SPO 12

Chapter 12

Ever since entering the academy, there was one phrase I had heard more than any other.

“This is Judea, after all.”

By now, it might as well have been Judea’s official slogan.

“Your loan limit is this high?”
“Because this is Judea.”

“The swimming pool is this huge? Is this the ocean?”
“This is Judea.”

“The cafeteria serves this much food? Are they trying to make us eat ourselves to death?”
“This is Judea.”

It wasn’t just me—even noble students who were considered the best of the best couldn’t hide their amazement at Judea’s facilities and system.

And somehow, this phrase applied even in the most unexpected places…

“Student council president… so there really is one.”

Professor Wid, looking as exhausted as ever, walked into the student council room.

“How’s the atmosphere in here?”

“Atmosphere? There isn’t any. There’s only a crisis.”

I replied while checking the finished presentation materials one last time.

Yes. This place was in crisis.

Because Rihart had said, ‘Two people are enough,’ the other council members hadn’t helped at all.

No—actually, they had been more of a hindrance, so I’d even banned them from entering the room for a while.

And that wasn’t all.

To make matters worse, Rihart—the one who had suggested we prepare the briefing together—kept making excuses and running away every single day.

‘Unbelievable.’

Someone had to do the work.

And naturally, that someone became… me.

After all, I was the student council president.

And the most normal person here!

I was already struggling to keep up with my classes, and now I had to prepare a briefing that was just around the corner. The pressure was overwhelming.

‘At least Rihart is in charge of the tea party and venue setup…’

Otherwise, I’d probably be pulling all-nighters.

Professor Wid collapsed into a chair, watching my eyebrows rise higher and higher.

Then he muttered with a sigh,

“This is Judea, after all…”

Is that really appropriate right now?

I stared at him in disbelief, but he didn’t seem interested in correcting himself. He just pressed his temples.

“Damn Judea… damn student council…”

After groaning for a while, he rolled his eyes toward me.

“Student council president…”

Does he still not know my name?

Well, I didn’t really mind.

As I narrowed my eyes in reasonable suspicion, he suddenly asked,

“Don’t you ever wonder why a first-year becomes student council president?”

I was caught off guard.

I’d never really questioned it.

‘Why would they put someone who knows nothing in charge?’

Third-years were busy with graduation, sure. But what about second-years?

While I was lost in thought, Professor Wid slammed the desk.

Bang!

“It’s because Judea is rotten with authority worship!”

I flinched, and saw the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

He had stood up and was now pointing wildly at the ceiling.

“Judea wants to say this: Students who enter our academy are exceptional from the start! Even first-years can do anything!”

After ranting for a while, he suddenly collapsed back into his chair like a doll with its strings cut.

“They have to choose a council right after freshmen enroll, so they pick based on grades. And who ends up joining?”

“Smart noble kids?”

“Exactly! Rich kids with good brains, no interest in responsibility, no concern for the council—just good at studying. Do you think the council will run well like that?”

Watching him mess up his hair in frustration, I finally understood the situation.

Look at us now.

Izael, Aven, and Kassel didn’t care about the council.

Even Rihart, who had shown interest at first, kept running away.

They only participated because they were told to.

Only participated.

…Thinking about it still made me angry.

Professor Wid must have been just as irritated.

He straightened up and continued passionately,

“So in the end, the student council president and I—who represent the council—have to do everything!”

My skin wasn’t always this dry.

He whispered that under his breath and rubbed his cheeks.

Behind his fingers, I could vaguely see the handsome features hidden by chronic fatigue and distrust of humanity.

“But thanks to the Creator God Yehisha, at least one proper student council president is chosen. That’s why Judea has survived.”

His lifeless eyes suddenly gleamed.

“Especially the former president, Johan Derrial. He was truly amazing. If everyone were like him, I’d have no regrets in life.”

Johan Derrial.

My eyes widened at the familiar name.

‘How did I not think of him?’

The former student council president from the Theology Department.

My favorite character.

The ideal ‘senior’ everyone dreamed of.

I straightened up immediately, as if ready to run out.

A breakthrough had appeared.

While listening to Professor Wid praise Johan, I resolved to get close to him as soon as possible.

Knock, knock.

A student I vaguely recognized poked his head in.

“Is Archel Nodovan here?”

Our eyes met.

Looking awkward, he recited his lines as if memorized.

“Rihart said he has an urgent matter today and can’t help prepare for the briefing. Please pass that on. I’ll be going now.”

Click.

A frightening silence followed.

Professor Wid brushed his hair back and glanced at me nervously.

“Isn’t the briefing tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Tsk. Rotten, as expected.”

He pouted and promptly passed out.

I ignored him.

Instead, I stared at the proposal on the desk.

At some point, I had doodled spiraling snails all over the corners.

After staring at the endless lines for a long time, I became certain.

Rihart was doing this on purpose.

I only realized it now.

* * *

“I passed it on. Is that enough?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Rihart, who had been leaning against the wall expressionlessly, slowly straightened up.

The student awkwardly introduced himself, but Rihart didn’t listen.

He only nodded, wishing the meaningless conversation would end.

After giving a polite response, he watched the boy trot down the stairs.

“Not good…”

Rihart clenched and unclenched his fists.

His mood had been rock-bottom lately.

This was a first for him.

Something rose from deep in his chest and stabbed at his heart like needles.

He didn’t know what it was.

And that wasn’t the only problem.

Since Archel appeared, that unpleasant pain made him act strangely.

Even knowing it wasn’t right, he wanted to provoke her.

To make things difficult for her.

And at the same time…

“I want to get rid of her.”

He bared his teeth in a twisted smile.

If she disappeared from sight, maybe he could breathe again.

Losing first place after always being called the best…

Especially to some countryside noble girl he didn’t even know—

The humiliation was unbearable.

He rubbed his face roughly.

He didn’t want to identify this feeling.

Knowing would only make it worse.

Turning away, he headed for the dorm.

Completely opposite of his excuse about having urgent business.

* * *

Shhh—

Ice-cold water poured down my body.

My teeth chattered, but I endured it.

‘Cool down.’

At this point, it was obvious he was messing with me on purpose.

The reason was clear.

If I’d been humiliated like that at the entrance ceremony, I wouldn’t like the other person either.

“But he’s a male lead candidate!”

Is it really okay to be this petty?

He insisted we work together, then ditched me alone.

Is he only nice to Lena?

‘So picky.’

From what I remembered, Rihart wasn’t that hard to deal with.

‘Your Highness is amazing. You’re the best. You’re destined to lead the empire.’

You had to support his pride, choose flattering options, and avoid cliché defiant lines like, “You’re the first man to slap me.”

Most of his paid choices were like that.

But I wasn’t Lena.

And our relationship was already ruined.

‘It went wrong the moment his name was miscalled at the entrance ceremony.’

At least the briefing was mostly done.

I could let this slide—for now.

‘But I can’t just let him walk all over me forever…’

I dried my hair with a towel and returned to my room.

“Ugh, just watching you makes me cold. Who showers with cold water before summer?”

Janet had taken over my seat and was flipping through the proposal.

Pages rustled lightly.

Then—

“Wait, is this really for this year’s briefing? It’s exactly the same as last year’s.”

Pointing at the venue section, Janet shook the paper.

“Yeah. We’re using the same place.”

As I wrapped my darker pink, wet hair in a towel, she asked in alarm,

“The same place? That won’t work.”

“…It won’t?”

Why? What’s wrong?