The Great Hall of the Royal Academy smelled like nervous sweat and expensive beeswax.
Caelus slipped through the heavy oak doors, keeping his head down. The room was a cavern of stone and velvet, designed three hundred years ago to make teenagers feel small and insignificant. It was working. The sheer verticality of the pillars made him feel like an insect waiting to be crushed.
He found a spot in the back row, behind a pillar that smelled faintly of mold and damp stone. It was the perfect villain spot. Dark, obscured, and close to the exit.
He checked his wrist, pulling the cuff of his black jacket down just enough to see the blue glow branded into his skin.
Life Force: 02:48:12
Two hours and forty-eight minutes.
He breathed out, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. It wasn't safety—safety was a concept he had left behind in the previous timeline—but it was breathing room. The confrontation with Sylvia in the hallway had terrified him, but the System had paid out. The "Intimidation" had worked, even if her reaction had been... scientifically baffling.
He rubbed his wrist where she had grabbed him. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her fingers, the unnatural heat of her skin radiating through his lapel.
"Crazy," he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his trousers. "They're all crazy."
A trumpet blasted.
The sound cut through the murmuring crowd like a physical blow, vibrating in the teeth. Caelus winced, pressing his back against the cold stone.
The heavy velvet curtains at the front of the stage parted.
Light—pure, manufactured, blindingly white magical light—flooded the podium. It was aggressive. It was theatrical. It was exactly the kind of entrance a narcissist would design.
The Second Prince walked out.
Lucas von Aethelgard. The Hero. The Golden Sun of the Empire.
He looked exactly as Caelus remembered him from the day of the execution: perfect. His blonde hair was swept back with an alchemy gel that probably cost more than a peasant's lifetime earnings. His white uniform was tailored so tightly it looked painted on, showing off a physique built in a gym rather than a battlefield. He wore a smile that didn't reach his eyes—a smile that was less an expression of happiness and more a brand logo stamped onto his face.
The crowd gasped. It was a collective, wet sound of adoration that made Caelus's stomach turn.
"Welcome, future guardians of humanity," Lucas said.
His voice was amplified by wind magic, smooth and resonant, vibrating in the chest cavities of everyone in the room. It sounded like honey dripping on gold.
Caelus leaned back against the cold stone pillar, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes. Here it comes.
In the last timeline, he had fallen for it. He had cheered with the rest of them, desperate for the Prince's approval. He had been a dog wagging its tail, waiting for a scrap of attention, oblivious to the leash around his neck.
Now, he saw the air shimmer.
It wasn't heat haze. It was a fine, pink mist drifting off the Prince's skin, rolling over the stage and spilling into the front rows like dry ice at a cheap concert.
Charm Magic.
Specifically, Mass Hysteria Inducement, a forbidden spell from the Dark Continent that rewired the loyalty centers of the brain.
Caelus held his breath instinctively, then remembered he didn't need to. The System burned inside him—a cold, hard knot of coal in his chest that rejected foreign mana. He felt the magic wash over him like greasy water, sliding off his skin without leaving a mark.
But the rest of the hall wasn't so lucky.
Caelus watched the student in front of him—a nervous boy with glasses who had been fidgeting with his tie. As the pink mist touched him, the boy's posture slumped. The tension left his shoulders. His mouth fell open slightly, his eyes glazing over with a terrifying, vacant euphoria.
"He is the light," the boy whispered.
"The light," the girl next to him echoed, her voice slurring.
It rippled through the hall. A thousand students, the best and brightest of the Empire, were being lobotomized in real-time. Their individual expressions—fear, arrogance, boredom—were wiped away, replaced by a uniform mask of worship.
It was disgusting.
And it was Caelus's chance.
Disrespecting the Royal Family, Caelus thought, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. That's a crime. That's villainy. That is definitely worth an hour.
While the rest of the hall stood at attention, hanging on the Prince's every word, Caelus slouched. He deliberately yawned—a wide, aggressive yawn that cracked his jaw. He fished a slightly squashed apple from his pocket—stolen from the cafeteria earlier, though he hadn't gotten points for it because the System classified it as "sustenance"—and took a loud, crunchy bite.
Crunch.
The sound was surprisingly loud in the reverent silence between the Prince's sentences. It sounded like a bone breaking.
Caelus chewed slowly, open-mouthed, staring at the Prince with dead, bored eyes.
Give me the points, he demanded of the air. Look at this disrespect. I am eating fruit while the Future Emperor speaks. I am trash.
A faint warmth flickered in his chest.
ACT OF DISRESPECT DETECTEDTARGET: THE FALSE HEROCALCULATING REWARD...
Yes.
Caelus took another bite. He looked around to see if anyone was watching his rebellious act. He expected dirty looks. He expected the mindless drones to hiss at him to be quiet.
He looked to his left.
Three rows away, standing near the VIP section, was the Saintess.
Elara wasn't looking at the Prince. She wasn't glazed over. Her blue eyes were clear, sharp, and locked directly on Caelus.
She was watching him eat the apple.
She wasn't looking at him with disgust. She was looking at him with a terrifying mixture of awe and pity. Her hands were clasped so tightly over her holy staff that her knuckles were white.
Why is she looking at me? Caelus froze mid-chew. Look at the Prince. He's doing the magic thing. You love the magic thing.
Elara's lips moved. She was too far away to hear, but Caelus, having spent years learning to read lips in the dungeon to survive his imprisonment, caught the words perfectly.
"Only he resists. The lone shadow in the false light."
Caelus choked on a piece of apple skin.
He quickly looked away, turning his head to the right.
There, leaning against the wall near the faculty entrance, was Sylvia.
The Sword Saint's daughter wasn't affected by the charm either. Her aura was a physical barrier, shredding the pink mist before it could touch her.
She wasn't looking at the Prince. She was staring at Caelus.
Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. Her thumb was running back and forth over the pommel, a repetitive, obsessive motion. Her eyes were dark, tracking the movement of Caelus's throat as he swallowed the apple.
She looked like a wolf deciding which part of the deer to eat first.
Stop it, Caelus screamed internally. I am being rude! I am being a bad student! Stop looking at me like I'm interesting!
He looked up. Maybe the balcony was safe.
High above, in the Principal's private box, the glass was tinted. But Caelus felt the weight of a gaze pressing down on him. He could feel the Principal—the Ruthless Gardener—sipping her wine, watching the only three people in the room who weren't drooling zombies.
"And so," the Prince shouted, raising his hands for the climax of his speech, "we shall purge the darkness from this world!"
The crowd roared. It was a deafening, manufactured cheer.
The Prince basked in it. He closed his eyes, soaking in the adoration. Then, he opened them, scanning the front row for the reactions of the three most important women in the school.
He looked at Elara. She was looking at the back of the room. He looked at Sylvia. She was looking at the back of the room. He looked up at the Principal's box. The Principal was looking at the back of the room.
The Prince's smile faltered. For a microsecond, the mask slipped, revealing a flash of petty, narcissistic confusion.
He followed their gaze.
He looked past the rows of cheering zombies, past the nobles, past the knights.
His eyes landed on the boy behind the moldy pillar.
Caelus froze, the half-eaten apple halfway to his mouth.
He was wearing a black suit. He had dead eyes. He was slouching.
The Prince stared at him.
Caelus stared back.
Oh no, Caelus thought.
He wasn't invisible. He wasn't a background character. He was the only person in the entire hall who wasn't clapping. He was the anomaly.
The Prince's eyes narrowed. It wasn't the look of a hero spotting a villain. It was the look of a spoiled child realizing someone wasn't playing with his toys.
The pink mist around the Prince spiked, turning a darker, angrier shade of red. He pushed more mana into the spell, trying to force the outlier to submit.
The wave of magic hit Caelus.
It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of warm syrup over his head. It was gross, cloying, and sticky.
The System in Caelus's chest roared.
It didn't like the intrusion. It didn't like the foreign control.
MENTAL INTERFERENCE DETECTEDSOURCE: INFERIOR CHARMPROTOCOL: REJECT
Caelus felt a sharp, electric snap in his brain. The "syrup" evaporated instantly, burned away by the cold void of his own Life Force.
He didn't bow. He didn't clap.
He just took another bite of the apple.
Crunch.
The Prince flinched. Physically flinched on stage.
The cheering died down as the students ran out of breath. In the sudden quiet, the Prince's voice rang out, sharp and brittle.
"You there," the Prince said, pointing a gloved finger directly at the pillar.
The entire hall turned. A thousand heads swiveled in unison.
Caelus looked left. Caelus looked right.
"Me?" he mouthed.
"Yes, you," the Prince smiled, but his eyes were cold. "The student who finds sustenance more important than the future of humanity. What is your name?"
This was it. The moment of social execution. The Prince was going to humiliate him. He was going to turn the entire school against him.
Caelus felt a rush of relief. Finally. This is what I want. Hate me. Ostracize me.
He stepped out from behind the pillar. He dropped the apple core on the floor—another glorious point of disrespect.
"Caelus," he said. His voice was raspy, dry. "Caelus von Valerius."
The name rippled through the crowd. The Trash of the Valerius family. The disappointment.
"Valerius," the Prince mused. "A noble name. A shame it is carried by someone who cannot even stand at attention."
The crowd tittered. It was a cruel, programmed sound.
Caelus opened his mouth to agree. To say, 'Yes, I am trash, kick me out.'
But before he could speak, the air in the room dropped ten degrees.
A screech of metal on stone echoed through the silence.
Sylvia had pushed her sword two inches out of its scabbard.
The sound was sharp, violent, and deliberate. It cut through the Prince's charm like a razor.
Every head turned toward Sylvia. She wasn't looking at the Prince. She was looking at the students who had laughed. Her eyes were silver voids of promise—the promise of violence.
"He's tired," Sylvia said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried perfectly.
"He traveled far. He is hungry."
She turned her gaze to the Prince. It wasn't a respectful gaze. It was a challenge.
"Let him eat."
The silence that followed was absolute.
The Sword Saint's daughter had just publicly defended the Trash. She had interrupted the Prince.
On the other side of the room, Elara stepped forward. She didn't speak, but she raised her staff, and a soft, golden light pulsed from the crystal tip—a blessing. Not for the Prince. The light drifted across the room and settled gently on Caelus's shoulders, warming him, easing the ache in his legs.
The Prince looked at Sylvia. He looked at Elara.
His face turned a blotchy, ugly red.
Caelus stood there, the golden light shimmering around him, the Sword Saint protecting him, the Prince hating him.
He looked at his wrist.
VILLAINOUS ACT INTERRUPTEDNARRATIVE CONFUSIONREWARD: 0 HOURS
Caelus closed his eyes.
Why, he thought, despair clawing at his throat. Why is it so hard to be the bad guy?