“That is correct. I request the cancellation of tomorrow’s Imperial Council meeting regarding the abolition of the Defense Lord.”
I conveyed my demand directly.
Amidst the audience, he couldn’t afford to say anything foolish. If he were told the Defence Lord was a nominal position, he could simply resort to the usual noble tactic of fabricating arguments to extol the virtues of Count Archiam. Even if everyone understood it was a nominal position, my affirmation of his recognition held meaning.
Marquis Prynan covered his mouth with his hand and stared at me. Looking away meant defeat. Our glare-off continued… until the marquis broke eye contact first.
My victory felt fleeting. He was now looking over my shoulder as if examining my back. Then he removed his hand from his mouth. His face was beaming.
Maintaining that seemingly kind smile, he began speaking in a deliberately theatrical, exaggerated manner.
“Good heavens! That request from Count Dolknes is enough to make even I, entrusted with the role of Financial Minister, reconsider my stance. Count Archiam has forged a most favorable alliance. Now that he stands under Count Dolknes’s protection, we must seriously contemplate granting him even greater favors.”
So easily?
Even though things were going my way, my heart felt unsettled. As I tried to pinpoint this unease, I noticed Marquis Prynan’s gaze was still fixed behind me.
Turning around in a panic, I saw an unusual crowd gathering. Led by the man I’d spoken to earlier, they were likely all extremist nobles.
Like insects drawn to light, they were cheerfully revelling.
“Brilliant. I thought Archiam was finished, but a savior has appeared.”
“I shall follow Count Doknes as well.”
“Indeed. We who’ve been made to swallow bitter pills… if we rally to her side…”
This isn’t like the extremists at all… It’s the Yumiela faction.
They’re gathering without my consent and declaring themselves the Yumiela faction. And they’re borrowing my authority without permission to do as they please.
This is bad. Could this have been Marquis Prynan’s plan all along? Panicking, I turned to face him directly. He twisted his mouth into a hideous grin.
“Oh my. Are those people behind you Yumiela’s allies?”
“Your true colors are showing. …Is this your aim?”
“Ever since Hillrose disappeared, things have been tough even within the moderate faction. A formidable rival has emerged. We must unite anew.”
This is bad. I’m being forced to take on the role Duke Hillrose once played—gathering the anti-monarchy faction into one place.
I’m sorry, but is abandoning Count Archiam the only way to avoid this? …No. I can’t back down now. It would be meaningless for me to flip-flop and say, “We don’t need a Defence Lord, do we?”
Marquis Prynan will not raise the Defence Lord issue at tomorrow’s Imperial Council. Then, just like now, he can feign reluctance, muttering, “What can I do? Yumiela insisted.” That alone will cement my record of rescuing the extremist nobles.
What if I just retreat to the Dolknes territory while the extremists are in an uproar? …This won’t work either. These are the sort of people who would elevate the Second Prince against his will. The capital’s fervour spilling over into the territories would be unbearable.
No matter how much I retreat, it’s a futile, checkmate situation.
If retreating won’t work, I have no choice but to advance. Advance and advance, until the enemy is forced to retreat. That’s the only path left.
I, too, begin my act. I inherit the will of Duke Hillrose, stand at the pinnacle of the extremist faction, and do my utmost to strip power from the moderates… I play the part.
“Count Archiam is a man worthy of the title of Defense Lord, so yes… I believe it would be acceptable to entrust him with more responsibilities directly related to the nation’s protection.”
I phrased it vaguely, but essentially, it meant handing over the real authority to interfere with the military.
Just as I had anticipated, the extremists lurking behind me murmured in excitement.
“A key position in the Central Army!?”
“How enviable. But what position is being offered?”
“If even that Demon King is recommending him… surely it can only be the Chief of Military Affairs?”
Things are getting pretty heated here, but if you’re going to call yourselves the Yumiela faction, please stop referring to me as the Demon King.
Even so, the delusions are exploding beyond imagination. The Military Affairs Chief mentioned earlier is the head of the military, a position held for generations by one of only three marquises. There must also be negotiations with other military officers—an amateur can’t take that post suddenly.
Well, such an overreaction actually suits us just fine. If things sour with the noble houses of equal standing, Marquis Prynan would be in a bind.
The extremists he controlled are now under my command. The marquis says with a stiff smile.
“Preparing a military post isn’t something I can decide on my own. Ultimately, His Majesty will make the final decision. I can’t even be sure the other ministers would agree.”
“Oh? But just now, the Marquis said he was considering even greater favors for Archiam. Wouldn’t that mean full cooperation?”
The Marquis took a half step back. Unconsciously, no doubt.
Good. I’m pushing him. Keep pushing, pushing… Where’s the landing point? I pushed because retreating meant checkmate, but there was no vision beyond this.
Hmm. The Marquis must dislike me messing with politics for real. His ultimate goal is to gather extremists around a man with zero ambition who hates politics… So I have to make him believe my push-push talk comes from the bottom of my heart.
He probably saw right through it. A seasoned veteran like the old man would easily spot a bluff like mine. He saw it, and now he’s playing it safe because it looks like trouble.
The Marquis vs. the Count—that one-on-one dynamic has already shifted. This isn’t a battle between two factions either. With the extremists joining in, it’s become a chaotic mess where everyone’s goals and methods conflict. If this escalates further, it’ll drag in the moderate nobles and even His Majesty the King, plunging us into chaos.
My mind’s overwhelmed; I can’t figure out the right thing to say next.
As I stumble for words, I hear his familiar voice ring out.
“Hold on, Yumiela.”
Patrick appeared alone, weaving through the crowd to stand beside me. He held a glass of champagne in one hand. What the hell is he drinking when I’m in such a mess?
Well, it’s fortunate we got a chance to regroup. The extremists who disapproved booed loudly.
“Isn’t this the moment to strike?”
“Putting himself above the family head… Who does he think he is?”
Patrick ignored the heckling and looked at my face. His earnest eyes seemed to say, “Trust me.”
“That’s going too far. Don’t be so unreasonable.”
“Is that… so?”
“The only noble you have any connection with is Count Arkiam, and you know little about the other noble houses, right? There must be others besides him who are suited for key military positions.”
The extremists’ buzzing turned into restless fidgeting. Their conversation stopped, and they began glancing sideways at each other. Ah, so that’s it. You guys are simple.
In other words, Patrick shifted the mood of their fervent support for Count Archiam by making them think, “Someone more suitable? Could it be… me?”
When someone mentioned having a crush on the class idol, it seemed like the only types who reacted were those who wondered, “Could it be me?” No way. The idol’s crush is definitely not you.
Patrick’s words struck at their core psychology—that they valued themselves above the kingdom or factions—and managed to calm the tense situation.
We’re relying on Patrick now and waiting for his next words.
“Yumiela is—”
As he opened his mouth, he began to gesture, pointing somewhere.
Then an unexpected incident occurred. As he shifted his body, the glass he held bumped into me. The expensive, thin glass container slipped from Patrick’s hand and fell toward the floor.
A slow-motion countdown began until the glass shattered. He looked over at me with a “Oops” expression. Ugh, Patrick, you clumsy oaf… or rather, it was obvious he wasn’t.
For someone like him, reaching out now to catch the glass without spilling its contents would be a breeze.
He did it on purpose. He had a plan, deliberately pretending to drop it.
Then I’ll stay put too, watching the glass as the count nears zero… Isn’t that a waste? Granted, I’ll let the glass shatter. It’s wasteful, but things with form break eventually. But isn’t the drink itself a waste?
Wasting food is wrong. I caught the glass inches from the floor, straightening up with the momentum to chug it in one go. As I bent down again, I slammed the empty glass onto the floor.
It was over in an instant. Everything concluded when it takes an ordinary person to utter, “Ah!” Reaching down to my feet, I looked at the shattered glass fragments on the floor and said, “Ah!”
“Ah, couldn’t make it in time.”
I pretended it was a pity my attempt to catch it mid-air had been wasted.
Patrick shot me a reproachful look. It’s fine, no one can see it.
I don’t know what he was aiming for, but he just wanted the glass to break, right? I thought it was no problem, but he was flustered. He pulled out a handkerchief, crouched down, and pressed it against the hem of my dress, trying to hide it from view.
“Sorry. Might leave a stain.”
The liquid didn’t splash; it went straight into my stomach—no stain worries. …Sorry, so that was the plan.
And another problem. That thing I drank? It was alcohol.
Even though it was just a little, my face started burning. Patrick looked up at me, his face distorted as he seemed to ask, Why did you drink it?
Patrick stood up and said.
“Your face is bright red. I told you to stick to juice. How many drinks did you have before coming here?”
“…I don’t remember.”
It was genuinely just one drink, but I guess he meant to pretend I was drunk. Even with my head spinning, I could figure that much out.
Right, my face must be red enough for others to notice. It’s weird how I get drunk on alcohol even though I’m resistant to toxins.
“You should probably head home now.”
“Really?”
“We don’t want you getting drunk and causing trouble again.”
The moment he said “trouble,” the people around us took a few steps back, widening the circle around me. Even though I was leaving, not a single dissenting voice was raised.
Patrick put his arm around my shoulder as we started walking, and the crowd immediately parted to make way.
Thanks to Patrick’s quick thinking, that scene at the party ended without any real resolution.
We escaped the great hall. Walking down the hallway, though no one was around, we spoke in hushed tones just to be safe.
“Why did you drink it?”
“It would’ve been a waste.”
“Well, at least we got out okay in the end.”
“Thanks. I lost my bearings… Ugh, I feel sick.”
“Looks like you really should go home.”
We went outside and were escorted to the carriage. The cold night breeze felt refreshing, and I felt somewhat better.
Patrick didn’t get in, and I thought we’d be riding home together.
“Patrick?”
“I’m staying behind. There’s someone I need to talk to.”
With that, he closed the carriage door from the outside.
The carriage started moving almost immediately. Rocking alone inside, a lonely sense of unease… no, the motion sickness compounded the alcohol, making me feel even worse.
Having dropped out of the fight, I could only miserably endure my terrible hangover, leaving Patrick to handle things.
> When someone mentioned having a crush on the class idol, it seemed like the only types who reacted were those who wondered, “Could it be me?” No way. The idol’s crush is definitely not you.
⬇️
When someone mention the class idol having a crush on someone, it seemed like the only types who reacted were those who wondered, “Could it be me?” No way. The idol’s crush is definitely not you.