Warmth.
That was the first thing my brain bothered to register—warm, heavy, and pressing against the left side of my chest with the quiet insistence of something that had decided it belonged there.
I cracked open one eye.
Wooden beams above my head. Bundles of dried herbs swaying gently in the morning draft. Not the cold stone of the academy.
A cabin.
I shifted, and immediately regretted it, because the warmth on my chest stirred.
"Dear God." Then the previous night came flooding back—not quite a hangover, but something close. And then—against all common sense and critical thinking—I decided to look down.
"...Oh."
Orange hair. Primrose's head rested directly over my heart, one arm draped across my torso with absolute possessiveness.
She was breathing slow and deep, her face soft in a way mine had never managed without alcohol.
'Don't move,' I told myself, forcing my mind to cough up information about last night.
Images came: the city, the bread, the bar... me...
I killed someone.
I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours.
My mouth felt dry. I closed my eyes and relived the scene in my mind.
I killed a person. Maybe it was right, but... I felt the weight of my mother's ring against my chest.
...What would she have thought?
I shut my eyes and tried to think of something else.
The bed was unfairly comfortable. Thick blankets, the smell of woodsmoke and something sweet hanging in the air, along with Primrose's own scent.
She smells like pine and wet earth... okay, enough. This is weird.
But my mind was already clawing its way upward, dragging fragments along behind it.
Wine. The fire. Her father bakes pastries, makes traps, builds furniture—once he even built a boat.
And then—
Nothing.
Static.
I searched for the rest of the night and my memory simply... ended. The last clear thing was Primrose laughing at something, the firelight, the warm cup in my hands. After that, a soft gray void.
How much did I drink?
At least I still had my clothes on—nothing bad had happened. More importantly—What did I say in that void?
A cold dread coiled in my stomach.
"Friedrich," I called mentally. "Friedrich. Last night—what happened?"
Silence.
"Friedrich. I'm serious. I don't remember anything after—" The image of the man falling forward came back to me, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in my ears.
The image lingered for a couple of minutes.
Then, for reasons beyond my understanding—
A mental image appeared of a man in an elegant black suit, top hat, and blue eyes, speaking with a lady. Both of them were seated in the shade of a parasol-covered table.
Around them stretched a beautiful flower-strewn field.
'...You've got to be kidding me.'
"—and that, my dear Lady Springfield, is precisely why I maintain that a single bullet, well-placed, possesses an elegance that the rabble could never comprehend." The gentleman—whose face I wanted to punch for some unknown reason—spoke in a voice that was all too familiar.
I closed my eyes.
These clichés...
'Friedrich,' I said with exasperation.
"You are most kind, Sir Friedrich." The lady was beautiful and elegant. Her hair, the color of sun-drenched honey, fell over her shoulders in perfect waves, pinned up with a studied simplicity that framed a face of serene features. Her eyes—two deep, tranquil emeralds. "Though I confess I admire Primrose's restraint. One shot. One purpose. No waste."
'Of course they both have human forms, and of course I'm watching their mental date…'
"Restraint. Lady Springfield, you wound me and improve me in a single breath—the rarest gift a lady can bestow." Friedrich practically melted before the rifle's spirit. "My companion, by contrast, spends forty percent of his daily faculties wondering about nonsense."
'Friedrich,' I tried again, in a far more threatening tone. 'I swear, if you don't—'
"I'm busy, Jakob." The colossal bastard had the audacity to turn around in the mental image and give me a look of irritation. "Some of us here actually know how to treat the ladies we court."
...I need to punch this idiot... God knows it's necessary… I counted to ten and put on my best false smile.
"You are a revolver," I said with utmost sincerity. "And I need help here."
Friedrich had the gall to scoff in my face before turning his attention back to the spirit of Primrose's weapon.
"I am a revolver in the midst of a cultured and honest conversation, which, frankly, is more than you managed last night." And with that, my companion slammed the politest door imaginable in my face. "Suffice it to say you are a hopeless idiot—or at the very least, you will remain one so long as you keep denying the obvious."
And with that I was ejected from the mental space.
I opened my eyes, feeling insulted and immediately plotting revenge.
But…
Friedrich never let an opportunity pass to humiliate me—if I'd done something stupid, he'd recite it with footnotes. But he wasn't gloating. He wasn't joking.
It's one of two things: either what I did last night was such a colossal piece of foolishness that Friedrich refused to even think about it, or... he's protecting me.
'He isn't avoiding the question because there's nothing there,' I realized slowly.
He's avoiding it because there is something. And he's decided I'm better off not knowing right now.
That should have alarmed me more than it did.
But something about the way he'd done it—quietly, without cruelty—made me let it go.
"Want breakfast first?" a soft voice murmured against my chest. "Or coffee?"
I went still.
Carefully—the way you move around something you don't want to startle—I looked down.
Primrose had lifted her head just enough to rest her chin over my heart.
Her smile looked especially sweet that morning. Her green eyes shone in a way that had no business existing this early.
Then she propped her elbow on my chest, bringing her face closer to mine.
I noticed how the sun coaxed a shine from her hair and made her eyes look like emeralds.
She was looking at me with something that wreaked havoc on my pulse—as if she was genuinely glad I was here.
"...Coffee," I said, spellbound by her smile and her warmth.
"Coffee," she agreed, but didn't immediately get up.
She lingered a moment longer, fingers absently smoothing a wrinkle in my rumpled shirt, reluctant to break whatever this was.
"Primrose," I began, realizing something.
"Yes?" The way she wouldn't look away from me made me feel a little strange.
"Where's my cloak?"
She let out a small laugh and tapped the tip of my nose with her index finger.
"I obviously took it off you and folded it. It looked far too expensive and pretty for you to sleep in." She finally got up, unhurried, and even then she slid a hand along my arm as she pulled away. "I'll get everything ready, then bring it to you."
She turned her back to me, and I watched her put on an apron while humming a tune.
I watched her cook, enchanted, unable to tear my eyes away as she strained the coffee and picked up the bread I'd bought for everyone.
"Wait." She stopped instantly, pausing as she tucked bacon into the bread. She blinked at me and smiled.
"Something wrong?" I stared. My brain stalled. There was something homey and ethereal about her that made me fall silent. "Want jam?"
"Yes," I said automatically.
She smiled and went on with her work, frying eggs alongside the bacon in a skillet.
With graceful speed she poured coffee into two cups, handing me the white one—still steaming—and keeping the red one for herself.
"Strong, just how you like it." I took the cup and sipped, but the sweet flavor surprised me. "With a touch of honey."
I looked at her. Her perfect smile and the warmth in her every movement made me understand why she was one of the three most popular heroines.
"It's wonderful," I said, and memories of my childhood drifted in—those perfect rainy days with my mother...
"Hey." Primrose's hand found mine. The spark that ran through me made me meet her eyes. "Let's eat."
She arranged everything on two plates and led me with a smile to the table in the center of the cabin.
Breakfast was quiet.
The sound of animals and the sun hanging between the pines made me feel a little like I was home...
"Primrose," I said between sips of coffee. She was eating eagerly, occasionally throwing me long looks. "I apologize if I said anything inappropriate last night. I wasn't at my best."
She stopped abruptly. I couldn't read the look she gave me.
"It's all right, Jakob." She smiled brightly, her eyes closed. "You'd never do me any harm on purpose."
I felt strangely desolate watching her expression—it was so clearly an attempt to pretend she was fine...
I know that face.
"Primrose..."
In a single motion she leaned forward without a word and brushed a strand of white hair away from my eyes, her fingertips lingering at my temple half a second longer than necessary. I didn't have the strength to pull away.
"I love your hair," she said in a tone that sounded both close and far away. "It's like fresh-fallen snow."
I felt strange. I thought about my hair color in my previous life—black.
"Heh. That's not true. Snow is pure. My hair is more like ashes." I forced a laugh. Primrose simply stared at me.
"Your eyes," she began, a small smile on her lips, "shine like red stars now."
I had to stay silent, unable to process what she'd just said.
"And if they were a different color?" The doubt gnawed at me—if I were my old self, would she still say the same? "Green, like yours, for example?"
She laughed—not mockingly, but the way someone laughs at a very silly question.
"Then they would shine green." Primrose looked at me tenderly. "They can change your eyes and your hair, but Jakob is Jakob—no matter what you look like, you'll still be a precious person to me."
After saying that calmly, she stayed there with both hands wrapped around her cup, looking at me as if I were the most valuable thing she'd see all day.
It was peaceful in a way that frightened me a little.
*I don't know... how to feel... but at least I want to enjoy this a little longer.
We remained in silence until the sun rose higher through the window, and reality—punctual as ever—cleared its throat.
"We have to go," I said, with more reluctance than I wanted to show. "Classes. I need to get back to my room and change. My professor said today's lesson would be practical."
Primrose tilted her head, stood up, crossed to a coat rack where my cloak was hanging, and handed it to me with a fond gesture.
"You look handsome," she said simply. "The suit looks good on you." She reached up and adjusted the collar with both hands—a small, careful motion.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck.
"...Thank you," I said without meeting her eyes. "Really. For—everything. The food. The bed. And for putting up with my nonsense."
She laughed again, more melodiously this time, and I couldn't help but look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
"Anytime." She took my arm and started walking. "Come on. Let's walk to the entrance together."
I smiled.
"Sure." I felt lighter walking beside her in the cold morning air than I had in days.
"Primrose... if I had taken someone's life... what would you think of me?"
She didn't pull away; she just kept walking.
"I'd be glad," her voice sounded distant and close at once. "It would mean you're no longer as afraid as you used to be. But surely, even if you did it for a good reason, you'd feel bad."
I stayed silent. Primrose was still very good at reading me.
"I took a life." I saw a pair of birds in their nest. The chick they were caring for was too big to be theirs.
"Don't be naive, Jakob." She stopped and stepped a few paces away from me. We were already at the forest's edge; the towers of the academy rose gray and gold ahead. "If you wish to protect something, no matter how small or great, you'll have to keep taking lives. You're kind, and that's why you don't want to, and why you suffer for it—but it's inevitable. It's the conflict of life against life."
In moments like these, the huntress's wisdom shone brightest—and she was right.
"That's true," I said, meeting her eyes. The brightness in them made me smile and feel captivated. "Thank you, Primrose. Won't you walk with me to the entrance?"
I offered her my hand, and she smiled with a touch of sadness.
"This is far enough," she said. "Past this point, people talk."
...Oh God. The implication hit me, and I remembered the three idiots and how they'd referred to my relationship with Primrose.
I looked at her—she was right again. This could tarnish her reputation.
"Right." I tucked the white cloak under my arm and lingered—just for a second—not entirely sure why I didn't want to leave. "See you, Primrose."
"See you, Jakob." She put her hands behind her back, watching me go with that quiet, peaceful look. "Be careful."
I nodded, and turned toward the castle.
I felt strangely awful as I walked away from her.
"Friedrich," I said quietly. No reply. "Hey."
I called him again, this time with less patience.
Then I heard it—a faint sound, too faint for anyone but me to catch: a long, satisfied, aristocratic sigh.
"My lady," he murmured. Then, more gently than usual, almost to himself: "Some things, Lady Springfield, are better kept until a man is strong enough to hear them. Wouldn't you agree?"
I felt that same morning irritation flare up again.
"I would," Springfield answered softly. "Take good care of him, Sir Friedrich."
My revolver had the nerve to laugh.
"Someone has to. He's terrible at it."
"Enough," I said, and manifested Friedrich in my left hand. Then I ran toward the nearest lake and hurled him with all my strength. "Stay there until you've reflected on your mistakes."
"YOU LITTLE WRETCH!" he screamed through our mental link. "YOU INTERRUPTED A CORDIAL FAREWELL!"
I ignored him, ran to the Academy gate, waved at the guards, and walked along with every intention of heading to my room.
How naive of me.
I had barely passed beneath a great Yseal arch when the noise hit me—the announcement hall was packed wall to wall. A roiling sea of uniforms, house crests, and the particular sharp anxiety of students who had just realized the academic year was real.
"Shit." It was starting now.
The academy staff stood behind long tables that ran the length of the hall, handing out thick parchment folios sealed with the crossed-swords insignia.
Servants and clerks moved between the lines with practiced efficiency, calling names, checking registries, redirecting the lost.
"Gold Hall students, your folios are pre-assigned—"
"No, you cannot change sections, my lord—please move along—"
Thank God there's no line for my class yet.
"Silver Hall, Section B, third table—" A middle-aged man spoke in an utterly weary tone. I noticed then that many of my classmates were already there...
"Of course," I sighed, and joined the slow river of bodies funneling toward the tables.
The crowd moved sluggishly. I scanned the room for key characters from the story, but they had probably already escaped this bureaucratic nightmare.
Wearing this flashy outfit is a disgrace. I stand out compared to my classmates...
Not to mention the cloak under my arm. I must have made quite the peculiar picture.
"—Liedschlag?" One of my classmates spoke in a slightly impressed tone. "Why is he dressed like that? Trying to stand out again?"
No.
"Maybe he spent the night out partying and is only just getting back to the Academy." Someone threw that stone—funny how close it landed to the truth.
"Impossible. Blackwood would've reported any student who snuck out." Thank God there are people with common sense at this Academy.
"He was probably hunting with his commoner girl." Someone said 'his commoner girl' without malice, but I found the objectification of Primrose distasteful. "Must be hard to court such an ungraceful girl."
It took about thirty seconds for the whispers to start.
I kept my eyes forward and my expression pleasantly blank.
"He's only just now showing up. The folios were handed out at dawn." A girl spoke in a severe voice. "This disrespect for our Academy can only come from someone as frivolous as a musician."
"Hey, I think you're being awfully unfair to him." Thank you, voice of reason.
"Bah!" the girl brushed it off. "I have no respect for someone living a more exciting youth than mine."
Hey, I'm coming back from breakfast with my friend. What's exciting about that?
Okay. This was reaching levels of stupidity faster than I'd thought possible.
"I heard he doesn't even sleep in the dormitory." Where on earth do these rumors come from?
"Where, then?"
A pause. A snicker. The particular cruelty of people who think they're being discreet.
"You know where. With that commoner girl. The huntress." A scoff. "He crawls out of some peasant's bed in the woods and waltzes in like he owns the place. Typical behavior for a house in decline. They have no shame left to lose."
"Do you think they're—"
"Obviously."
"Don't you think you're spewing a whole lot of garbage right now?" Hey... that voice. "Seriously, don't you have anything better to do than talk about a guy who just showed up in a suit?"
Conlaoch. I smiled. Of course he'd be here at the last minute too—he'd probably spent the night before training late or writing poetry.
"...Sir Conlaoch..." Right—Conlaoch was one of the youngest knights on the continent, heir to his house, and one of the very last people anyone would want a conflict with. "We were only sharing rumors discreetly."
I nearly snapped my neck turning around, and I wasn't the only one—beyond the fact that they'd been talking about someone behind his back, they'd been doing it out loud.
"If that's discretion," Conlaoch's bored, sarcastic voice spoke for me, "then I'd hate to find out what being direct looks like for you lot."
"But—"
"God, there are better things to talk about." *Conlaoch, you agreeable bastard. Thank you for taking some weight off my existence.* "Like, say, spears and poetry. In fact..."
"Next." The voice of my class registrar cut in—just in time to spare me from hearing the rest of Conlaoch's intervention.
Good.
I reached the third table. A tired-looking secretary with ink-stained fingers checked her register.
"Name?"
"Jakob Liedschlag."
She nodded, slid a folio across the table, and moved on. Professional.
I appreciate that.
I slipped away from the crowd quickly, dashed up the stairs, found a quieter corner near a window, and broke the seal.
The first page was my schedule.
Seven classes.
8:00 a.m. — Etiquette.
I snorted.
Of course. We must learn how to move in upper circles.
Besides...
"I don't want to!" The memory of the original Jakob's tantrum made me cringe. All because he didn't want to learn etiquette from an old butler.
"..." I mentally apologized to old Archbil. I really had given him a rough time... I need these classes.
Even faking it at maximum capacity, I couldn't fill the gaping hole where my noble manners ought to be.
I looked at the next class.
10:00 a.m. — Military Strategy.
"Perfect," I said. I doubted anyone with sense would ever put me at the head of an army, but if I had to live in times of war, I'd better learn how to maneuver. This was almost certainly Niali's domain. "I should try to get closer to her."
Wars don't announce themselves politely, and one was coming whether anyone here believed it or not.
Next subject...
11:00 — History.
Also useful. My knowledge of the game had holes the size of dead gods—the more real context I could acquire, the fewer surprises I'd face.
Lunch...
1:00 p.m. — Combat / Physical Practice.
That's what Niali meant yesterday... wait, it's a shared class with Gold Hall...
Shit.
My class is completely done for.
They're monsters!
The muscular and radiant figures of every important character flashed through my mind.
Then, among them, Aeono appeared, pointing his index finger at me.
"You're already dead," with a face straight out of a manga about a post-apocalyptic warrior...
"..."
Why am I remembering all this nonsense now? Most of it was stuff Elen—being the otaku she was—had forced me to watch...
Mmm... it really is nostalgic... Our ending was a disaster, but no question, it was a good beginning.
"Jakob!" I recognize that voice.
I turned.
Aeono Serenwyn, looking infuriatingly well-rested, raised a hand in greeting.
Brynn walked a step behind him, her folio held against her chest, and she gave me a small, polite nod.
"Wow," I said, noting his radiant smile this early in the morning. "Someone really does sleep like a freshly fed baby."
The protagonist of this world smiled even brighter.
"Thanks! You look good today too. Like you actually slept," he said, with that warm, unguarded smile that should be illegal. "I was starting to think you were nocturnal."
"I'm versatile," I said in my best deadpan. "Did you need something, or may I take my leave?"
"Oh, come on—do you really want to avoid me that badly?" Aeono relaxed and propped his elbow on my shoulder. "Come on, am I that irritating?"
"Yes."
"Absolutely."
Brynn and I said it at the same time.
I got to watch in real time as Aeono's face froze in genuine surprise. He stayed like that for a few seconds, then pulled away from me to straighten his tie.
"Aaah, life is truly cruel," the protagonist of this world said, gazing out the window with a distant expression. "Full of randomness and meaninglessness."
I watched him be dramatic, then focused on Brynn, whose face wore a rare mixture of unconditional love and existential exhaustion.
"Lady Brynn—" she was a commoner, but I wanted to show respect to the person looking after the one who would become this world's God. "—you seem more hopeful today."
She lifted the folio toward me, and I caught a glimpse—the Gold Hall schedule, denser and far heavier with paper. I felt grateful I wasn't in that hall.
"Etiquette, Economics, History, Military Strategy, Diplomacy, and Mathematics," Brynn listed Aeono's classes. It looked like the usual backbone of the academy—only steeper.
"Mostly what you'd expect from the Academy. I don't think I'm particularly well-versed in most of the subjects," Aeono stepped closer and said with a friendly smile. "What about you?"
I handed him my folio. He took it with genuine curiosity and read through every class.
"Mmm... a few classes vary, but at its core it's still the same system." Aeono seemed interested in my course load. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he handed it back to me and smiled. "You know, I'm surprised you're not in Gold Hall. To my eyes, your fight at the exhibition was more than adequate."
That may be true, but...
"More than just combat ability is taken into consideration." Brynn spoke in a serious tone, and I turned my attention to her. "Behavior, background, and projected growth are key in deciding where a student belongs."
It seemed Brynn took her role as Aeono's assistant more seriously than I'd imagined.
"I suppose that makes sense." Aeono leaned against the nearby wall with his arms crossed. "A noble in decline like Lord Jakob surely has all manner of character flaws."
The tone made it perfectly clear he was joking—there was sarcasm and irony to spare.
I let out an exaggerated sigh.
"You've found me out, oh great hero Aeono." I spread my arms dramatically and put on my best villain expression. "I'm afraid I shall have to dispose of you."
"Ha!" Aeono's mood seemed to lift on the spot. "You heard the villain, Brynn—list out his crimes."
Aeono pointed at me with his finger, and his maid took a step forward. It was obvious Brynn was holding back laughter; she had to cough into her closed fist to regain a little composure.
"Jakob Liedschlag." She said my name as if it were something disgusting. "A petty, talentless tyrant, known to be an expert manipulator, a seducer of countless women, and an abuser of innocent nobles. He is associated with every manner of indecent and deplorable act."
I stayed still, listening as Brynn rattled off every rumor surrounding Jakob.
"It's said his lust knows no limit—going so far as to spend at least three weeks with his commoner lover, during which they lived through sordid encounters in the woods." Brynn spoke with disgust. "Cunning as a fox and malicious as a serpent, he has earned the favor of Princess Armine, whom he uses as a second sheath for his sword."
"Brynn?!" Aeono shouted, surely as shocked as I was by the rumors—so much so that he walked over to his maid and looked her straight in the eye. "Hey, I didn't think you disliked Jakob that much."
Brynn let out a small scoff.
"I didn't say I believed any of it," Brynn said serenely. "That's mostly what people say about Lord Jakob."
"That's worse," Aeono muttered.
"It's accurate, my lord."
I almost laughed.
"How is Gold Hall?" I asked, mostly to keep him talking. "Living up to its prestige?"
Something shifted in his expression—he turned thoughtful, the way he'd been in the coliseum when he spoke about things that mattered.
"Mostly it's people sizing each other up," he said. "You know how it is. But there's one in particular who's standing out a great deal."
...Okay. That's strange. He's supposed to be the one who stands out.
"Some extraordinary guy?" Maybe one of the rivals from the game, or possibly a future antagonist.
"It's hard to put into words, but I have to be honest. He's someone who inspires absolutely no trust in me." A villain, then. "His name is Kazuto Kinoshita."
He said the name with a small, almost rueful tilt of his head.
I felt disoriented—it wasn't a name I recognized.
"Have you heard of him?" I looked Aeono in the eye.
"No." For some reason, I turned my attention back to my class schedule.
2:30 p.m. — Alchemy.
I felt a small spark of genuine interest. I'd wanted to look into this ever since I arrived.
If I could produce my own consumables, I'd never have to gamble my survival on a piece of candy in my pocket again.
3:30 p.m. — Riding.
I paused. This was when, in the game, we were given our mount of choice.
I smiled—I'd get to see the Odorushy up close. They were one of the things I was most excited about in this world.
"Good," I said out loud, and noticed the surprised expressions on Brynn and Aeono.
"Huh?" Aeono had an amused look on his face. "Someone seems excited. Happy about some of your classes?"
I smiled. Really.
"Yeah, why not?" Like that night in the bar, I should enjoy the good things, however small. "I'll be spending time with my friends, and I might actually have fun in a few of these classes."
Aeono's expression turned to surprise for a moment, then to genuine understanding.
"I can understand that. There's nothing more valuable than the time we spend with those we cherish." Aeono's not-at-all-subtle glance toward Brynn made me smile. With every passing second, I really did realize he was a hero in the making. "Jakob."
The sudden shift in his tone made me look at him seriously.
"What do you think of these rumors about you?" The moment he said it, the atmosphere around us changed. Even Brynn looked slightly affected.
"I..." The way people see me can't be changed so easily... "They're fair."
The surprise in Aeono's and Brynn's eyes made me laugh softly.
"I'm not going to glorify my past—far from it. I'm the first to admit I wasn't an ideal man, or even a decent one, so I can't take offense at their comments." Jakob, I know you're no longer here among us. Wherever God has taken you, I hope you find happiness. But I'm not you, and so what they say about you doesn't affect me. "That said, I don't think it's fair to drag my friends down with me just because of my bad reputation."
I can't act thoughtlessly, either. What happened that morning with those three fools and the man in the alley made it clear that I keep underestimating the consequences of what I do in this world...
"...I think they underestimate you too much, Jakob." Aeono leaned gently against the window, the sunlight drawing out flecks of gold in his hair and somehow forming a nonexistent halo above his head. "I suppose it's true—people are more than the masks we see."
Feeling philosophical today, are we? I smiled wryly at his words.
"I learned that the hard way." I can't underestimate anyone here. Zofia already proved that we both regarded the other as fictional. "My teachers made sure to drill that into my head."
Not just Zofia, but also Armine and Primrose.
"Teachers?" Brynn was the one who reacted to my words.
I laughed.
"Princess Armine and Primrose." I left Zofia out for now—her role as a teacher was still too fresh. "The main victims of those rumors."
Aeono looked interested in that.
"...Interesting." Aeono smiled, lost in thought.
"Hey. You're classmates now." I tried to sound casual and probably failed. "How are they? Armine. And Primrose."
"Armine," he began, "I'm a big fan of her father. I wanted to know what kind of person she was the first time I saw her…"
Yes, I remember that. The scene of them meeting made me feel sad, but…
"What... do you think of her?" It still nags at me that he's supposed to fall in love with Armine, but...
I don't want him to…
"She has the air of an older sister," he said, full of admiration. "You know, the kind of person everyone brings their problems to. It's like she was born to listen."
No.
That's not right.
Armine isn't just that.
I let out a sigh. She certainly has no trouble being the one to carry all that weight, but... who worries about her?
Maybe it's easy for them to settle for the façade of the unflappable princess, but Armine is so much more than that…
Doesn't anyone think of her as just a woman?
"I think…" I looked out the window. Birds were flying. "You should try to look past the surface. Armine is…"
I stopped, not quite knowing how to say it.
"Is?" Brynn's voice reached me, but my gaze was fixed on a cloud.
"…Armine is Armine." Perhaps that was the best way to put it. I smiled, thinking of this morning. "And Primrose?"
I fixed my eyes on the hero of this world, who seemed to be studying me carefully. Brynn beside him smiled at me like an older sister.
Aeono's eyes wavered, just slightly.
"She's—well, you know her better than I do. Direct. Lively. A little airheaded, but very friendly. Everyone seems very happy with the way she is." Then his brow furrowed. "But that Kazuto. He's been… attentive to her."
"...How does Primrose act around him?" In every playthrough of [Kings Roads], Primrose was always lively and friendly with the player.
"She doesn't seem to like him. She's polite, but—cold. Colder than I've ever seen her with anyone." Aeono's gaze, serious and full of something I couldn't identify, told me he found it strange too. "I don't think he's noticed yet."
The chill I felt at the back of my neck spread into something with teeth.
Primrose. Cold.
"Colder than I've ever seen her with anyone."
Primrose is never cold. The image of the girl who smiles at everything, unusual as she was, came to mind.
Her predator's instinct had looked at something and known, on a level beneath thought, that it was wrong.
"Hm," I said, keeping my voice perfectly flat. "Strange."
I saw what would be the last class of the day on the document.
Languages.
This was going to be the easiest grade of my life—of either of my lives. I'd sit in the back, "struggle" convincingly, and walk out with top marks.
Small victories. You take them where you find them.
The last line read: Remaining hours allotted to club activities and independent study.
Good.
That was the part that really mattered.
Metallurgy club.
Alchemy.
Time to build something resembling a foundation under my feet, instead of just reacting to whatever horror the week threw at me.
I tucked the folio under my arm.
"This Kazuto," I began carefully. "What about him?"
Maybe he was a variant from this world. Like Brynn—or perhaps just a character who never quite became popular in the game…
"He's…" Aeono searched for the right words. "Complicated. Honestly, it's easier if you see him with your own eyes, but… he seems to be something of a womanizer."
I looked at Brynn. She shrugged, uncertain.
I turned back to Aeono, who was smiling. There was a cosmic joke here somewhere—I was sure of it.
"…I see…" I felt slightly uncomfortable. I had to lighten the mood. "Honestly, I'm relieved we ended up in different halls. If I had to watch you trip over a fake medallion every other day, I'd lose all respect for you."
The face of this world's protagonist became that of a kicked puppy.
"It was a good imitation," Aeono protested.
"Brynn told me the gems were colored glass." I smiled like the bastard I am.
"Brynn is a slanderer." Brynn's serious expression made me smile even wider.
"Brynn is the only reason you still have any money in your pockets," I said, and behind him, Brynn allowed herself the smallest, most dignified nod.
Aeono pressed a hand to his chest as if I'd run him through.
"You met me first. How are you already on her side?" He brought his right hand to his forehead in exaggerated fashion and threw his head back. "How my allies have abandoned me before the cruelty of my lady—truly, a man lives by the beauty of his love."
I laughed. What a theatrical guy.
"It's a very persuasive side." I offered Brynn a bow worthy of a queen. "She has to deal with you. That's the weight of the world resting on her shoulders."
It's terrifying when you really think about it.
Aeono laughed—an open, guardless laugh—and for a second I forgot he was supposed to be a cynical disaster running on cabin coffee and unanswered questions.
"Oi. White Ghost." I recognized the voice before I turned. There was only one person in this academy who could make a nickname sound like both an insult and an invitation.
I smiled. I felt more at ease with him around.
Conlaoch walked toward us, his folio rolled up in one fist as if he meant to hit something with it, that wolfish grin already in place.
He stopped, looked at Aeono, looked at me, looked back at Aeono, and his smile sharpened.
"Ha! Two of the biggest fools in the Academy." He let out a laugh, pointing the rolled-up folio at Aeono like a sword. "First the greatest dimwit of this year, and then the most irrational one in my entire class."
"Guilty," said Aeono, offering a hand. "Good to talk to you, McNessa."
Conlaoch took it and shook it with the energy of someone sealing a war pact.
"Just Conlaoch is fine." His wolfish grin was already aimed at me. "Hey, White Ghost. You smell like you spent the night in a wine barrel."
I cursed Conlaoch's superhuman senses mentally.
I let out a sigh and looked at the ceiling with a dignified gesture.
"I was attacked by alcohol." I faked my best wounded tone and looked at the brute with false sadness. "Sadly, I was defeated."
Aeono stared at me. Brynn covered her mouth with her hand elegantly, and Conlaoch shot me a 'bruh' look.
"I defended you." The disbelief in his voice made me feel strange. "Not only did you go partying last night without inviting me, but…"
He stepped closer, close enough that only I could hear. He put his arm around my shoulder and grinned like a wolf.
"What the hell?" I asked.
He said in a low tone:
"You stink of Primrose." My brain took a moment to process that. "Sly fox—I always knew there was something odd between you two."
"No," I almost shouted, rushing the answer. "I—"
He hit me on the shoulder and pulled away, his look serious.
"I'm kidding, but…" Conlaoch looked me up and down: the suit, the folded cloak, the general aura of elegant catastrophe. "…You present yourself well for someone who smells like that."
His smile suggested both amusement and surprise.
"Thanks. I try."
He scoffed.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I'm taking it as one. I have very low standards for praise."
Conlaoch snorted and turned to Aeono.
"And you." He jabbed a finger into the hero's chest. "You're the one everyone's been talking about. First in all the physical rankings. The highest grades in every preliminary evaluation. Rumor has it you've already won the favor of half the faculty."
Aeono raised both hands in surrender.
"I really haven't—"
"He also acquired a fake medallion from a student scammer," Brynn added from behind, in a surgical tone. "With real money."
Conlaoch stared at Aeono.
Aeono stared at the ceiling.
"The gems looked authentic," the hero of the world muttered.
"They were colored glass," I could hear the satisfaction in Brynn's voice.
"Painted glass," Aeono corrected, as if the extra step of craftsmanship elevated the scam.
Conlaoch slowly turned to me.
"This is the man the Academy considers Gold Hall material?"
"To be fair," I gave him my best smile, "you're in there too."
Both Conlaoch and Aeono looked at me with some degree of surprise.
"Damn it," Aeono looked hurt.
"Ouch." Conlaoch met my eyes. "How am I going to survive that?"
"Easy," Brynn declared with a smile, pointing at Aeono. "He set three curtains on fire when he was nine."
"Two!" Aeono protested. "The third was already on fire."
"It was silk, in Rugën," Brynn and I said at the same time.
Aeono looked at both of us with an expression of deep betrayal, voice hollow with exaggerated pain: "I've been sold out."
"Very cheaply," I confirmed.
"Almost too cheaply," Brynn added.
Conlaoch let out a laugh so loud that several students in the hallway flinched.
"I love this," he declared, slapping Aeono's shoulder with enough force to make the hero stagger. "I love absolutely everything about this. You're both idiots. I'm going to enjoy this year."
"Thank you," said Aeono, rubbing his shoulder. "Your affection is very physical."
"I'm from Éire na Fidbadh." Conlaoch grinned happily. "We show love through violence."
"That explains a lot about you." The game's lore only mentioned how their people were especially given to fighting. "Honestly, I'm not surprised."
"Shut up, pale boy." He sounded offended, but he was smiling. "Your nation is known for being home to—"
Then he saw Brynn, and his whole attitude changed as though a switch had been flipped.
He straightened.
He raised his chin.
He squared his shoulders. His wolfish posture vanished, replaced by one that might have been carved from marble.
"My lady." Even his voice became different—more mature and serious. Conlaoch bowed his head to Brynn with a gravity that would have suited a cathedral. "Conlaoch McNessa, of House McNessa. It is an honor."
Brynn blinked.
I blinked.
Aeono blinked.
Was this the same man who had just called us both idiots?
Brynn recovered first.
She gave a small curtsy, though her expression carried the slightest trace of bewilderment.
"Brynn Stoneworth. The pleasure is mine, Sir McNessa."
"Please." Conlaoch brought a hand to his heart. "If you should need anything during your stay at this Academy—assistance, protection, a blade you can rely on—you have only to ask. A lady of your grace and patience deserves no less."
Where the hell did this guy come from?
Had Conlaoch been replaced? No, this must be another transmigration. He was a completely different person!
I turned to Aeono.
Our eyes met, and in that instant a wordless treaty was formed: the kind of bond that only forms between two men who have simultaneously witnessed their friend transform into an entirely different human being in the presence of a woman.
"Conlaoch," I began carefully, "did you just develop manners and gain thirty IQ points at the same time?"
His head whipped toward me. The knight vanished.
His expression and posture shifted in an almost supernatural way.
The delinquent returned.
"Say that again. I dare you."
Internally, I let out a relieved sigh.
My friend wasn't possessed by a Korean…
"I said it once. It has an echo." I smiled, and Conlaoch pointed his finger at me threateningly. "Now you'll say: 'I'm going to shove that cloak down your throat.'"
"I'm going to shove that cloak down your throat…" A second later he looked at me with notable disgust. "You don't even deserve that."
"Sir McNessa," Aeono interrupted with theatrical concern, "I thought knights only showed love through violence with their brothers-in-arms. This seems to be directed at a civilian."
"He's not a civilian. He's a public hazard." Conlaoch cracked his knuckles.
"That's the kindest thing you've ever said to me." Conlaoch was still himself.
"Don't get used to it." His smile had returned.
"Ahh." Aeono let out an exaggerated sigh. "How beautiful is sincere friendship."
"That settles it. I'm going to kick both your asses at the next training session." Conlaoch's wild grin promised pain.
Speaking of which…
I looked at Brynn.
She was observing the exchange with an expression I was beginning to recognize: the calm, calculating look of a woman mentally drafting a survival plan for the people in her charge.
"My lord," she spoke softly to Aeono, never taking her eyes off the three of us, "I believe you've found your people."
"Is that a good thing?" Aeono asked with a hopeful smile.
Brynn's smile, in contrast, was very gentle, warm, and terrified.
"I haven't decided yet." She then looked at Conlaoch intently. "Tell me your best idea."
"Poetry is the highest form of combat," Conlaoch declared, one arm propped on his knee and his rolled folio brandished like a scepter. "You can wound a man's body with a blade. You can only wound his soul with verse."
"That's…" I tried to find the right words that wouldn't sound rude, then remembered I was talking to Conlaoch. I leaned against the opposite wall. "Objectively the stupidest thing anyone has said in this hallway today. And earlier someone called me a seducer of countless women."
"It's not stupid." Conlaoch's offended expression made me roll my eyes. "It's philosophy."
"What are you supposed to be? A warrior poet?" I thought of the Odyssey and the Iliad—technically, the archetype existed, but…
"I don't see why I couldn't be one," Aeono offered, sitting on the floor. He'd loosened his tie somewhere in the last fifteen minutes and now looked less like a chosen hero and more like a guy hanging out. "It would be the coolest thing in the world—imagine fighting someone who sings arias and recites poems while they fight."
For a second, his face lit up. For a second, I could see someone whose soul still burned with hope.
Hmm… maybe that's why so many would follow him voluntarily to the battlefield.
"Don't take his side." Thank God I wasn't so easily dazzled. "And don't give him weird ideas."
Aeono looked slightly sad.
"I'm not taking anyone's side." He smiled sideways. "I'm being impartial."
"You're being complicit." I felt strangely comfortable with this exchange of nonsense.
"Being complicit is a form of support, and support is the foundation of brotherhood." His charismatic smile made me look at him skeptically.
"That sentence makes no sense." Aeono looked at Brynn. She huffed and sighed.
"My lord." There was a certain resignation in her voice.
"It makes perfect sense. You just don't want it to." He looked at me, but Brynn was the one who brought her hand to her face in frustration.
Conlaoch pointed his folio at Aeono.
"See? He gets it." His smile made me realize I was dealing with the same kind of stupidity.
"He set three curtains on fire," I said, knowing it was going nowhere.
"Two," Aeono defended himself with a dignified gesture.
"Silk," I declared in a dry voice. "In Rugën."
Brynn, faithful to her nature, covered her mouth with her hand to hide the amused smile she surely had now.
"I'm going to start charging you every time you bring that up," Aeono said, his voice thick with false indignation. "Five Dail per mention."
I looked at him with notable suspicion.
The Dail was the official currency of Gwyndon. Using my best math—and I wasn't great at it—I worked out the equivalent.
One Dail coin was equal to one dollar in my world. A five-Dail bill was equal to twenty dollars.
Wait a moment.
"Brynn," I called without looking, "how many times have I mentioned the curtains today?"
I could trust her professionalism and her desire to mock her master—the calm, firm voice of a woman who had been quietly keeping count the entire time: "Seven."
"That would be seven twenty-Dail bills," Aeono muttered gloomily. "You owe me one hundred and forty Dail."
I stared at him.
He smiled.
I transmitted my purest contempt for his greed.
Then I remembered…
"I don't have any Dail." I did, but if I was going to keep up the game, I needed to mess with him. "But…"
I pulled out the wallet Zofia had given me, opened it with a mischievous smile, and reached inside while keeping my gaze fixed on Aeono.
I pulled out a blue bill. It bore the image of a dolphin in blue on one side and the face of a smiling man on the other. The number "100" gleamed beside the small image of a fleur-de-lis in the left corner.
Monnaiehsa.
"Do you accept foreign currency?" My bastard's smile probably split my face in two.
"Ahahahaha—" Conlaoch fell to the floor, holding his stomach with one hand and slapping the floor with the other.
Aeono had a flat expression as he stared at the bill. He looked at his maid, who had joy in her eyes she couldn't hide.
Then he looked back at me.
"No." He looked at his hands for a second, then shot me a warning glare. "You have to stop defaming me."
That wasn't possible. Time to opt for diplomacy.
"I'll defame you on credit." I put the bill away, and he looked at me with notable horror.
"You can't do that."
I focused on Brynn.
"Yes, you can."
Conlaoch roared with renewed laughter, then yanked himself upright and clapped Aeono on the back so hard that the hero pitched forward.
"Brother," Conlaoch declared. "Congratulations, you're now part of the group."
"We've known each other for twenty minutes," Aeono gasped.
"Time is irrelevant. The bond is spiritual."
"The bond is a possible spinal injury."
"Same in Éire."
"Pff—" Brynn pressed her lips tight; we all noticed how hard she was holding back her laughter.
This was strange… the more I looked at them, the more comfortable I felt. There was a warmth in my chest and hands that was more comforting than anything I'd felt in a long time.
My mother's ring weighed heavier in my pocket.
What would she have thought of these fools?
For some reason, her face appeared in my mind, clearer than before.
She looked happy…
"Jakob." Aeono's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He was looking at me with that impossibly open expression he had—the one that made you want to trust him with your life, or punch him for being so sincere. "You're brooding again."
How the hell did he know that?
"I'm not brooding. I'm observing."
Conlaoch and Brynn looked at me with flat expressions; they weren't buying my excuse.
"From the shadows." Aeono pointed at the wall I was leaning against. "Literally in a shadow."
Curse you, rotation of the earth. And curse you too, shadow, for being aesthetically convenient for me.
"I'm conserving energy." I looked away, avoiding their judging gazes.
"For what?"
"For when you inevitably do something stupid and I have to pretend I don't know you."
"That's cold." He sounded comically wounded.
"It's pragmatism."
"Brynn, he's being mean to me."
"You'll survive, my lord," Brynn sounded utterly serious in that moment.
"You're supposed to defend me."
"I am. From the illusion that you're always right."
Conlaoch and I exchanged a look. The hound's grin was wide and genuine.
"I like her," he said aloud.
"Everyone likes her. She's the only competent person in this conversation."
I saw Brynn's cheeks color slightly. She adjusted the folio against her chest and looked away.
Aeono noticed. His expression softened into something purely sweet.
"EXCUSE ME. SORRY. I'M SORRY. WALL. SORRY AGAIN. I DIDN'T MEAN TO TOUCH THAT. IS IT IMPORTANT? I'LL PAY FOR IT."
The hallway fell silent.
Every student within fifteen meters turned toward the source of the commotion.
A young man was navigating the crowd with the grace of a horse in a china shop, his broad shoulders bumping into people, his hands raised in permanent apology, his face wearing the expression of someone who had already accepted that the day would be a catastrophe and was simply trying to minimize civilian casualties.
Behind him, with measured, patient steps and the composure of a saint escorting a natural disaster, walked a girl with bear ears.
Oh no. They were coming over.
Conlaoch raised an eyebrow.
"A friend of yours?"
"…You could call him that." I wasn't really sure—I mean, I liked him, but he might not consider us friends.
"JAKOB!" Rodrigo Fuerte spotted me with the desperate relief of a drowning man sighting a wooden plank. He pushed his way toward us, and the crowd parted not out of respect but out of a very reasonable instinct for self-preservation. "Brother! There you are!"
He reached us and immediately grabbed both my shoulders with his enormous hands.
"You have to help me," he whispered urgently, his eyes wide. "She made me attend a faculty reception. There were canapés. I broke the serving tray."
I looked at him with what I hoped was boredom. Apparently, "friends" was an understatement.
"Just a tray?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm.
He looked away.
"And the table it was on."
I felt a nervous tic in my left eye.
"Just the table?" The sweat on his brow told me he was lying.
"And a chair." He paused. "And possibly part of the floor."
"…Rodrigo." He looked at me, his expression mortified.
"It was marble, Jakob. Who makes marble floors? It's a very delicate construction material."
I was sure not even he believed that.
Just as I was about to say something, I saw Isabella Bellúrsa arrive with the unhurried calm of someone who had long since accepted that her purpose in life was to follow a human wrecking ball and apologize for whatever it hadn't yet destroyed.
"Good morning." She made a perfect curtsy, her blue eyes sweeping the group with courteous efficiency. "I apologize for the noise."
Conlaoch tensed.
"My lady." His bow was so deep and immediate that I worried he might pull a muscle. "Conlaoch McNessa, at your service."
Isabella observed him with mild surprise and returned a gracious nod.
"Isabella Bellúrsa, Countess of Ursalia. A pleasure."
"The honor is entirely mine." He straightened. His face was the living image of knightly composure: firm jaw, respectful eyes, impeccable posture.
Then he turned to Rodrigo.
"Hey." The knight vanished entirely. "Who are you, and why do you look like you fought a piece of furniture and lost?"
"I didn't lose," Rodrigo tried to defend his wounded dignity. "The furniture and I reached a mutually destructive draw."
"He lost," Isabella confirmed, with the absolute serenity of a judicial verdict.
"Isabella!"
"There were witnesses, Rodrigo. Multiple witnesses."
I looked at Aeono. Aeono looked at me. We both looked at Brynn, who had closed her eyes as though seeking divine guidance.
"Aeono Serenwyn." The hero extended his hand. "A pleasure."
Rodrigo took it. I watched Aeono's face take a journey when Rodrigo's carefully controlled grip found his hand.
"…Strong grip," Aeono managed.
"I held back." Rodrigo was being honest. "Last time I shook someone's hand with my full strength, they cried."
"Who?"
"An Academy secretary. This morning."
"That explains why one of them looked annoyed."
"I've already written a letter of apology." Rodrigo turned to me. "Brother, tell me: how many letters of apology are too many to write in a single morning?"
It hurt to see his uncertain expression.
"How many have you written?"
"Seven."
I just stared.
"Seven apologies. In a single morning."
"Isabella made me write them."
"They were necessary." Isabella smiled thinly, her tone carrying the patience of a saint and the immovability of a mountain.
"They were humiliating," Rodrigo corrected. Then he looked at her—the way he did when he thought no one was watching, and his voice softened involuntarily. "But probably necessary."
"Oi, Jakob." Conlaoch stepped closer and spoke to me in a low voice. "How long has he been in love with her?"
"He doesn't know he's in love with her." I answered, my tone dry and weary.
Conlaoch's expression passed through confusion, disbelief, and then a deep, visceral understanding.
"Ah." He nodded solemnly, then shot me an amused look. "One of those."
"One of those," I confirmed, feeling slightly insulted.
"No wonder he calls you brother." I looked at him with open hostility. "I was one of those once."
That stopped me cold. I looked at him, surprised.
"Really?" It was a little hard for me to imagine Conlaoch with a girlfriend, but I supposed it made sense.
"Yep. She named my spear. Gáe Buidhe." His smile told me he was completely in love. "She hit me with a training spear once and I realized I'd follow her to my death."
"Romantic." Truly…
"You should try something like that with your half-giant or with Primrose." The calm way he said it made me uncomfortable. "Sooner or later, you have to step forward for one of them."
…I refocused on Aeono and Rodrigo's conversation.
"I'm in Gold Hall B. I tried to sit down and the chair collapsed," Rodrigo was telling Aeono, who was listening with an expression of fascinated horror. "But it wasn't the chair's fault. The craftsman used poor-quality joints. You could see it in the fracture pattern."
"You… you analyze the fracture patterns of the chairs you break?"
"If I didn't, I'd never learn anything." Rodrigo's face was completely serious. "Isabella keeps a log."
"A log?"
Isabella raised a hand. In it was a leather-bound notebook.
"With an index." This woman was his wife, and he hadn't realized it.
"Like my father's," Rodrigo added, with the resignation of a man whose life was a recurring natural disaster meticulously documented by the people who loved him.
Aeono looked at me as if seeking confirmation that this was all real.
I shrugged.
"He also killed a bird by whispering too loudly."
"Today it was two birds," Rodrigo added.
"Two?" That was new.
"Rodrigo," Isabella commanded, her bear ears giving a small, involuntary twitch. "You didn't mention a second bird."
"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"I always notice."
"I know." He sighed so deeply it sounded like a lament. "That's the worst part."
We all laughed.
Listening to the others' laughter and my own, I realized something.
"How long have we been standing here?" I asked the air.
We all looked at each other without saying a word. Then Brynn was the first to react, taking her lord by the arm.
"You will not be late on your first day," she declared fiercely, and I watched her lift the hero as if he weighed nothing.
"Brynn!" Aeono's red face would have been very funny if his maid hadn't worn an expression of mortal seriousness.
"There's no time!" And she took off running.
I stood in silence for a few seconds.
"Rodrigo!" Isabella shouted with determination, extending her arms to him. "Either you carry me or I carry you, but I will not let you be late for class!"
I watched Rodrigo's face turn serious. He grabbed his not-girlfriend by the waist and ran off in a hurry.
I exchanged looks with Conlaoch, who began smiling little by little until his face turned demented.
"I won't lose!" And in a blink, he vanished.
…I was left alone where I stood.
"This Academy." I didn't know how to finish the thought. I'd just lost a lot of time with my friends, and now I had no idea how I'd make it to my first class on time. "Pff."
Yeah. Sure.
I activated the ring's effect.