A week had passed since my training turned from intense to borderline self-destructive.
My body had grown accustomed to pain in a way that was deeply concerning. Muscles that once screamed at the slightest movement now merely complained. My breathing no longer collapsed after a few laps, and my mana—though still laughably small—responded more readily when I called for it.
That morning, I had pushed myself harder than usual.
Jogging until my legs felt hollow.
Sword swings until my palms burned.
Mana circulation until my vision blurred.
By the time I returned from the training ground, my shirt clung to my back, soaked through, my hair damp with sweat. I rolled my shoulders, wincing slightly, already planning how long I could rest before the evening session.
That plan died immediately.
"Young Master."
The butler approached me with his usual impeccable posture, hands folded neatly behind his back. His expression was calm, professional—and somehow ominous.
"Yes?" I replied, grabbing a towel and wiping my face.
"The Duke has summoned you to his study," he said. "Immediately."
I paused mid-wipe and looked at him. "Did he say why?"
The butler hesitated for half a second. Then smiled politely.
"You will know once you meet the Duke."
…That was never good.
I let out a quiet sigh, handed the towel to a passing servant, and straightened my posture as best I could. My muscles protested, but I ignored them and began walking toward my father's study.
Each step felt heavier than the last—not from exhaustion, but from unease.
What now?
Did he hear about my training?
Am I in trouble for overusing the servants' area again?
Or worse—
Did the plot decide to punch me in the face today?
I stopped in front of the heavy oak door and raised my hand.
Knock. Knock.
"Enter."
The voice inside was deep, calm, and utterly unreadable.
I stepped in.
The study smelled of parchment and ink, with the faint metallic undertone of sword oil. Duke Reinard von Leonhart sat behind his desk, broad shoulders straight, eyes fixed on a stack of documents. He didn't look up immediately.
I stood there silently.
One minute passed.
Then five.
Then ten.
He continued reading, occasionally turning a page, as if I didn't exist.
I waited.
Because interrupting a Sword Master who also happened to be my father—and the Duke—was an excellent way to shorten my already fragile life expectancy.
Finally, he placed the last document down.
Only then did he lift his gaze.
His eyes swept over me—slow, assessing, sharp.
I resisted the urge to straighten like a soldier.
"You've changed," he said.
That was all.
"…I've been training," I replied carefully.
"I can see that."
His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he leaned back in his chair.
"Your fiancée will arrive today."
The words hit me like a miscast fireball.
"…Pardon?"
"You heard me," he said calmly. "She will arrive before evening."
I stared at him.
My mind went completely blank.
"Viola Val Valeris," the Duke continued, tone neutral. "The Count's daughter. I received a letter several days ago. You will accompany her to the academy when enrollment begins."
I felt like someone had reached into my skull and rattled it.
Fiancée.
Right.
That.
How did I forget that?
I had remembered the academy.
I had remembered Aurelius.
I had remembered which characters would die, betray, or ascend to glory.
But somehow—
I had completely forgotten that Rias von Leonhart was engaged.
"…Understood," I said, managing a nod.
The Duke studied me for a brief moment, then waved a hand dismissively.
"That is all. You may leave."
I bowed slightly and turned, my legs moving on instinct as I exited the study.
The door closed behind me with a dull thud.
And only then did my brain reboot.
"…You have got to be kidding me."
*****
I returned to my room in a daze.
After washing the sweat and grime from my body, I dressed in clean, simple clothes and sat at my study desk. The chair creaked slightly as I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"How," I muttered, "how do I forget something this important?"
This wasn't a minor detail.
This was a landmine.
Viola Val Valeris.
The Count's daughter.
A childhood friend of Rias.
And—
One of the female leads of The Ascension of the Third Born.
I let out a long, slow sigh and covered my face with one hand.
"This is the worst."
Not because she was dangerous.
Not because she hated me.
But because she was important.
In the novel, Viola was gentle, talented, and emotionally resilient. She had a sharp tongue when irritated and a soft heart she refused to show. She was destined to shine—eventually.
And she had one fatal flaw.
She was hopelessly, irreversibly, undeniably in love with Aurelius de Solaria.
The male lead.
The third prince.
The walking calamity magnet.
I dropped my hand and stared at the desk.
"I wrote that," I whispered.
I had written her crush.
Written her internal conflict.
Written her gradual emotional attachment to Aurelius.
With my own hands.
And now—
She was my fiancée.
My heart suddenly began to pound.
Harder than it ever had during training.
"…Why am I nervous?" I muttered.
Fear? Maybe.
Annoyance? Definitely.
But there was something else too—an inexplicable tension tightening in my chest.
I shook my head.
"Focus."
Viola and Rias had been engaged since childhood for political reasons. When they were younger, they had actually gotten along. Played together. Studied together.
Then Aurelius entered the academy.
And everything changed.
Viola began acting cold toward Rias. Sharp words. Irritated looks. Thinly veiled resentment. In the novel, she never hated him—but she never tried to hide her frustration either.
Because to her—
Rias was a cage.
A reminder of an obligation she never wanted.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk.
"…So how am I supposed to deal with this?"
I already knew the answer.
Distance.
Careful, respectful, boring distance.
She was a female lead. A future harem member. A walking flag of plot relevance.
Offending her was dangerous.
Getting close to her was worse.
"I just need to survive," I said quietly. "That's all."
As long as I didn't interfere with the main story—
As long as I didn't attract unnecessary attention—
I could fade into the background.
The door knocked.
I stiffened.
"Y-Yes?"
"Young Master," a maid's voice came from outside. "The Count's carriage has arrived."
I closed my eyes.
"…Of course it has."
I stood slowly, straightened my clothes, and took a deep breath.
Be polite.
Be distant.
Be forgettable.
"This is fine," I told myself. "You've survived worse."
I paused at the door.
"…I think."
With that questionable reassurance, I opened it and stepped into the hallway.
Somewhere below—
Viola Val Valeris had arrived.
And the story, which I had desperately tried to outrun, had just taken another step closer.
"Let's see," I murmured, forcing calm into my voice, "what kind of trouble you bring with you."