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Chapter 19
So my son, who stands at the pinnacle of the Tersen Empire, is inferior to a child from a lowly family. How disappointing.
It was a short letter.
Just reading that single concise sentence was enough to make him hear his mother’s voice in his head, filled with disappointment and disgust.
Rihart buried his face in his palms.
Breathing felt difficult.
Everything had been going smoothly…
With his natural talent and relentless effort, he believed he had always secured his position as Crown Prince.
So that no one could question his birth.
So that he could easily overpower the Empress’s son, who had the backing of a powerful ducal family.
“You must always be first.”
“Behave with dignity, like your mother.”
“Don’t show weakness. You’re going to be Emperor.”
“You’re lacking. Do better. Is this all you can do? Look at your perfect mother.”
The Empress had an extraordinary talent.
The talent to find the tiniest flaw no one else could see.
Even if he got ninety-nine things right, the moment he made one mistake, she could turn all his efforts into worthless trash.
Because of her oppressive demand for perfection, Rihart believed he was inadequate.
He tried harder in response to her harsh scolding.
But when he learned the truth about his mother’s origins—about how she had pretended to be the perfect daughter of a count’s family—he completely collapsed.
He was afraid.
The bloodline he had believed to be an unshakable fortress, a lifelong badge of honor regardless of his shortcomings, had all been a lie.
Being merely outstanding isn’t enough to survive.
The obsession with being perfect enough to never fall behind the Second Prince took hold of him.
“Your Highness, you’re truly perfect.”
“How did you do this? You didn’t even practice! You really are the future of the Empire!”
Rihart never denied such praise. Instead, he accepted it with a calm smile, as if it were only natural.
He carefully hid the blood and sweat behind that perfection.
He deceived himself into believing he had always been perfect.
I’m the irreplaceable Crown Prince of the Tersen Empire.
But everything went wrong when he entered Judea Academy, where geniuses were everywhere.
Where did it start going wrong?
Lost in thought, Rihart unconsciously gnawed at his fingernails.
“Student Council President… Archel Nodovan.”
Was it when Archel’s name echoed through the auditorium instead of his?
When he ground his teeth, desperate to drag her down?
“Archel…”
Rihart roughly wiped away the blood from his fingers.
He wanted to distort her face—to erase her from his sight.
She had suddenly appeared in his life and kept interfering with him.
Yet the more he tried, the smaller he himself became.
No matter how petty or despicable his actions were, Archel always resolved everything with ease.
“What’s so easy for you?”
Until now, Rihart had always been the best.
He had worked to be the best, and no one had ever surpassed him.
Now, faced with this situation for the first time, he had no idea what to do.
“What am I supposed to do…?”
As he rubbed his eyes roughly, his gaze landed on a glove.
A red glove made of premium leather, stamped with the imperial crest.
“Duel…”
Among swordsmen, throwing down a glove meant a challenge.
Even if Archel wasn’t a swordsman, she wouldn’t misunderstand its meaning.
Archel made magical tools without mana.
Rihart had trained in magic and swordsmanship since childhood.
The outcome was obvious.
Yet he had already made up his mind.
If he could defeat her, everything would return to normal.
“I’m insane…”
It felt like his feet were stuck in mud.
The more he struggled, the deeper he sank.
From his feet to his calves.
From his calves to his thighs.
From his thighs to his chest.
Until the mud reached his neck and filled his mouth, suffocating him with its bitter taste.
I wish someone would stop me.
Please.
* * *
After the briefing session, the days were unusually quiet.
As a result, the student council room was often empty.
Strangely, new potted plants kept appearing.
“This is new.”
A small sansevieria in a silver aluminum pot caught my eye.
Dark green patterns spread naturally across pale green leaves, like painted brushstrokes.
“It must be Kassel again.”
Despite his cold appearance, he loved decorating the council room with lively plants.
He definitely comes here just to water them.
Looking at the newly added cactus, I spoke.
“Professor.”
Professor Wid rested his forehead on his desk and didn’t respond.
“About Senior Johan Derial…”
He suddenly lifted his head.
“Johan is a truly perfect student.”
His instant response made me laugh.
Because it was true.
Johan Derial was the main character I had wanted to romance when I played Dumea.
With his golden hair and mysterious golden eyes, even his smile felt sacred.
Dumea had extreme freedom.
How free?
Even a random passerby could be a romance target.
Players could even build harems with side characters.
Among them, Johan was a famous hidden character.
The ideal “perfect senior” everyone dreamed of.
Even his normal ending was different.
He didn’t suddenly go crazy and try to imprison the heroine.
His ending was—
Disappearance.
Yes. That kind of disappearance.
The “vanishing without a word” ending.
Players hated it.
Some said he should’ve imprisoned her instead.
Others preferred him disappearing over emotionally destroying the heroine.
I was neutral.
If this were real, disappearing would be better.
At first, I was too busy dealing with the main love interests to think about hidden characters.
But after seeing their conditions, I decided I should at least make an impression on Johan.
“Professor, where can I find Senior Johan?”
Professor Wid narrowed his eyes.
“I want advice on student council matters. You’re here, of course, but Johan handled things directly.”
I lied without hesitation.
He nodded.
“Johan is devout. He attends dawn prayers every day. You’ll find him there.”
Just as I thought.
As thanks, I left two vitamin pills on his desk.
“When Lena comes, we should go pray together.”
To romance Johan, you couldn’t ignore the creator god Yehisha.
Thinking about the future, I habitually checked my mailbox.
Something strange was inside.
“What’s this?”
It wasn’t a letter.
I pulled out a large glove that definitely wasn’t mine.
Thud.
A note fell to the floor.
Feeling uneasy, I tried to ignore it—but sighed and picked it up.
To Archel Nodovan.
I challenge you to a duel. Bring any magical tool you like. I will prepare the sword.
Wait at the training grounds at 6 a.m.
—Rihart Cavandia
“…What is this?”
I laughed in disbelief.
I had thought we needed to talk properly someday.
He always slipped away when I tried.
And now he came up with this?
“So I don’t even have the option of refusing?”
I folded the note and put it in my pocket.
Whatever was going on, Rihart was clearly cornered.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t challenge someone unrelated to swordsmanship.
It went beyond annoying.
I almost felt sorry for him.
“What made the Crown Prince end up like this?”
“Probably the Empress.”
I kicked the ground lightly.
This time, I’ll settle it.
I couldn’t keep watching him dig himself deeper.
Before Lena arrived, I had to fix him.
“Even if I can’t win, I’ll land at least one hit.”
He said I could bring any magical tool.
That meant magic was allowed, right?
Interpreting it my way, I thought hard about how to beat someone skilled in both magic and swordsmanship.
The next day, at dawn, I covered myself with magic stickers.
Strength.
Speed.
Flexibility.
Dynamic vision.
Agility.
I enhanced everything.
I amplified standard enhancement formulas to multiply their effects.
Strong yet fast.
Light yet flexible.
Watching my precious mana stones melt away like ice cream in summer, I shut my eyes tightly.
After preparing everything, dawn arrived quietly.
No one was around.
Breathing in the cold air, I entered the training ground.
Rihart stood alone in the wide clearing.
“A duel with no witnesses…”
Normally, duels were held before crowds, staking life and honor.
But only the pale moon would bear witness.
Rihart noticed me while fiddling with his wooden sword.
After staring at each other for a long time, he approached and handed me another one.
“If I win, you’ll stop these childish games.”
Taking the sword, I declared firmly that I knew everything he had done intentionally.
His brows twisted slightly.
His face was pale and gloomy.
“You’re confident you’ll win, even now?”
At his bitter question about whether I’d mastered swordsmanship too, I shook my head.
“We won’t know until we try.”
Of course, no matter how you looked at it, I was the shorter end of the stick.
