Darian rubbed the back of his neck. The sting of his father's slap still lingered, now a strange, bitter focus. His priority was information.
He began piecing together the timeline and major threats from his encyclopedic knowledge of Crimson Heart's Folly. First, the inevitable headache: the female lead, Elain Blane. The Cry Baby Half-Wit, he mentally sneered, remembering the heroine's tendency to solve all problems through tears and naive trust. Then came Floraine Blayland, the duke's daughter—a great friend who swore loyalty to the male lead and female lead Elain Blane. Since Darian's own stupid action had effectively kick-started Floraine's eventual fierce loyalty to the male lead, Min-jun knew he had to keep a close eye on her.
"Well, I must also find other allies and their background, too."
Darian muttered to himself. "The author gave them only the personality of unfavorable loyalty to Elain."
And last but not least, the source of Darian's unremitting digital furies: his half-brother. Kayle Valenhardt. The cardboard cutout's pretty face, emo idiot. The Stone-Eyed Himbo. The male lead of the novel and the obvious darling of the Emperor.
Darian wanted a calendar, but the current chamber was a place of shame, devoid of anything useful; he merely called out.
"Is there anybody here?"
A young maid entered; she was plain in her features and disheveled in her short, blue hair. Her eyes were wide, with a palpable fear in them, fixed on the floor—a sure sign that the original Darian had not been treating her well.
"Yes…. your highness!" she squeaked, bracing for abuse.
"What is your name?" Darian asked, his voice low and measured, without the vile edge she expected.
She flinched, looking up in surprise. It probably was the very first time Darian had ever spoken to her like a human. "R-Reina,….your highness"
"Good. Reina," Darian went on, speaking in a royal but non-threatening tone. "What is the current month of the Imperial Calendar?"
"The 3rd month, my lord," she replied, her confusion mingling with her hesitation. "Why does your highness ask?"
"And when does the Royal Academy begin its new term?"
"The 6th month of the Imperial Calendar, my lord."
Darian nodded, his fears confirmed by the three-month window. "You may leave, Reina."
She curtsied hastily and practically ran from the room.
"Three months," he muttered, the time constraint forcing his chaotic thoughts into rigid lines of strategy. "Not as much time as I'd like, but enough to set the stage."
His current status was a liability: disgraced, facing a high chance of exile, and hated. He couldn't keep running the old Darian's script to survive. He needed goodwill, or at least apathy.
The first, most sickening task was clear: "Apologizing to the Duke and his daughter, Floraine, will be my first task."
Darian muttered, forcing the words out. It was a humiliating chore, but essential to buy the minimal peace he needed to plot.
Having made up his mind, Darian adjusted the ill-fitting gray linen shirt and moved toward the heavy oak door. He intended to slip out quietly and look for the Emperor's administrative office to search for more clues and information that could be exploited.
Three steps in the dark, narrow hallway in the neglected wing of the castle, and he stopped dead.
Leaning against a polished pillar several feet away, looking altogether too bored and altogether too beautiful, was his most hated fictional character: Kayle Valenhardt.
The Crown Prince exuded easy, almost arrogant superiority. He was strikinglyhandsomea a beautiful, lean physique perfectly tailored in rich velvet and silver-with stark black hair that fell over piercing red eyes, the legendary hue inherited from his mother, the current Empress. He was the perfect 'Stone-Eyed Himbo' Min-jun had so often mocked.
Kayle straightened, a slow, malicious sneer curling his lips. "Ah, Darian. Back among the living, I see. I thought Father's little chat might have finished what the Duke's daughter started."
Darian forced himself not to throw a tantrum-the usual Darian response. He knew the original Darian would have screamed, insulted Kayle's mother, and guaranteed a swift knife in the back. Min-jun's critic's brain engaged.
"Is that concern, brother?" Darian replied, letting a cold edge of boredom, not anger, enter his voice. "Or are you merely here to ensure the waste of space is truly gone? Don't worry, your position as the Empire's favorite is entirely safe. I've always preferred the East, anyway."
Kayle blinked once, his stoic expression faltering for just a second at the lack of the expected fiery outburst. "It is relief, Darian. The halls already feel cleaner without your constant desperate grasping. The East is fitting. It is a place for forgotten things."
He gave Darian a final, contemptuous glance, his red eyes full of disdain, and swept past.
Min-jun felt a tremor go through Darian's body as Kayle's shadow left the hall, an uncontrollable, animal emotion: pure, searing hatred—a flood of the original Prince Darian's last memories.
The hatred. Memories were extreme: Darian's beautiful mother, the King's first wife, lost her status and sanity when the King favored Kayle's mother, a low-ranking noble who then became Empress. His mother, unable to cope with losing the emperor, ruined herself through black magic and conspiracy, consumed by the jealousy that seemed to blind her. Even on her deathbed, the last, frantic thought of hers was a wish for the emperor to turn away from the new Empress and return to her. Hatred toward Kayle was a venomous inheritance, a burning rage against this illegitimate son of the woman who destroyed his mother.
Min-jun felt the surge of Darian's primal, inherited rage, but he held it back. I'm not him, Min-jun declared to himself. I'm not that stupid prince who has tantrums. He actually smiled, a cruel, familiar feeling washing over him as he replied to the ghost of his host lingering in his mind. "Well, since we both hate him so much, let's ruin his half-assed character development and Male Lead status together."