The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
- Sun Tzu
———
Every step across the courtyard felt like walking through quicksand. My legs—Kaelen's legs—threatened to buckle with each step. The morning sun painted everything in golden hues, but all I could focus on was the small crowd gathered near the center of the space.
Classic protagonist setup. Of course he'd want an audience for this.
Leo stood at the center of it all, arms crossed. Three other students flanked him—his usual entourage of sycophants and future party members. I recognized them from the novel descriptions: Marcel Blackwood, the dark-haired noble with the perpetual sneer; Elena Morgenthorne, the ice-blonde daughter of a marquis who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else; and Gareth Stoneheart, a mountain of muscle who served as Leo's loyal enforcer.
The Scions. The chosen ones. The narrative darlings who get to play hero while extras like me exist solely to make them look good.
Leo's sapphire eyes locked onto mine as I approached. There was something unsettling about that gaze—not just the arrogance I'd expected, but a cold assessment.
"Kaelen Leone." His voice carried across the courtyard. Even his vocal cords were protagonistic. "You've kept us waiting."
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again. What was the script here? In the novel, Kaelen would bluster and threaten, trying to use his family name as a shield. But that would just give Leo more ammunition for his righteous fury.
No. Think like a reader, not a character. What does Leo want here? What does the narrative need?
Leo wanted to feel like a hero. He needed a villain who deserved punishment, someone whose suffering would make the readers cheer. But what if I didn't give him that satisfaction?
"I... yes, Cousin. I apologize for the delay."
Marcel snorted, clearly expecting more of a fight. Elena's pale eyebrows rose slightly—probably surprised I wasn't already making threats.
Leo stepped closer, and I could feel the weight of his presence. The protagonist's aura, maybe. The world's way of marking its chosen one.
"Do you know why you're here, Kaelen?"
Because the plot demands it. Because you need a punching bag to establish your moral superiority. Because someone has to be the villain in your little morality play.
"I... no. Have I offended you somehow?"
Leo's jaw tightened. "Don't play ignorant. The servant girl, Armelle. You cornered her in the kitchens yesterday."
Ah. There it is. The inciting incident.
According to the novel, Kaelen had indeed harassed a kitchen maid—grabbed her, made lewd comments, generally acted like the entitled piece of garbage he was supposed to be.
But I hadn't done that.
The original Kaelen had, before my soul replaced his.
The smart play would be to deny it, claim innocence. But that wasn't what the scene needed. Leo expected defiance so he could crush it. The narrative expected a villain who deserved punishment.
What if I gave them something else entirely?
I let my knees buckle, dropping to the stone courtyard with a sharp crack. The impact sent pain shooting up my legs, but it was worth it for the look of surprise that flashed across Leo's face.
"Cousin, I... I can't deny what I've done."
My voice cracked—not entirely by design. The words came out higher, more pathetic than I'd intended. Perfect.
"I've been a disgrace to my family name, to my station, to everything my ancestors built." I let tears gather in my eyes. Not hard, considering the situation. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I see a pretty girl and I just... I lose control."
Marcel shifted uncomfortably. Elena took a half-step back, her lips curled in a delicate sneer of disgust. Even Gareth, the mountain of muscle, shifted his weight, his eyes darting to the side as if searching for an escape.
Leo stared down at me, his righteous fury visibly deflating.
"You... admit to it?"
"How could I not?" I wrapped my arms around myself, the picture of pathetic self-loathing. "You're right to be disgusted with me. Everyone should be. I'm weak, I'm worthless, I'm everything a noble shouldn't be."
Come on, golden boy. Where's your heroic speech now? Hard to deliver a righteousness lecture when your target is already groveling in the dirt.
"I keep telling myself I'll change, that I'll be better, but then I see someone like Armelle and I just..." I let out a broken sob. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness. I know I should be punished. But please, Leo, I'm begging you—help me be better."
The silence stretched on. Leo looked like someone had just handed him a script written in a foreign language. His friends were equally lost—this wasn't how these confrontations were supposed to go.
"You're..." Leo started, then stopped. His hand moved to his sword hilt, then dropped away. "You're pathetic."
There we go. Let that disgust build. Let it override your heroic instincts.
"I know," I whispered. "I know I am. I hate myself for it. Every morning I wake up and promise I'll be different, but then I just... I disappoint everyone again."
Elena made a soft sound of revulsion. Marcel was actively scowling now, like my display was somehow offensive to his sensibilities. Even Gareth, who probably spent his free time punching trees, looked uncomfortable.
Leo took a step back, his perfect features twisted in distaste. "Stand up."
I stayed where I was, hunched over. "I don't deserve to stand in your presence, cousin."
"Stand. Up."
I rose slowly, swaying slightly on my feet. Made sure to keep my eyes downcast, shoulders slumped.
Leo studied me for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're not worth the effort."
He turned to walk away, then paused. Almost as an afterthought, he stepped back and shoved me—not hard, but enough to send me stumbling backward. I let myself fall, hitting the stone with another sharp crack.
"Clean yourself up, Kaelen. And stay away from the servants. If I hear about another incident..."
The group walked away, their voices carrying back across the courtyard.
"Well, that was disappointing," Marcel muttered.
"Disgusting is more like it," Elena replied. "I've never seen anyone so pathetic."
"At least he knows what he is," Gareth said with a shrug.
Leo said nothing, but I could feel his eyes on me for a moment longer before he finally turned away.
I stayed on the ground until their footsteps faded, counting to thirty before I allowed myself to move. When I finally sat up, I was alone except for a few servants who quickly averted their gazes and hurried away.
Act One: Survival. Successful.
My knees were bleeding and every noble for miles would soon hear of my groveling. The upside? All my ribs were intact, and I was still breathing. A profitable trade. More importantly, I'd just rewritten my scene of Heirs of the Azure Orb.
In the original, Leo would have beaten Kaelen senseless, establishing himself as the righteous hero willing to stand up to noble corruption. The readers would have cheered as justice was served. But what had just happened? Leo had walked away disgusted, unsatisfied, like he'd tried to step on an ant only to find it was already squashed.
I pushed myself to my feet, brushing dust and small stones from my clothes. My hands were shaking—partly from adrenaline, partly from the sheer audacity of what I'd just pulled off.
The original Kaelen would have spent the next week in bed, ribs cracked, shoulder dislocated, pride shattered. Instead, I was walking away with scratches and the knowledge that I'd just proven something important: the narrative could be bent.
But this is just the beginning. Leo might be disgusted now, but he's still the protagonist. The world will keep pushing events toward their scripted conclusion. I need to be smarter, faster, more adaptable than the story itself.
I made my way back toward the manor, ignoring the stares of servants and guards. Let them whisper about the pathetic young master who'd groveled in the dirt. Let them think I was broken, harmless, beneath notice.
That was exactly what I needed them to think.
The maid from earlier was waiting inside, her expression carefully neutral. "Young Master? How did your... meeting with Young Master Leo proceed?"
"As expected," I said quietly. "I've learned my lesson."
She nodded, but her eyes held a flicker of something I hadn't expected: disappointment. Not just the cheated-of-gossip kind, but something closer to contempt.
She'd seen me grovel.
And in this world, for a servant to feel contempt for their master... that was a different, more dangerous kind of weakness.
"Very good, Young Master. Perhaps you'd like to rest in your chambers? I can have the kitchen prepare something light for breakfast."
"That would be appreciated, thank you."