I carefully placed the mint leaf on top of the green tea, striving for perfect symmetry after a couple of attempts, so that it wouldn't move any more than necessary.
My ears picked up the unpleasant sound of explosions in the distance; fortunately, the shockwave from the last one didn't reach the young woman's porcelain cup.
I picked up the cup of green tea, set it on the table, and gave a slight bow before taking a step back.
"If you're going to say something, just say it already," the young woman remarked as she grasped the cup's handle.
I thought about it for a few seconds, unsure how my mistress would react to this sort of topic.
If I don't intervene now, my master might disinherit my mistress because of her stubbornness.
"Morgana-sama, I beg you to reconsider this courtship," I pleaded calmly. "You should be well aware of the dangers involved in the ritual of the Order of the Scarlet Chalice, especially when your partner is so… if I may say so, mediocre at best."
My lady frowned, clearly annoyed by my disrespectful comments about her personal life, and took a sip of tea before responding.
"My father has arranged another 'marriage,' hasn't he?" she asked.
I remained silent; I had sworn not to reveal my conversations with my lord, not even to his own daughter.
"I see. Don't worry about it. Once the ritual is over next weekend, my father won't have to choose another innocent victim, and Vikir…"—she set the cup down on the table, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her lips—"I don't think it matters anyway."
***
The next morning, I got out of bed in my room with dark circles under my eyes—the result of staying up late rehearsing for the play.
I walked over to the mirror as I infused a pinch of the Yang element beneath my eyelids.
I nodded to myself as I looked at my reflection, which looked like that of a bored character.
"All right, all set," I murmured to my reflection on the other side of the mirror, adjusting the anti-magic chains I'd gotten the night before.
I'll have to get better-quality materials for my extra's costume… Well, no need to overthink it: I just have to go to the main stage and intercept the lead actors.
Hmm… I'm feeling it! Fate is sending me a message! What could it be? Furnishing the Demon King's castle? Unleashing a crimson hell upon the Scarlet Empire? I don't know, but it sounds interesting.
As I pondered the magnificent scenarios the universe might orchestrate, a letter appeared on my desk inside a small but luminous teleportation circle.
"I knew it: fate must have been moved by my radiant footsteps in the moonlight."
I returned to my neutral expression, feeling the annoying surveillance of the scanner approaching my room.
Focus, focus. I opened the letter slowly, glanced at it quickly before slipping it back into the envelope.
So the monarch has just died from overwork… It seems the academy is closed today and, for some reason, security has been doubled.
A lull, it seems. If the characters are absent, trying to write a script is pointless.
I pulled a small black book from the shelves of my closet, brushing off the specks of dust that had clung to it.
"If I can't act, I'll practice my dazzling poems."
I stood in front of the mirror, warming up my vocal cords while flipping through the pages with a touch of the wind element.
Knock, knock, knock!
The sudden knocks on the door broke my concentration, and I nearly dropped the poetry notebook from my hands.
I quickly tucked the notebook onto the shelf, which was crammed with a stack of books that overshadowed its grandeur.
I glanced at it again out of the corner of my eye, shifting it a little further to the left so it would be bathed in warm sunlight; the perfect metaphor for an "irrelevant" notebook would be like placing a silver coin among hundreds of gold coins.
Finally, I opened the door because of the insistent knocking, which, for some reason, threatened to knock it down if I didn't answer within the next few seconds.
"You took too long," the crimson-haired girl reproached me, crossing her arms.
"Who are you?" I asked the strange figure standing before me.
Crimson hair. Violet eyes. That murderous glare. It definitely couldn't be Morgana. Morgana would never show up dressed like that.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She's probably one of those wandering NPCs who go from dressing room to dressing room selling props for the next scene.
"Are you thinking about something unpleasant?" the girl probed, staring at me with her violet eyes that looked as if they were about to burst.
"No, ma'am," I replied, closing the door behind me so my collection wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
At this academy, there was only one character with a gaze that seemed plucked from the depths of purgatory—so intense that a single glance would give anyone who met it nightmares.
The one and only daughter of the devil, Morgana Le Fay.
For some reason, I felt as if my head had been shattered just a few seconds ago. Maybe it's just my imagination.
At some point, I'd been dragged into what could be described as a "date," although, in reality, Morgana—true to form—wasn't very good at talking. I can almost picture her cruelly standing me up in front of everyone for being so useless.
If that were the case, then handing her that letter for the bet might end up being a blessing in disguise.
Just picture it: the mob character gets rejected by the popular girl by the girl he likes in front of everyone, but then he's given a chance and turns out to be even more mediocre than expected.
In any other situation, I would have become the class laughingstock, drawing the attention of the popular kids. Luckily, we're talking about Morgana Le Fay. It's the most typical scenario—the most popular girl in class rejecting me; it would be strange if she didn't dump me after the first date.
Contrary to what I expected, the silence was shattered by the protagonist of the scene.
"Let's go that way," she said, pointing to a nearby ice cream stand, grabbing my arm… or, to be more precise, dragging me along by force.
"You don't have to push yourself if you're not feeling well," I told the nervous protagonist.
Morgana paid the vendor for the ice cream and handed me one, which, in and of itself, seemed like a pretty clear sign that she saw me as a completely useless person.
"I'm sure about this. After all, I was the one who suggested it," she said as she took the lead before turning toward me. "What about you? You've been quiet the whole time… don't you like having me around?"
"No, ma'am," I replied, licking the delicious chocolate ice cream that was probably my consolation prize for the sudden kidnapping.
Morgana stopped walking, and I stopped too so as not to ruin the moment.
"That's the problem. I've lost count of how many times you've said that," she remarked, taking a bite of her vanilla ice cream. "Do you think that just because I haven't hit you yet, it means I won't dare to?"
"No, ma'am…" I swallowed unconsciously as I felt her intense gaze on me. It's just that I'm not very good with words.
"Hmm. Try to cheer up," she said, stopping in front of a candy stand. "It's not every day you get to enjoy yourself. Look at His Majesty, for example; he worked himself to exhaustion for the good of the kingdom of Ashvor at the cost of his own life. Tomorrow it could be your turn, or maybe mine, so try to appreciate these moments."
She picked up the two bags of candy and handed one of them back to me.
At this rate, even I'm starting to think of myself as a good-for-nothing. Next time, I should be the one to treat her.
Even mediocrity has its levels; I mustn't let it rise to the point where I find myself acceptable, but neither must I let it fall to the point where I consider myself unbearable.
The "date" went off without any serious problems that would upset the supporting character's equilibrium; I even ended up paying with my modest allowance, which I'd set aside to make the costumes.
Well, in the end, it was worth it… I think, maybe—I don't know—but I can't risk not doing it either.
I could tell she was discreetly watching me from time to time, though his gaze was starting to grow more complex as time went on.
She's probably already bored with me.
She turned around slowly, letting the wind blow his reddish locks forward, which, combined with the sunset behind her, created a striking image just before the breakup.
Her eyes wavered for a few seconds, unsure of how to end things with me in the most painful way possible.
"Vikir, I want to ask you a question," she said, tucking the strand of hair that was covering her right eye behind her ear. If you—who've probably lived in your sister's shadow since childhood—had the chance to leave that weakness behind, how much would you be willing to pay to make that happen?"
"Huh?" I was speechless, since I'd prepared hundreds of lines for the breakup that never actually happened.
"Never mind," she said, turning her back on me as she dramatically said goodbye. "See you next weekend."
I returned her wave, my gaze lost in that anticlimactic scene.
I see… there was a small flaw in my screenwriting knowledge; I said two words fewer than the standard level of mediocrity requires. There's also the issue of money; maybe, if I said I didn't have enough, we could split the bill—though that would cost me points because I'd have to make him pull out his wallet to cover my share…
With that in mind, I turned around, intending to spend the night rewriting my character's lines in my notebook.
***
I slowly pushed the door open and gazed at the luxurious throne room that stretched out before me.
The ice had receded shortly after my father's death, though the marks it had left on the floor still remained; I had had the furniture that adorned the room brought directly from my chambers.
I picked up one of the crumpled documents lying on the table—the ones my father had left there even after his death.
"Intelligence reports…," I murmured, before pulling a lighter from my pocket and setting it ablaze. "We don't need them anymore."
I fixed my gaze intently on the golden throne, which shone with a light of its own compared to the rest of the great hall.
I took a few steps toward the throne; each step seemed to free me from the chains that bound me. I could feel it: the cold of the metal radiating from beneath my feet with every step.
Bam!
The sound of the door swinging open violently snapped me out of my thoughts.
"What do you want?" I asked as I sat down on the throne and narrowed my eyes to look at the old man standing in the doorway.
"Prince Marc… no, I mean, Your Majesty! I think it's a rash decision to accept the crown! You haven't even finished your studies at the academy yet," he exclaimed, with obvious desperation in his voice.
Judging by his disheveled appearance and the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, he had probably run all the way here from my father's funeral.
Valdric, one of my father's most loyal servants, had sworn allegiance to him, not to me.
"Is there a problem with me taking the throne? If I recall correctly, I'm next in line to the throne, since my sister was disqualified the moment she assumed the role of the Sword Saint," I remarked calmly, twirling the crown between my fingers. Nor is there any rule preventing me from ruling before I come of age.
"Miss Adelaide…" He clenched his fists tightly. "I beg you to reconsider; we can keep the factions threatening the crown at bay until you gain more experience."
My gaze slowly drifted toward the bustling city visible beyond the window; my decision had already been made.
"And how long would that take? Can you assure me they won't betray me?" My fingers drummed on the seat as I waited for the man's answer.
"Well…" He was at a loss for words, clearly aware of the corruption spreading throughout the kingdom.
"There's your answer," I said, slowly placing the crown on my head under the old man's nervous gaze. "Starting today, I'll take care of what my father left behind and the mistakes he overlooked in this kingdom—with or without your help."