[Episode 10]
But as is always the case in life, unexpected variables are bound to exist.
‘To withdraw from a course, I have to get the professor’s signature for that subject.’
Isn’t this a sign not to withdraw? However, it seemed better to have an awkward moment with the professor than to sit through the same class as the Second Prince all semester. Holding the course withdrawal form, I trudged toward the professor’s office.
“Come in.”
Just as I was about to open the door at those freshly spoken words of permission.
“…Dietrich Degoff?”
From that point, I sensed something was amiss.
‘I’ve only attended class… once. How does the professor know my name?’
Something was wrong. Was it because there were so few students taking the class? Slightly flustered, I hid the withdrawal form behind my back and greeted him.
“Uh, hello. I… Professor, well, the thing is—”
“The salutatorian among this year’s freshmen.”
“Oh, yes. That’s correct.”
The professor, his hair peppered with gray, looked at me with his glasses slightly lowered and eyes upturned, as those with farsightedness often do. It was the very moment I was wondering how I could broach the topic of withdrawal.
“It’s not a class for freshmen, so I wondered who would go out of their way to take it. If you’re the salutatorian, that explains it.”
“Ah, yes. Actually, because of that…”
“If there had been just one fewer student, the lecture would have been canceled. Thanks to our adventurous freshman, that wasn’t the case.”
Uh….
“I was worried that I’d be leaving the Academy after this year, unable to even give my final lecture properly… I’m concerned that students seem to study less and less each year.”
Well, when you assign 30-page reports twice a semester, Professor….
Seemingly oblivious to the disaster of cancellation he had brought upon himself, the professor wore a forlorn expression.
“So, is the class not too difficult? What brings you here?”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell the professor—who had less than a year until retirement and was preparing for his final lecture at the Academy—that I had come to withdraw from his class.
“I came… to ask about the reference books for the lecture. They weren’t listed in the syllabus. I should have asked after the first class. H-ha….”
A brief look of satisfaction crossed the professor’s face. As he jotted down several reference books, I crumpled the withdrawal form and stuffed it into my pocket. With a benevolent expression, the professor even added explanations about the books.
“Come see me anytime if you have difficulties in the future.”
“…Yes!”
Damn it!
Starting with this incident, my daily life flowed in an unwanted direction.
Someone knocked on the door of my dormitory—where visitors hardly ever came—early in the morning.
‘Did the Baron and Baroness send a letter?’
Hoping that might be the case, I rushed to the door in one stride, only to find an unexpected person standing there. It was Irene.
“What brings you here…”
No, before that, how do you know where this is?
When I asked with a slightly bewildered and somewhat disappointed expression, Irene replied with a cool look that the dormitory roster was managed by the student council. Truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to invite someone I had an awkward relationship with into my dormitory, even as a pleasantry.
However, it wasn’t fully spring yet at the Academy, and the hallway was still chilly. In the end, I had no choice but to let Irene into my dormitory.
I hooked the kettle handle into the fireplace and heated water. While waiting for the water to boil, Irene and I awkwardly faced each other.
Looking at the kettle in the fireplace with a blank expression, Irene resembled the Second Prince no matter how many times I looked at her. I even began to suspect that the Second Prince had used magic to turn into a woman. However, unlike the Second Prince, who always wore a mocking or sneering expression, Irene always maintained a blank face.
“I’d like to invite you to the student council again.”
At that bombshell, I couldn’t maintain a poker face like Irene. Fortunately, the kettle had begun to emit steam, so I barely managed to lift my stiff body and went to take the kettle out.
“I thought… I had clearly conveyed my intentions to you back then, Senior.”
I carefully handed Irene her brewed tea as I spoke. Irene took a sip and said,
“I wasn’t planning to ask again either. I don’t particularly like recommending work to someone who refused.”
But as I stared at her intensely, wordlessly asking ‘then why on earth…’, Irene fell silent for a moment before speaking.
“But after hearing your answer, I changed my mind.”
I had only given a refusal as an answer, so saying she changed her mind after hearing it made no sense whatsoever. Perhaps reading my expression, Irene explained that she had liked the answer in which I had objectively assessed myself.
“Accounting isn’t just about reviewing budgets. It’s about reviewing all the funds flowing through the Academy, so a person with sound judgment is more necessary than anything else.”
Irene added that she felt something strangely off whenever she looked at the ledgers these days. It seemed she was sensing signs of embezzlement.
Irene truly resembled the Second Prince not just in appearance but even in that beast-like, instinctive intuition. I felt chills at their mirror-image resemblance and kept quiet, so Irene seemed to think I was still hesitating and continued in a serious voice.
“I swear on the name of the House of Count Horatius. You will not be ostracized as a student council executive because of your status or any other reason. I’ll make sure of it. And if it’s still uncomfortable to clash with other executives, come work at my dormitory. I have enough space for that.”
Irene was eliminating my excuses for refusal one by one. I hurriedly tried to offer my one remaining reason, but Irene preempted even that.
“Don’t say you’re lacking in qualifications again. Talent is important, of course, but you can’t become the salutatorian without diligence.”
“And the same goes for the student council work you’ll be doing,” Irene said, bringing her teacup to her lips again.
I had actually known. The Irene depicted in the original story was exactly that kind of person. Cold, principle-centered, and somewhat rigid. This personality was also related to her family, the House of Count Horatius.
Among the people of the Trhomple Empire, there were magicians born sporadically with outstanding magical power. Their magic was not hereditary. While the type of magic itself could sometimes follow the parents, the amount of magical power was purely random. However, among those countless branches of magic, time magic alone was special. It was the only one where both the type of magic and the amount of magical power were simultaneously inherited by descendants.
Of course, despite the grand name of ‘time’ magic, they couldn’t do grand things like changing time. That was possible only for the most exceptional among time magicians. However, anyone from the House of Count Horatius possessed the ability to peer through the gaps of time that had already passed.
The House of Count Horatius had served as historians generation after generation because of that ability. And so, the words describing Irene—cold, principle-centered, and somewhat rigid—were born through such circumstances.
That was why Irene’s personality, which valued principles so highly, seemed to apply to me—to Dietrich—not as the child of an insignificant and obscure baronial family, but as a student who had studied diligently.
It felt heartwarming to receive someone’s expectations after so long. Being expected of was a good thing. The pressure that came with those expectations anchored me, who had been drifting awkwardly in this world.
My existence being needed. Trusting that I would do the work expected of me in the position where I was expected. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced since being possessed into this novel.
Facing Irene, who looked at me with upright eyes, I ended up taking her outstretched hand.
Even though I knew full well it was the beginning of a hard road.
By this point, I felt like I was living life as it came. I had always had some kind of plan. Yet whenever I faced an unexpected variable, I found myself accepting the flow of life regardless of my original will.
And now, I faced the final variable of my daily life once more.
“Um… may I sit next to you?”
Someone spoke to me as I looked out the window, lost in thought.
And so, I had my first real encounter with the original story’s protagonist, Roxanne.
I had been dragged here one day and forced to live someone else’s life unintentionally, so I hadn’t been good at everything. But there was one thing I could be proud of.
‘I really tried my best not to touch the original story.’
I moved only to remote places so my path wouldn’t cross with Roxanne and Elius. I had chosen absurd classes like ‘Understanding Trhomple Regional Studies Through Historical Conflicts of the Modern Cabaluna Continent’ precisely to avoid them.
Arts and physical education classes were no exception. I had chosen my courses completely excluding my personal interests, purely to avoid the original protagonist.
Choosing a physical education class wasn’t difficult. Unlike other subjects that were vaguely mentioned, the original story had depicted Roxanne choosing horseback riding for her PE class. Roxanne with her hair tied up, riding a white steed, was described as looking determined—unlike her usual frail appearance.
In fact, Roxanne received such praise wherever she was. She was described as reminding one of fairies in the greenhouse, elves in the forest, and nymphs by the water during art class where she played the flute. Thanks to that, the students who took classes with Roxanne seemed to feel 120% satisfaction in the audiovisual aspect.
The only one who was sad was me, who had been forced to choose another class upon realizing that Roxanne would be taking the music class I had always wanted to try someday.