master.

Who knew what he’d been fed? So obese, Derek couldn’t even guess his age.

But the pig’s intention was crystal clear.

Surprisingly, the flat plains of Teresia could still awaken primal urges in beasts, making that pig’s heart flutter.

In "Destiny," encountering such cliché plots of rich brats harassing innocent girls, he’d always control the protagonist Leon Lancelot to heroically save the day and boost affection.

Now, he wanted to seize this chance to improve Teresia’s terrible impression of him.

But playing the hero was impossible for a villain like him.

A hero’s grand entrance demanded justice, punishing villains, and tender comfort for the beauty.

Forget comforting—he’d be lucky not to make Teresia cry.

Righteous hero lines? Totally not his style.

So, hero-saving-beauty for affection points? Simply wouldn’t work.

Saving beauties brought zero profit; Derek was too tired to bother.

Yet not saving her wasn’t an option.

Saving her might yield no benefits, but not saving her would bring definite downsides!

After last night’s mess, Teresia already disliked him. Now, with her harassed by a disgusting pig, if he didn’t step up, she’d think he was in cahoots with it.

After all, they were both nobles of the kingdom!

That pig too—after he’d barely calmed Teresia, why burst out to cause trouble?!

If Teresia grew to hate him more because of this, that pig was dead meat!

Fuming, Derek coldly roared, "What fat pig strays from its pen, charges into streets, and dares offend my person?"

Growing up in Duke Wudewen’s mansion—a villain’s den—was harsh, but it had perks: Wudewen household members never feared trouble!

In Doranbar Kingdom, other nobles could be arrogant, but the Wudewen line reigned supreme!

The fat pig rubbed his saggy belly, "admiring" Teresia’s plains, happily snorting. Hearing the insult, he froze. His porky face flushed red. "How dare you call me a fat pig?! Do you know who I am?!"

"Aren’t you just Peppa? Stop making ugly pig noises. So noisy—do you want me slaughtered?"

Derek, a born villain!

He sneered mockingly. Against the fat man’s backdrop, his handsome face seemed even more dashing.

"Peppa?! Who’s Peppa?! You’ve got the wrong person!"

The fat man howled. His obese frame made his words drag with snorting nasal tones, sounding even more like pig grunts.

Derek suddenly paused. He realized something—this time, his words hadn’t been twisted by the curse.

Understanding dawned. He softened his tone, speaking gently, "How could I be wrong? You’re Peppa Pig. George is your brother. Kids adore you."

"Mistaken identity? Maybe. But I never mistake pigs! From today, I, Derek Wudewen, declare you Peppa Pig—George your brother. All Doranbar will mock you freely!"

Derek frowned. His words had twisted again.

The tone turned icy cold.

Still, he seemed to grasp the trick…

While Derek pondered, the fat man boiled with rage—he hated being called a fat pig most!

He snorted sharply and swung a fist at Derek!

Derek braced to dodge—then a blurry shadow flashed…

In that instant, the fat man cried out and collapsed.

Xinzel had acted. Derek hadn’t even seen the Gold Rank Assassin move!

"Help! Can’t you see I’m beaten? Deal with him!"

The fat man wailed on the ground.

But his servants didn’t dare approach—they’d heard the name…

Derek Wudewen!

Duke Wudewen’s son?!

They wouldn’t dare offend the duke!

With no rescue coming, Derek kicked the fat man and mocked freely, "Foolish creature, you truly are a pig. Your snorting is hideous—why not light a fire, brush on spices, become roast pork, and please everyone with your fatty taste!"

This time, his words stayed unchanged.

Derek confirmed the curse’s rule—as long as his lines fit his villain persona, they wouldn’t twist.

So to communicate, he must speak like a villain!

…

Derek a villain?

Teresia didn’t think so.

She saw him as a dashing hero!

And she’d heard it herself—Young Master Derek had said…

She was his person!

"I… I’m his person~"

Teresia whispered, small hands clutching her skirt’s lace hem, rubbing it unconsciously. Her face flushed red, heartbeat racing wildly.