CRP 10

Chapter 10: I Hope You Don’t End Up Like Me (2)

After the trial concluded, the Diesel father and son changed their attire at Douglas’s summons and made their way to the king’s study.

“…Have a seat.”

The air was thick with awkwardness. Douglas was the first to speak.

“The reason I called you here is simple. I want to tell you not to dwell too heavily on today’s events.”

Their bond had been long-standing, and it was important that this matter be concluded properly.

“No, Your Majesty! To dwell on it? On the contrary, I am deeply grateful beyond words.”

“That is fortunate. Ha ha.”

“Your Majesty… forgive me, but I have one question I wish to ask.”

“Speak freely.”

“Why… did Your Highness defend us?”

Rough’s pointed question carried a weight of significance. Douglas’s eyebrows twitched slightly.

“Why? Do you think he had some ulterior motive?”

“…I’m afraid so. Yes.”

“Rough!”

The elder Diesel was about to scold him, but Douglas raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s quite alright.”

In truth, Douglas had been curious about this as well. Before meeting the Diesels, he had met with Wesley first.

•  Why did he defend them?

Douglas had never held a favorable view of the Diesel family—his cousin Francis’s in-laws. He would have let them perish without a second thought; never in his wildest imagination did he expect such fervent protection.

•  Did he want something from them?

The question mirrored Rough’s own thoughts: why did Wesley defend the Diesel family?

•  Not at all. It’s just…

After hearing Wesley’s explanation, Douglas could ask no further.

‘I never would have suspected that.’

He had thought of him as nothing more than a rogue. Yet he could still recall that melancholy look in Wesley’s eyes, and a wry, self-deprecating smile crept across Douglas’s face.

“Curious, are you?”

“…I want to know.”

“Then go and ask him yourself.”

Douglas said it with an enigmatic smile.

•  “If I went in the dead of night and threatened him with a blade, surely he would tell me,” Rough thought.

For some reason, Douglas had said it while stroking his cheek. Rough, interpreting it as permission, followed through—approaching Wesley with a sword pointed at his neck.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I don’t understand. I know Your Highness would never save us willingly.”

The blade gleamed sharply in the moonlight, reflecting in Wesley’s eyes.

‘What? Wasn’t this supposed to be resolved?’

The status window had declared the ruin ending resolved. Yet here he was, blade at his throat.

“So you think of me that way, do you?”

“I’ve only hidden it. I’m simply tired of your misdeeds.”

Wesley could admit that, to a degree. Most of the chaos caused by his drunken escapades had been cleaned up by Count Diesel. Still… did he have to be so openly hostile?

“…Why did you save us?”

Ah.

Wesley recalled Rough Diesel’s personality in the game.

‘Rough cared deeply about cause and effect.’

Though now the heir of a noble family, in the game’s timeline—when the Diesel family had already fallen—Rough ran a competent intelligence agency. He handled surveillance, protection, and even assassination without hesitation.

‘If a client’s motive or reasoning wasn’t clear, he wouldn’t accept the job.’

And if he refused a request, he wouldn’t even entertain future proposals. But there was one exception: when Marilyn sought help to prevent Wesley’s rebellion, Rough accepted the task silently and succeeded in the assassination attempt—though no one had formally requested it.

•  “I had no choice.”

Douglas remembered it then but never pressed further. Wesley had misunderstood, thinking Rough was the hidden hand behind the Diesel family’s fall.

“Whatever my intentions, I had none but my own heart guiding me.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not a man of such stature.”

“Ha ha. True enough.”

Some impressions are simply impossible to change at once.

“Then hear it honestly.”

If he wanted the truth, it was better to give it.

“I did it because I hope you never become like me.”

A brief silence followed.

“You took that to mean I don’t want you to become a scoundrel like me, didn’t you?”

“Ah… no, Your Highness.”

Clearly, he avoided the gaze and shifted his tone to polite.

“Regardless, I simply dislike being attached to ridiculous accusations. For example…”

Wesley looked at Rough and smiled.

“The devil that tore its way from its mother’s womb…”

Rough paused, confused, connecting this to the situation.

“That peach juice venture… you planned it, didn’t you?”

•  “Our Rough suggested using these fruits for liquor and beverages. I’m glad you liked it! Ha ha ha!”

Douglas’s words drifted back into memory.

‘…He remembered that?’

“If your father were to die because of this, you’d become a monster like me. I couldn’t just watch.”

“….”

“Monsters aren’t born—they’re made.”

In the original game, Rough eventually lost both his father and his family due to his own actions. He refused requests that seemed suspicious or unreasonable. And yet, here he was, spared, because Wesley intervened.

“….”

“So, this was a mere accident. Don’t dwell on it. Stay strong, no matter what anyone says.”

With that, Wesley placed a hand on Rough’s shoulder. The sword and the piercing gaze fell to the ground.

“Are you satisfied now?”

“….”

Rough didn’t reply. He could only feel the trembling of Wesley’s hand on his shoulder. Wesley patted it gently.

“If you have nothing to say, then rest well. It’s late.”

The next morning.

“Done!”

Wesley scribbled plans into his notebook without a moment’s sleep.

The hidden ruin-ending scenario was resolved; now the focus was preparation for the future.

First things first: before entering the academy…

Knock.

“…Hmm?”

A knock at the door early in the morning.

“Your Highness, it’s Andrei. May I enter?”

What could it be at this hour? Today was supposed to be peaceful.

“What is it?”

Andrei peered through the slightly open door, a sinister smile on his face.

“His Majesty awaits you.”

It was too late for lunch. Douglas had summoned Wesley to a secluded garden. There, Wesley met him, hands clasped behind his back.

“….”

“….”

Douglas, however, quietly sipped his tea in silence for some time. Wesley tested the waters before speaking.

“May I ask why you called me?”

“You’re in your final year at the academy, correct?”

“Indeed.”

“So you made it this far.”

“I have a mind for study, after all.”

Clarus Academy was a meritocratic institution. Nobility alone would not suffice without skill, and even the gifted could fail to graduate without competence. Yet Wesley had managed.

“That is fortunate.”

Clang. Douglas set his teacup down and fixed him with a piercing gaze.

“What about your pitiful swordsmanship?”

“…Ah.”

Wesley was otherwise average, but his swordsmanship lagged behind.

“For three years, your swordwork has been abysmal. Do you intend to graduate like that?”

Wesley had scraped by, thanks to his royal status and the leniency of others, but the sword was different—it required consistent effort.

“Your classmates will no longer go easy on you. How do you plan to cope?”

“Well… I suppose I’ll manage somehow.”

Academy matters were secondary; surviving three years was all that mattered. Once that span passed, the pre-planned scenario would naturally unfold, erasing the ruin ending.

Douglas frowned at the answer, displeased, but the plan was set.

“So, I’ve prepared something for you.”

“…For me?”

A foreboding feeling settled over him.

“Clarus Academy allows underperforming students to take apprenticeships, correct?”

The term sent shivers down Wesley’s spine.

“I’ve prepared that for you.”

And from behind a pillar, as if on cue, someone emerged.

‘That boy…’

Dark brown hair, a solid frame.

“This will be your instructor: Lord Rough Diesel. You know who he is, of course.”

“Your Highness, I am honored to meet you.”

“A young Auror User, already at Sword Runner’s highest tier. He is more than qualified to train someone like you.”

“You flatter me, Your Highness.”

“No flattery here.”

Douglas’s gaze fell on Rough. He bowed naturally.

“I am Rough Diesel. It is my family’s honor to train Your Highness.”

Honor?

“What is this? Why must he be my instructor?”

“Why him? To donate his talent directly to someone whose skill is worse than a commoner—what is the nonsense in that?”

“Directly…?”

“Yes.”

Why? For what reason?

‘If he’s nearby, it’ll disrupt my future plans…’

Wesley would undergo hellish sword training until academy entrance. This threatened his long-term survival plan.

“Well, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want.”

“Really?”

“Not required, but—”

Slash!

Rough drew his sword to his neck. Douglas continued.

“If you refuse, he intends to take his life, claiming he has no reason to live.”

“What the…?”

Last night, he had resolved to dedicate his life to serving Wesley as a sword.

“I saw your disbelief yesterday, Your Highness. Allow me to prove my loyalty with my life!”

The thin red line traced on Rough’s neck.

“Enough! I believe you! And I’ll learn from you, so put the sword down.”

“…Truly?”

“Yes, quickly!”

With that, Rough wiped the blood from his blade and replaced it. Wesley, in turn, tore his clothing and pressed down firmly on Rough’s neck.

“You foolish boy… don’t you know a misstep here kills?”

“I knew.”

“Good. Very good.”

Haah. Wesley hadn’t anticipated this chain of events.

‘What now?’

Just then: Ding!

The status window appeared.

[New skill unlocked!]