The World of Otome Game
is a Second Chance for Broken Swords
Story Starts
-=&
Chapter 4 -
The Villainess and the
Protagonist's Userper
Several weeks drifted past after the entrance ceremony. Since Leon and his companions had made the deliberate decision not to draw attention to themselves, their days settled into a predictable rhythm of lectures, meals, and quiet evenings in the dormitory. Olivia often caught herself sighing as she mumbled about yuri, harems, and being his mistress—but Leon ignored all of it.
Leon, for his part, was perfectly content with their low profile. Without Olivia vying for the prince's and his retinue's affection, the academy remained blissfully free of the dramatic upheavals he'd initially braced himself for when he'd struck out for independence.
Instead, he focused on the predictable comfort of routine—attending classes, discreetly preparing for future dungeon expeditions, and managing estate correspondence with Luxion's help and the two guardian spirits he'd left behind at the barony.
Marriage lingered at the back of his mind, a necessary obligation rather than a romantic pursuit. He wasn't naïve enough to expect love, but mutual respect—or at least a pragmatic alliance—would suffice. Not that he wouldn't want to experience love again, but even eighteen years after their deaths, he wasn't certain he'd ever move on.
His guardian spirits didn't help matters. A pang of guilt lanced through him at the memory of their dejected faces when he'd explained that he couldn't bring them to the academy until he'd secured a wife.
The imbalance in the treatment of the sexes at this academy was absurd. A woman could maintain countless male attendants and guardian spirits without reproach, but a man with even a single female guardian spirit risked scorn. In fact, most contracted guardian spirits in the kingdom were primarily male, given that contractors could choose the form their spirits assumed upon sealing the contract.
As for him, he hadn't forced his guardian spirit into anything; he'd simply allowed it whatever form it preferred.
Leon shook his head as his thoughts wandered. Olivia, by his side, tilted her head in curiosity, but he waved her off.
Anyway, his new title as a Rank 7 Baron complicated matters. Social expectations dictated that he find a wife befitting his station, though the options were... peculiar. At the lowest rung, he could consider the eldest daughter of a baronet; at best, a viscount's illegitimate daughter might be persuaded, provided the family didn't find the match beneath them. The whole system baffled him—how was a non-hereditary barony more prestigious than an inheritable baronetcy? Then again, nobility thrived on such contradictions.
At least dormitory life offered some respite. Much to his surprise, Daniel and Raymond had gradually shed their initial wariness, bonding over their shared predicament as minor nobles navigating the kingdom's marriage expectations.
Their tentative friendship even extended to Olivia now, despite their earlier disdain for a commoner infiltrating their ranks. Leon caught them more than once seeking her advice—whether about coursework or magic, she was easily top of the year in the latter.
Still, as days bled into weeks, Leon couldn't ignore the nagging sense that this peace was just a prelude. 'We've kept our heads down. Olivia's staying away from the prince and his friends. So why does it feel like something's coming?'
"I suppose we should start deciding who to invite, shouldn't we?" Daniel asked, his fingers drumming nervously against the wooden bench. "What are you going to do about yours?"
Leon blinked, pulled from his thoughts by Daniel's voice. Today, they were seated together on a weathered stone bench in the school's courtyard, the distant chatter of other students forming a muted backdrop to their conversation about the dreaded tea party scheduled for early May.
The women of the academy might treat it as a chance to relax during the extended holiday, but for the men? Society demanded they use the break to orchestrate elaborate tea parties, each gesture scrutinised, each invitation a carefully weighed gamble.
He wasn't allowed to invite every available girl indiscriminately—overtures had to be made to check compatibility first.
Raymond exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as he stared down at his lap. "My parents scraped together some allowance," he muttered, fingers tightening around the fabric of his trousers, "but it's barely enough for a decent venue, let alone catering. At this point, I don't care who attends—just that someone does."
Leon grimaced inwardly. The academy might claim to be tuition-free, but the hidden costs were brutal. Room and board came without charge—his additional arrangement aside—but the unspoken price—social standing, connections, the relentless pressure to secure advantageous matches—weighed heavier than gold.
Olivia leaned forward suddenly, her grin sharp as she formed a circle with her thumb and index finger—the universal sign for coin. "Oh? Need funding?" she chirped, eyes glinting with mischief. "I offer loans at very reasonable rates."
Daniel and Raymond whipped their heads towards her so fast Leon half-expected audible whiplash.
"Wait—you have spare capital?" Daniel blurted, voice cracking slightly.
Olivia's smile widened, predatory in a way that made Leon's instincts prickle. 'Like watching a lynx toy with a mouse,' he mused.
"Of course," she purred, smoothing her skirt with deliberate nonchalance. "Helping with discovering dungeons comes with certain... profit-sharing benefits. So?" She tilted her head. "Interested?"
The pair swivelled towards Leon, hope warring with desperation in their expressions. He kept his arms crossed, eyes closed in feigned contemplation. 'Ah, damn it.'
"I won't undercut my vassal's business proposal," he said at last, cracking one eye open. "But if repayment becomes an issue, I can grant dungeon access rights."
Truthfully, he'd planned to assist them himself—Bartfort territory was prosperous—but Olivia had pounced first. Now he'd have to ensure she didn't bleed them dry. 'At this rate, she'll own half the male student body by graduation.' The thought was equal parts exasperation and reluctant pride.
To be honest, he'd rather opt out of this particular tradition—the whole ostentatious display of wealth and status left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially when most girls would probably just look down on them anyway.
He didn't particularly mind being labelled a miser; the whispers about his frugality rolled off him like rainwater off oilcloth. But unfortunately, the weight of his family's reputation pressed against his shoulders. Even as an independent baron, his actions still cast ripples that could erode his father's carefully maintained relationships with other nobles—relationships built on decades of strained smiles and backhanded compliments exchanged over whisky that burnt the throat.
"Though, if I'm not using it," Leon conceded, rubbing his temple where the beginnings of a headache pulsed, "instead of renting out the academy's overpriced parlours for your tea parties, you may use my dormitory's guest area." The words tasted faintly of resignation. "It's quite the lavish setup."
As Daniel and Raymond launched into enthusiastic expressions of gratitude—their voices overlapping in a discordant symphony—movement caught Leon's peripheral vision. Prince Julius sauntered through the sun-dappled courtyard like a golden-haired conqueror, his polished boots clicking against the flagstones in perfect rhythm with the gasps of his female entourage.
A few lesser nobles trailed behind them like remora fish—heirs to earldoms preening in their embroidered waistcoats.
At the prince's elbow walked his foster brother and shadow, Jilk Fia Marmoria—his forest-green hair catching the sunlight like moss on ancient bark. The contrast between them was striking: where Julius carried himself with the sharp-edged arrogance of a freshly whetted blade, Jilk moved with the quiet grace of a willow branch bending to the wind. His downturned green eyes gave him a perpetually mournful expression. However, Leon noted the calculating flicker behind those demure lashes whenever a noblewoman fluttered her fan too close to the prince's personal space.
"Your Highness!" A chorus of breathy voices erupted as the girls pressed closer, their gloved hands fluttering like trapped butterflies. "Will you be holding a tea party in May?"
"I'd like to join—no, I must join!"
"Your Highness, it would be the honour of my family's lineage to attend!"
One particularly bold first-year even dared to clutch at Julius's sleeve, her cheeks flushing the same violent pink as the peonies embroidered on her bodice. You could see from the prince's smile that he was basking in the attention, but he caught himself and inclined his head with regal detachment whilst Jilk subtly redistributed the crowd, showing his ease with the prince's admirers.
Raymond groaned, pressing his palms against his eye sockets hard enough to see starbursts. "With the prince and the other high-ranking nobility here this year..." he muttered through gritted teeth.
Leon exhaled through his nose, watching as another cluster of girls practically tripped over their own petticoats to intercept the royal procession. 'Here we go again,' he thought with the resigned weariness of someone who'd witnessed this particular spectacle far too many times already. The sheer predictability of it all was almost exhausting—the flutter of fans, the breathless exclamations, the careful positioning to catch the prince's eye. It was all precisely as scripted as the game had promised.
Suddenly, a woman appeared, followed by an enormous contingent. It was immediately apparent she was of high birth. The crowd seemed to part instinctively, as though recognising some invisible boundary they dared not cross. Leon straightened slightly, his analytical mind already cataloguing details.
Her name was Angelica Rapha Redgrave. Her gleaming blonde hair was pulled back in an immaculate bun, the perfect complement to her beautiful alabaster skin. Her red eyes exuded strength—a piercing gaze that communicated with crystalline clarity that she possessed something most did not.
If some people in this world truly were born to be special, then she and the prince definitely numbered amongst them. Leon could see it written across their very frames, an ineffable quality that marked them as something more than ordinary.
But looking back, he'd been exposed to far larger-than-life characters like Saber, Medusa, even Rin, Sakura, and to a certain extent Illya—prepubescent body aside—who held that sort of quality.
Though, to be honest, looking at his vassal—at the body his adoptive sister found herself inhabiting—she did possess quite the admirable beauty that could rival the apparent villainess of the game, if only she could just keep her mouth shut for five consecutive minutes without causing some form of—
Leon winced sharply as he was pinched at the side of his ribs. Hard.
"I feel like you were thinking of something rather rude," Olivia whispered sultrily into his ear, her tone laced with dangerous amusement. A warning not worth ignoring. He chuckled nervously and attempted to wave it off as mere imagination.
"The prince's betrothed…?" Several of the girls surrounding Julius and Jilk murmured amongst themselves, their earlier confidence visibly wavering.
The girls immediately made way for Angelica. None of them was foolish enough to make advances in her presence.
Angelica's eyes narrowed as she assessed the prince, her expression coolly aristocratic. "Your Highness, I would like to speak to you regarding your tea party in May. Would you permit me to join?" The question was phrased as a request, but there was steel beneath the courtesy.
Leon found himself pondering the instruction they'd all received at the academy's opening. 'We were warned against using our social positions or our parents' authority to influence life at the academy. It wasn't a realistic expectation; some things couldn't be ignored.' The rule sounded sensible on paper. In practice, it was about as enforceable as commanding the wind to cease blowing.
Looking back to the day they moved in, the receptionist had been forced to choose between a son of a house with prestige, or someone with actual prestige but lower rank than that particular son's house.
Prince Julius breathed a measured sigh, one that suggested he'd anticipated this confrontation. "Angelica, drop the intimidation act. This is the academy."
"I am aware," she replied smoothly, her tone never wavering. "But this fuss and bother you trail has begun to grate on my nerves." School grounds or not, Angelica was the daughter of a duke. Her bloodline was older than some merchant families' entire histories. No one was stupid enough to defy her outright.
Leon found himself studying her with renewed interest, his strategic mind already working through implications.
'So that's the protagonist's rival, huh? She does look formidable,' he muttered internally. 'More than formidable, actually. That's a woman who knows exactly what she wants and has the backing to take it.'
Then the previous feeling he'd felt suddenly sent shivers up his spine—the thought that peace was such a naïve, optimistic belief—as he noticed a girl standing apart from the crowd. The moment he spotted her, he exchanged glances with Olivia as his eyes narrowed.
Where Angelica stunned with exquisite beauty, this blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl came off as dainty and cute—something if Illya continued to age but didn't grow too much in physi—'OW!'
Another pinch, and this time Olivia uncrossed her legs and 'accidentally' stepped on his foot, even digging in her heels. But Leon just ignored it—silence doesn't equate to guilt, silence doesn't open up a forum of wild accusations, and silence equates to plausible deniability.
Jilk noticed the girl's gaze and got the prince's attention, his expression shifting. "Your Highness…"
"Hmm? Oh. Marie, perfect timing." The prince smiled at her, the gesture warm and deliberate. "I was looking for you. Would you join me?"
Angelica's brows twitched first, a minute betrayal of her composure, then furrowed as one of her followers leaned in and whispered urgently in her ear. Whatever was being communicated clearly wasn't pleasant news. Leon watched the subtle play of emotions cross the duke's daughter's face—annoyance, calculation, then a careful restoration of her mask.
The tension hung thick in the air, almost suffocating in its density. Most people would have read the room with any sense of self-preservation and stayed back, despite the prince's direct invitation. But the newly identified Marie stepped forward anyway, commitment written into every line of her posture. 'Brave or foolish?' Leon wondered idly. 'Probably both.'
This standoff unfolded just a few metres from their bench, close enough to feel the weight of it. Daniel wrapped his arms around his stomach as if about to be violently sick, his face distinctly green. "Can… I just go home?" he whispered desperately.
Raymond shook his head slightly, his voice low and urgent. "No. We'd attract attention if we tried to move. So that's the girl from the rumours, huh?" His tone carried the particular satisfaction of someone about to share juicy gossip.
"You know about her, Raymond?" Leon asked under his breath, genuinely curious now despite himself.
"You really don't know?" Raymond looked at him in surprise, almost offended by the gap in his knowledge. "The story's pretty infamous by now. Marie slapped Prince Julius across the face."
Leon and Olivia sat straight at that statement, spines stiffening in perfect synchronisation as they exchanged meaningful glances weighted with unspoken questions. The air between them crackled with sudden understanding. 'So we have a different protagonist?' Leon thought, his mind already racing through the implications. This changed everything—or did it?
They weren't really too sure if the events of the story would happen the same way they remembered from the game, but here, even though Olivia hadn't interacted with the prince or his retinue in any meaningful capacity, someone else had taken her place in the narrative. The pieces were shifting on a board they thought they understood, rearranging themselves into unfamiliar patterns that still somehow felt inevitable.
Was this always supposed to happen? Memories of his other self—unbidden and sharp as ever—reminded him of the concept of the Counter Force, where things—or rather, events—are guided by Alaya to achieve a goal beneficial to humanity's continued existence. The world itself had momentum, a current that swept individuals along towards predetermined outcomes regardless of their personal choices. It was a sobering thought, one that made free will feel like an elaborate illusion.
Of course, every self-respecting magus would know about this fundamental principle, so Leon had no doubt whatsoever that Olivia was thinking along precisely the same lines. They'd discussed such concepts late into the night more than once, their shared past lives giving them a perspective that set them apart from everyone else in this world.
Though he couldn't help but feel the giddy energy radiating from Olivia in almost palpable waves—much to his mounting consternation. She was practically vibrating with barely suppressed excitement, and that never boded well for his peace of mind.
'Don't ask, that's hell you're walking into,' his conscience told him with absolute certainty, and it sounded disturbingly like the distinctive baritone of his particular alternate self—Archer's sardonic tone echoing across lifetimes.
Daniel was utterly flabbergasted, his expression a mask of pure disbelief. "You're kidding, right? That's not what I heard at all. I heard that she was eating lunch with a prominent nobleman, and she ordered a steak and she ate it like she'd never seen a knife and fork before in her entire life. Just tore into it with her bare hands like some sort of barbarian."
It was Raymond's turn to be taken aback, clearly caught off guard by this contradictory version of events, whilst the reincarnated pair listened with growing recognition to the familiar-sounding events they'd seen play out countless times in the game they'd attempted to clear for their guardian. The script was being followed after all, just with different actors.
"Raymond," Leon suddenly asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral despite his building curiosity. "Do you have any other information on that girl? Background, family connections, anything useful?"
Raymond gathered his thoughts for a moment, clearly pleased to be consulted as an authority. "Marie Fou Lafan," he said with the confidence of someone reciting well-researched facts. "She's the daughter of quite the poor viscount—practically destitute, from what I understand. The family's barely hanging on to their title. Other than that, I'm afraid I have nothing much to add." He paused, then a sly grin crossed his features. "Is she your type, then? Looking for a wife you can rescue from poverty?"
"Ow—hey!" Olivia suddenly elbowed him sharply in the ribs at the question, her expression indignant.
"No, I was just asking for information—" Leon began defensively, but he trailed off as everyone's attention shifted inexorably towards Marie.
"You called for me, Your Highness?" Marie's quite pleasing voice asked, carrying clearly across the garden despite its soft quality. There was something calculated in her tone, a careful modulation that spoke of practised social navigation.
"Boys at the school will be holding tea parties in May," Prince Julius explained with casual authority. "I don't want to do anything too elaborate or formal, so I planned to just invite acquaintances—people I actually want to spend time with. I was hoping you would join me." The invitation hung in the air, laden with implication.
Leon could see the tension building in the duke's daughter's jaw as she visibly struggled to maintain composure before protesting with admirable restraint, "Prince Julius! There are regulations about such things. I don't mean to say that you must have an elaborate party with all the pomp and ceremony, but it ought to be at a scale appropriate to your status—otherwise you'd be spitting on the expectations burdened upon those beneath you." Her voice carried the weight of genuine concern, not mere proprietorial objection.
'Why was this girl cast as the villainess of the game?' Leon thought with genuine bewilderment. 'She's demonstrating quite practical sensibilities, more than the prince himself, apparently.' The cognitive dissonance was jarring.
If the prince could just ignore tradition and do whatever he wanted simply because he was prince, it would inevitably alienate his future constituents—the very people he'd one day rule. They who had to risk their lives in dungeons to afford a tea party they weren't even sure would bear fruit socially, and here they had a prince who was quite the catch—to be perfectly fair about it—who just didn't seem to care as he ignored his betrothed whilst inviting someone of decidedly lesser importance to an intimate setting, all while callously ignoring the rest of the students gathered around him like he couldn't even see them. The slight was deliberate and devastating.
"Enough, Angelica!" the prince snapped with sudden vehemence, his patience clearly exhausted. "This is the academy. I'm just another student here, nothing more. You may be my betrothed, but that doesn't give you the right to interfere with my personal life or dictate my friendships."
"But—" Angelica started, desperation creeping into her usually controlled voice.
Angelica probably saw the same thing Leon did—and most likely what most of the observant boys in this academy saw as well. The prince was just completely disconnected from what he perceived as reality. He genuinely thought that the freedom granted within the academy's walls had truly freed him from his responsibilities and his station, as if royal blood could be set aside like an uncomfortable coat. It was naïve to the point of being dangerous.
The very fact that he could do whatever he wanted without immediate consequence lent more weight towards the reality that he was a prince—with all the power and privilege that entailed—rather than supporting whatever perceived equality the academy proposed in its charter. Freedom without consequence was merely another form of absolute power.
Angelica tightened her jaw visibly as she clenched her fists hard enough that her knuckles went white, struggling against emotions that threatened to overwhelm her careful composure. "My apologies, Your Highness," she drawled with unmistakable sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "I overstepped my bounds. It won't happen again."
Angelica bowed lowly—something decidedly not befitting of a duke's daughter, not even when addressing the heir apparent of the throne. The gesture was deliberately excessive, mockery wrapped in the veneer of proprietorial deference.
The prince and his retinue just frowned at the obvious mocking gesture, clearly recognising the insult but uncertain how to address it without looking petty, as Angelica stood proud and straight with her chin held high, then turned on her heel and left with measured, dignified steps.
"I'm so sorry about that, Marie," Julius said with genuine contrition once Angelica had departed. "I hope that unpleasant scene didn't upset you too much."
"N-no, I'm fine, truly," Marie stammered, though her hands trembled slightly. "But are you really sure it's all right for me to attend your party? Given the circumstances?"
"The prince isn't particularly fond of formalities or rigid social structures," Jilk interjected smoothly, stepping in to reassure her. "He wants to hold a more casual affair, something genuine. We would all love for you to join us." He shrugged with practised nonchalance, then chuckled warmly. "Plus, this is honestly the first time I've ever seen the prince be so insistent on inviting a lady to anything. It's quite refreshing, actually."
As the prince and Jilk began to withdraw, their little minions followed close behind. Unlike Angelica's followers, their expressions were mixed and conflicted as they glanced at Marie.
Daniel and Raymond exhaled quite loudly in relief as if they'd been holding their breath the whole time.
Looking back at the blonde, petite girl for a second, her face contorted into an excited, lecherous smile, but in a blink, all of that was gone as she walked away demurely, both her hands clasped in front of her, her steps small and even.
Leon just shrugged as he stood up to follow Raymond and Daniel, Olivia following along with her hands clasped behind her head as she whistled along.
-=&
On the first day of etiquette class for the tea parties, their professor looked every inch the flawless gentleman—the sort of man who seemed sculpted from propriety itself. His hair was cleanly swept back, each strand precisely in place, and he stood tall and slender in his immaculately fitted suit, every button aligned, every crease deliberate. The kind of man Leon surmised as someone who'd spent decades perfecting the art of appearing effortless.
"Oh, he's the guy who enrolled me into the scholarship programme," Olivia said from beside him, her voice carrying that particular tone of bored recognition. She was sitting through the etiquette class—which was mainly dedicated to men—as she was bored, having already finished the year's textbooks weeks ago.
'Of course,' Leon thought wryly. 'It's only called a scholarship in name. In reality, enrolment and most things here were free in the conventional sense, though you could argue the true toll was far more apparent. The enrolment fee, if one wanted to be blunt about it, was your family's status. Your standing. So perhaps scholarship was quite succinct after all—a polite euphemism for a system that hadn't changed much in centuries.'
What the academy also hadn't accounted for was that Olivia might earn herself a title before the start of school. Though honestly, if she'd merely been a Rank 9 Knight without the scholarship, she'd probably still be relegated to the lower classes regardless.
Tables were deliberately spaced throughout the room, and sweets had been artfully arranged at each one as the male students prepared their tea. Leon had already analysed the tea leaves—their grade, their origin, their proper oxidation level—and heated the water to precisely the correct temperature. Now, with careful deliberation, he poured a serving in front of Olivia, giving it adequate aeration by pouring from a calculated height, watching the liquid cascade and settle.
"Listen carefully," the professor announced, his voice cutting through the ambient clinking of cups and saucers. "Assume a woman pays attention to every detail when you invite her for tea. Every. Single. Detail."
He began his patrol around the room, his presence commanding, a stick pointer held loosely in one hand—less a tool than an extension of his authority.
Thwack.
The sharp sound of wood connecting with wood made Olivia jolt upright, her entire posture snapping into rigid attention as the professor smacked the back of her chair with pointed disapproval. She'd been slouched forward, far too relaxed, lazily sipping her tea whilst she nibbled on sweets like she was at some casual gathering rather than a formal instruction.
Olivia turned to him with an expression that managed to be both apologetic and sheepish—a particular skill of hers, Leon had noticed.
The professor held her gaze for a long moment before moving on, his displeasure evident in every step.
"From your bearings and demeanour," he continued, resuming his lecture as though the interruption had never occurred, "she will determine your level of education and the very nature of your person. If you entertain her properly, she will leave with a favourable impression of you. If you bungle it..." He let the implication hang.
With his reinforced hearing—something he'd involuntarily applied at the start of the day—he heard Olivia's quiet grumble beneath her breath: "Did the woman really care how a man poured tea when they paraded their demi-human sexual attendants about like exotic décor?"
'Trust Olivia to say exactly what everyone's thinking,' he thought, fighting back a smirk.
"You there, Ms Olivia," the professor called out sharply, his enhanced senses apparently working just as well as Leon's. "I allowed you to sit in here, so I expect you to take this seriously!"
Olivia sat up, suddenly all attention and proper decorum, and offered the professor a pretty, impish salute. The professor, recognising this was likely the best he'd manage from such a petulant student, seemed to accept it with resignation. It probably helped that most professors here were well aware that she was top of the entire school, and as long as Olivia didn't go overboard, he could let it slide.
As he passed by Leon's table, the professor did an abrupt double-take, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the cup before Olivia. "Hmm—the shade, the aroma coming from this tea is..." He paused, clearly running through thoughts of his own. "Were you... no."
His gaze shifted, locking onto Leon, who was still holding the teapot with studied casualness. The professor's eyes narrowed further, as though he'd suddenly glimpsed something unexpected beneath the surface.
"Would you demonstrate to the class how you were able to brew such exquisite tea?" he said abruptly.
Olivia, positioned to the side, immediately began snickering at him—the sort of amused, pointed laughter that suggested she'd been waiting for precisely this moment.
-=&
Leon set down the multi-level tray with deliberate care, each tier perfectly arranged with various sandwiches, delicate sweets, and carefully crafted hors d'oeuvres. This morning had been entirely consumed by preparation, though, admittedly, his customised dormitory with its professional kitchen had made the endeavour considerably more manageable than it might have been otherwise. He surveyed his work with a critical eye, mentally cataloguing what remained to be done.
The invitation for the May tea party had gone out a fortnight ago. He'd even presented his planned setup to Professor Lucas, bringing along a sample platter that had clearly delighted the man—who'd proceeded to eat everything with rather alarming gusto whilst requesting Leon prepare proper tea, which had somehow become the norm whenever he sought the professor's counsel. Olivia had found the entire situation hilarious, snickering from the sidelines as she'd dubbed the professor one of his "culinary victims."
But the real effort had been in the details. Japanese-inspired items occupied their own section of the display: delicate mochi in subtle flavours—both sweet and savoury—yakitori skewers prepared just so, and some chawan mushi he'd delicately steamed in their own egg shells. There was something grounding about preparing food from a world he'd once called home, if only they could somehow produce miso.
Speaking of which.
"You really put considerable effort into this," Luxion observed, floating idle in the middle of the room as he examined the spread. "Seems rather like wasted effort, given the probable outcomes."
Leon didn't look up from the kettle, letting the water settle to precisely the right temperature for steeping. "If I'm going to follow this stupid tradition, then I'm doing it properly," he replied, his tone carrying that familiar resignation he'd perfected over two lifetimes—well, more like Archer perfected, but he digressed. "Besides, cooking is one of the more relaxing things I actually enjoy, so it's not exactly a hardship. Keeps the mind occupied with something that isn't utterly catastrophic."
"I truly cannot comprehend you new humans," the AI said, his tone dripping with incomprehension. "Couldn't you simply examine gene compatibility and select the most appropriate partner through scientific analysis? Far more efficient than this elaborate... ritual."
Leon actually turned to look at the floating intelligence, one eyebrow raised. "Kind of difficult when no one here possesses the technology to examine people's genetics," he pointed out dryly. "Plus, weren't the old humans the ones who invented eugenics? Pretty sure that entire concept became rather thoroughly frowned upon after the whole moral catastrophe thing."
"Hmph." Luxion simply turned away, floating back towards his pedestal on the desk by the wall, leaving Leon to his preparations in relative peace.
The AI did persist in randomly testing both him and Olivia about their reincarnation claims—whether they genuinely were reborn here, whether Leon had truly been Japanese in his previous life, and whether Olivia's insistence on being German with a Japanese father held up under scrutiny. It was tedious, but Leon had learned not to take it personally. Luxion was simply being thorough in his own incomprehensible way.
The knock came precisely at the appointed time. The lady he'd invited—Sophia Fou Hartwell, second daughter of a minor baron—entered with casual familiarity, offering a breezy "Heya" that immediately put Leon on guard. Something about her informality suggested complications.
"Greetings, miss, and welcome to—" Leon began, his politeness automatic even as his mind registered the problem.
Two additional girls followed directly behind Sophia, their presence entirely uninvited, tittering quietly to themselves in that particular way that suggested shared amusement at some private joke.
'Of course they did,' Leon thought, his expression remaining carefully neutral. 'Of course, there's going to be complications.'
"They're my friends," Sophia explained with the sort of breeziness that came from genuine unconcern. "We figured we'd kill some time together, actually. We're invited to this absolutely massive tea party hosted by the heir of the Field earldom, but we still have a good thirty minutes before we absolutely have to leave. Thought we might as well swing by here since it was on the way."
Leon's jaw tightened slightly—not enough to show, but enough that he felt the tension settle into his shoulders. The elite families' tea parties were legendary affairs, complete with coordinated carriages and guest lists that made his modest gathering look positively humble by comparison. The slight was negligible, perhaps even unintentional, but it stung nonetheless.
He took a breath, deliberately softening his expression into something approachable. "I didn't realise," he said, his voice remaining respectful despite the frustration quietly building beneath the surface. "When exactly will you need to depart, if I may ask?"
"Oh, in about thirty minutes or so. We were getting utterly bored waiting around, and I suddenly remembered I'd actually accepted your invitation. Seemed better than sitting idle."
The three of them wasted no time dragging over an additional chair—clearly not originally part of his carefully arranged setup—and proceeded to descend upon the food with an enthusiasm that was, admittedly, gratifying. The hors d'oeuvres, the sandwiches, even the Japanese-inspired items drew excited squeals from all three as they swooned dramatically over the flavours, their enjoyment apparently genuine.
Leon raised an eyebrow at their complete absorption, having already poured the tea at their arrival, anticipating their needs. He'd carefully calculated the setup to create an intimate atmosphere, believing that closer quarters would facilitate genuine conversation, instead of using the large coffee table and sofa in the middle of the living room. Now he was left without a place to sit.
"Have some tea as well," he offered, adding another cup and saucer to the arrangement with practised efficiency, even as the three of them crowded around the table, leaving him standing awkwardly at its periphery.
They chatted animatedly amongst themselves about the upcoming Field earldom party, speculating about which nobles would attend, what the refreshments might include, and whether certain individuals would make appearances. Leon found himself essentially functioning as their servant—refilling teacups when they emptied, replacing depleted platters with fresh items, playing host to people who barely acknowledged his presence beyond their demands.
Thirty minutes passed with the precision of a carefully wound clock. The three stood up, brushed crumbs from their skirts, and began making their way towards the door without ceremony.
"Well, see you around," Sophia called back breezily. "By the way, those snacks were absolutely divine. You'll have to give me the address of wherever you purchased them—this kind of quality would be perfect for entertaining at home."
Leon stared down at the table before him—now covered in dirty plates, scattered crumbs, and abandoned teacups—then slowly raised his gaze towards the ceiling. He began counting backwards from ten in his mind, feeling that familiar frustration wash through him like a bitter tide.
Sigh.
"Looks like finding a partner would be quite the terrible ordeal," Luxion interjected from over his shoulder. Leon just grumbled in acknowledgement.
At least the dishes were his alone to contend with now. He reached down to begin clearing the debris, his movements methodical and precise, even as his thoughts churned with the peculiar exhaustion that came from social interaction executed without gratitude or genuine connection.
Bang!
The door suddenly burst open with the force of genuine frustration, and in swept Olivia, her footsteps sharp against the wooden floorboards. Sella and Leysritt trailed behind her, their expressions carefully neutral in that peculiar way of seasoned servants who'd witnessed noble tantrums before. Leon could immediately read the irritation radiating from every line of his half-sister's body as she made a beeline for the couch, her movements sharp and aggressive.
She yanked off both her flats with visible vehemence, tossing them aside without regard, before flopping onto the cushions with her feet planted firmly on the brown coffee table. Her hands splayed across the backrest as she sprawled in a decidedly unladylike manner, her entire posture screaming indignation.
"Argh! Insufferable bitches!" she snarled, her voice dripping with vitriol. "How I would love to sic Berserker at them—see how they like it when they're on the receiving end of that kind of destruction."
Leon winced visibly at that particular outburst. His past self had experienced Berserker's devastating capabilities firsthand, and the memory was not a pleasant one to revisit, even in jest. He could practically smell the acrid scent of magical combat, hear the echoing roars.
"I take it the tea party with the Field earldom wasn't exactly pleasant?" Leon asked dryly, already moving towards the kitchen. He returned moments later with an array of carefully prepared offerings—fresh sandwiches, colourful sweets, delicate mochi, skewers still warm to the touch, and perfectly steamed eggs arranged on ceramic platters.
Behind them, Sella and Leysritt had taken command of the washing up, their efficient movements a welcome relief. Leon settled onto the couch beside his vassal, settling in for what promised to be a lengthy complaint. The very same Field earldom had extended its invitation to Olivia—the same party where the three previous ladies who'd dined and dashed had left for.
Olivia fell on his lap with the grace of a sack of flour, staring up at him expectantly. Her face had softened into something almost serene, those blue eyes blankly fixed on his own as she reached up and yanked his hand towards her head with characteristic impatience.
Leon, of course, acquiesced without resistance. He began to tousle her hair, his fingers moving with the practised ease of long habit, and allowed himself a moment to consider the genuine frustration beneath her mood.
Olivia began to describe—in meticulous, seething detail—how she'd been summarily blocked from entering the party. The moment she'd arrived, they'd descended upon her like vultures, jeering relentlessly about her commoner status, their voices dripping with contempt. Worse still, they'd torn her invitation to shreds right before her eyes, the parchment fragments fluttering to the ground like snow. Leon could practically feel the indignation radiating from her as she recounted it.
She'd at least managed to restrain her guardian spirits from full retaliation—a mercy, considering what they were capable of—but she hadn't been entirely passive. No, Olivia had taken matters into her own hands and shot the three girls with a carefully calibrated Gandr curse.
Something she'd recently been successful in replicating, much to his mixed feelings about her expanding arsenal. The curse itself was relatively mild: loose bowels and mild nausea for the next several hours. Petty, perhaps, but undeniably effective. Those girls would definitely not be enjoying the remainder of their precious party.
"Would the mistress want me to glass the surface of these families' territories?" Luxion 'helpfully' suggested, his tone dripping with that particular brand of malicious enthusiasm only an artificial intelligence could manage.
"Yes!" Olivia exclaimed immediately.
"REJECTED!" Leon countered at the exact same moment, his voice cutting through sharply.
Two answers colliding simultaneously. Fortunately for everyone involved—particularly those territorial families—Leon retained primary ownership of the AI. He'd granted Olivia secondary ownership merely a few weeks ago, a decision he was rapidly beginning to question.
Leon just sighed as he bonked Olivia on the forehead. In her past life she'd been suffocated beneath layers of responsibility and expectation, her every action prescribed and monitored. Now, thrust into this academy with the promise of freedom and adventure, she'd naturally want to experience what a proper school life could offer: genuine friendships, camaraderie, perhaps even the sort of chaotic fun that didn't involve political machinations.
Unfortunately, neither of them had been granted such luxury.
This wasn't a normal school, he mused grimly, continuing to card his fingers through her hair absently. It was something far more insidious—a breeding ground for the ambitious and the politically ruthless.
If his brief conversations with Waver after the Grail War were any indication, it functioned much like the Clocktower itself: all politics, competition, dangerous alliances, and the sort of backstabbing that would lead to feuding nobles looking to pillage their enemy's lands.
But maybe like with the men in this academy, there were hidden rules, things which were understood as the norm, and to stray from them would leave you ostracised. Maybe there was one for the women as well, and Olivia was unfortunately creating a faux pas.
"Olivia," he said carefully, "could I borrow one of your guardian spirits for a bit?"
What followed was precisely the sort of response he'd anticipated—and simultaneously dreaded. She announced, loud enough for anyone within ten paces to hear, that her guardian spirits couldn't possibly get any action before their mistress did.
'Of course she did,' Leon thought with resignation, even as he reached out and not-so-gently pinched her nose, twisting it just enough to convey his disapproval. It was a familiar gesture, one that never quite worked but which he employed anyway, out of habit and a vain hope that repetition might eventually yield results. He shook his head slowly, studying her defiant expression with the weary exasperation of someone who'd grown accustomed to her particular brand of chaos.
-=&
Leon poured tea for Jenna with deliberate care, selecting one of the better blends from their collection. He wasn't petty enough to serve her the lesser varieties—the ones he reserved for the sugary sweet drinks like milk teas or that theatrical teh tarik with its aerated mixture of condensed milk and dark black tea. No, that would be beneath him, despite how much it might grate against his sensibilities to extend such courtesy to someone who so clearly resented their family's newfound position. 'Best to keep the peace,' he thought, arranging the cups with measured precision.
Jenna settled into her seat with all the grace of a cat claiming territory, her cat-eared attendant positioning himself behind his mistress with folded arms and a deliberately imposing posture. The demi-human's expression was as tight as a coiled spring.
"Colour me impressed that an uncivilised brute like you thought to summon me," Jenna said, her voice dripping with contempt.
Leon felt his patience wear thin at the jab. He wasn't in the mood for her barbs today, and he certainly wasn't going to pretend otherwise. "Colour me impressed that you had enough sense to come when I called you," he replied, his tone sharp and sarcastic enough to cut glass. "Now enough of this. Hurry up and tell her about these rules before we're all grey."
Jenna's lips tightened into a thin line, and she clicked her tongue in irritation. But then something flickered across her face—a flicker of calculation, perhaps, or mere pragmatism. Their family's newfound wealth was the only reason she'd been able to purchase that stunning slave standing behind her, after all. She needed them, whether she admitted it or not. With visible effort, she turned her attention to Olivia instead.
"Did you pay the proper respects to the girls in your class?" Jenna asked, her tone taking on the air of someone imparting essential wisdom. "Or at least the most affluent girl?"
Olivia shook her head, confusion evident in her expression. "How would I even pay my proper respect?"
Jenna scoffed at the question, a sound of pure disdain. Her attendant straightened behind her, seeming ready to echo her mistress's contempt, but the moment Olivia's gaze snapped towards the demi-human, the creature flinched visibly. It made itself smaller, almost cowering, clearly remembering the last time Olivia had effortlessly manhandled it despite the fact that it should have been physically more powerful than the petite, busty blonde. The memory was evidently fresh enough to inspire caution.
Leon caught the shift in dynamics and suppressed a smirk.
Jenna, evidently remembering that same incident, quickly recovered and turned businesslike. "You must write her a letter," she explained, her tone now taking on the cadence of someone who genuinely knew what she was discussing. "Deliver a gift along with your written respects—that's the first and most crucial rule you must follow. If her entourage is too large to approach directly, then find someone to act as your intermediary. Seek out the girl with the most important position amongst her followers—her closest confidante, perhaps. Hand the letter to her and ask her to deliver both the gift and your regards whilst she's at it. And of course," she added, fixing Olivia with a pointed stare, "you must research the girl's preferences beforehand. You cannot simply guess what she might enjoy."
"Hmm—that's easy enough," Olivia concluded, nodding as if mentally filing away the instructions.
But Jenna wasn't finished. Her expression took on that familiar air of superiority, as though she were educating someone hopelessly ignorant. "Your safest options are sweets or tea leaves from a popular establishment," she continued, her voice taking on a warning note. "If you botch this, you'll only doom yourself socially. And believe me, such items are quite an expensive investment. You cannot simply purchase rubbish and expect it to suffice."
"Oh, no worries," Olivia waved the concern away with a casual gesture that Leon recognised as deliberately nonchalant. "Judging from recent developments in our barony and my share in its discovery, I'm sitting on quite the comfortable sum. But thank you for the concern nonetheless."
Leon watched Jenna's face contort as though she'd bitten into something impossibly sour. Her allowance came from him, after all—a respectable sum by any standard, but it paled considerably when compared to what Olivia had access to as a shareholder in the barony's profits. The disparity clearly stung, and Leon found himself almost sympathising with her resentment, even as he found it utterly predictable.
He chuckled lightly, the sound deliberately warm and unthreatening, and reached for the teapot to refill everyone's cups.
-=&
A few days later, Angelica summoned Olivia to her quarters.
Angelica sipped her tea gracefully, the delicate porcelain warm beneath her fingertips as she studied the figure standing before her—nervous, certainly, though perhaps not as visibly as one might expect. The commoner recently elevated to knight bore herself with a peculiar confidence that Angelica found both intriguing and irritating in equal measure.
The tea leaves steeping in her cup were naturally of the highest quality, better than what most of the tea parties throughout the academy had probably served, even when their hosts had been desperately trying to impress. Such was the norm for her, the standard she'd grown accustomed to since childhood. Anything less would have been beneath consideration. It was a matter of principle, really—one didn't compromise on such fundamentals.
She returned her cup to its saucer with deliberate precision, the soft clink echoing in the sudden quiet of her quarters like a bell marking the formal commencement of proceedings.
Her eyes narrowed as they fixed upon Olivia, calculating, assessing, searching for any sign of pretence or weakness. "I have no idea who tipped you off regarding the necessity of your approach, but I must compliment you for coming to pay your respects… eventually." The word hung in the air like a reproach, heavy with implication. "You should spend your time here in a way appropriate to your station. Commoners like you, even with your recent ascension to knighthood, don't truly belong at this academy's upper echelons. But as long as you understand that distinction and quietly keep to yourself, I suppose I don't mind your attendance."
The academy insisted it was unique, cut off from the outside world's rigid etiquette in an effort to treat all students with equal consideration. Yet Angelica knew better—had always known better. It had its own rules—unspoken perhaps, but no less binding for their invisibility.
Paying respects to her was one of them. The academy didn't recognise the visit as compulsory, not officially, yet it was functionally so for those who wished to pass their school days in any semblance of peace. It was simply how things were done amongst people of proper breeding.
"So, was my gift sufficient?" The question tumbled from Olivia's lips before she could properly contain it. "Did you like it? The chocolate, I mean. I thought it might have been too bitter, but Leon did say that it possessed some rather appealing fruity notes that complement the bitterness rather well."
Angelica was dumbstruck for a moment by Olivia's sudden enthusiasm, the unexpected display of genuine interest catching even her off guard and filling her with a creeping sense of self-consciousness.
She then shooed her few followers out of the room with a curt gesture, waiting until the door had firmly closed before addressing Olivia with a considerably softer tone.
"You're supposed to simply drink your tea, nod politely, and take your leave," Angelica said quietly, almost desperately, as though trying to restore some semblance of order to proceedings that had spiralled beyond her control. "This would already be over if you'd just played your part as expected. You're making this unnecessarily complicated by asking questions and displaying actual curiosity."
She sighed, turning away slightly, unsettled by the rawness of her own admission. Since when did she care so much about what others thought? Since when did she expose herself in such fashion?
Olivia was caught off guard as she tilted her head in quite a cute pose and said, "Sorry…?" The confusion in her voice was genuine, and somehow that made it worse.
Angelica just sighed, bringing the teacup to her lips as she said, somewhat dismissively, "You're at least better than that woman who keeps trying to cuddle up to the prince. At least you have the courtesy to appear somewhat uncertain about your place in the hierarchy."
"Did you say something…?" Olivia asked, adopting the same cute pose but with her head tilted to the opposite side, seemingly oblivious to the underlying criticism.
"It's nothing," Angelica said, offering a faint smile. She could be intense, certainly, and had given in to her share of rage-fuelled outbursts in the past, but for now, faced with this earnest, infuriatingly guileless girl, she found herself simply curious. "Tell me, scholarship student—I'm assuming your vassal lord has instructed you to greet me? Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not asking because I begrudge them for it." She paused, considering her words with care. "It's just that everyone seems to be keeping their distance from you. Rather deliberately, I might add."
All of the boys were too busy hunting down marriage partners to bother with someone as seemingly pointless as Olivia, and all of the girls loathed her very presence with an almost palpable animosity. It was curious, really—the way the academy's social hierarchy had colluded to isolate her so thoroughly. Angelica had never quite understood such cruelty, even if she'd benefited from the established order.
Olivia just grinned as she cheerily replied, "Yeah, it was Leon who arranged for me to talk to his older sister about the faux pas I've been making since I started this school year." The casual familiarity with which she spoke his name seemed to echo slightly in the room, laden with implications.
Angelica did take note of the current faux pas where she was being addressed quite informally, but she found herself willing to wave that off—it was quite the breath of fresh air after so much calculated propriety. "Ah, yes, the Bartfort family's third son?" Angelica hummed thoughtfully, her mind turning over what she knew of him. "He is an eccentric one. Though I don't dislike him. There's something almost refreshing about his disregard for convention, even if it is rather tiresome at times."
"You know him?" Olivia asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"He, of course, gained infamy for his accomplishments, you know," Angelica said, warming to the subject despite herself. "One of the most promising of our generation, sure to be a knight. Though I must confess, I was impressed by his trajectory—the sort of achievement most nobles only speak of in hushed, admiring tones." She paused, her mind racing with possibilities. "In fact, I was shocked when I heard he'd managed to earn the rank of baron all on his own. As an adventurer, he accomplished what most only ever dream of. Truly impressive. His temperament doesn't seem bad, either." She smiled slightly, a thought taking shape. "Perhaps I should find an opportunity to speak with the prince about him. Someone with his talents deserves greater recognition."
"To be able to traverse a newly discovered dungeon, all dangers unknown, just as our founding families did to establish our kingdom," Angelica said, her voice becoming almost dreamy, caught up in the romance of it all. "There's something noble about such endeavours, isn't there? The courage required, the promise of discovery and glory. It's the sort of thing that makes one feel truly alive."
She found herself contemplating Leon Bartfort's exploits with genuine admiration, imagining the dangers he must have faced, the fortitude required to emerge victorious. It was thrilling, in a way her sheltered academy life had never quite managed to be.
Suddenly, Olivia leaned forward, hand clasping Angelica's hand with unexpected warmth, her eyes glittering with excitement that seemed to burn with an almost infectious enthusiasm. "Tell me, Miss Angelica, would you want to experience that? To go on such an adventure yourself?"
-=&
End