The Eccentric Tycoon's Wife, the Abbot

She was born with a peerless beauty, but that didn't mean she would be “her.”

He had a big chest but no ambition, though that didn't mean he was empty-headed.

Her verdict on him: a perverted, flamboyant, secretly masochistic rich brat with a ridiculously fancy wardrobe.

His read on her: just a gifted, sly little monk who wanted to spend the rest of his life chasing women and eating meat.

At a public matchmaking event, one accidental tackle led to an equally accidental counter-tackle.

The scheming brainiac and the goofy, clueless fool fell into a passionate romance...

With the bridal veil over her head, she tackled him while he grabbed her chest. Her conclusion: So he likes carrots, not apples.

In a solemn temple, he hid behind a wooden fish while she threatened his chastity. He cursed her: “Rotten carrot, rotten carrot, rotten, rotten carrot.”

In a widow's room, he kicked over the huge basket of carrots she'd brought, so she made sure he didn't get a bite of the braised pork the widow had cooked for him...

He was furious! You can put up with shit, but you can't put up with piss! He had a handy little ability that let him record and replay sounds, so why couldn't he even get a decent meal anymore?!

He flew into a chuunibyou-style rant: “Rich girl, what exactly do you want from me?”

She tossed her head and shook her shoulders. “Abbot, I just want us to get together!”

This is a fairy tale in the style of Hans Christian Andersen, with no change in the recipe, about a bald man who isn't a monk and a rich girl who isn't an heiress. They team up to fight monsters and eventually end up in the same bed. The secondary male and female leads can have whatever outrageously high-end talents they like, but their real purpose is simply to be one thing in name and another in practice, fulfilling their duty as the protagonists' helpful sidekicks.

“Master, don't you know that a widow's doorway is a place where trouble gathers?”

“Amitabha. I only know she is already a widow, and I absolutely cannot let her live like a widow too.”

“Master, the people who donate incense money are your patrons, right?”

“Amitabha. You speak the truth, benefactress.”

“Then, as your patron, I order you to marry me. Why won't you obey? Why do you keep cursing me to die young?”

“Amitabha. Parents so shameless as to commit incest are better off dying and being reborn.”

“Master, when will you finally marry me?”

“Amitabha. When my hair reaches my toes.”

“...” Ever since she met him, not a single hair had grown on his head!

One more thing: winter is here. Is there anything cozier than a lighthearted romantic comedy after a meal? Right?

As usual, updates every morning at nine. If you like it, add it to your bookshelf. The wicked rich guy is waiting for you!