Deculein (1)

"It's nice and quiet around here since the young master left, but... doesn't it feel kinda unsettling to you?"

In recent days, the atmosphere at Yukline Mansion had settled into an unnatural calm. Silence was a rare occurrence in this grand estate, one of the finest even in the capital.

"Hush, girl. Don't jinx it. Just stay quiet."

The unusual peace felt awkward to the maids and butlers at first, but after a full week, they had begun to adapt.

"Could it be that things are going well with the Phairden lady?"

The head maid shook her head at the young maid's question.

"Nah. If anything, it'd make more sense if it was the opposite."

"Really? He's been holed up for a whole week, which is a first, so it's confusing. He hasn't even checked the cleaning."

"Enjoy the rest while it lasts. Who knows when he'll start nitpicking again..."

The servants gossiped about their master's bizarre change in behavior.

"Has this ever happened before?"

"Well, Lord Deculein has only been settled here for ten years..."

Their master was such a famous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and prickly figure that there was no shortage of topics, and the conversation flowed endlessly.

It was then.

Screeech──

The front doors swung wide open, and the sharp click of heels echoed through the hall.

Click-clack─ Click-clack─

A chilling, ominous rhythm.

The maids scrambled to their feet and lined up before the unexpected guest.

"...Where is that man?"

The noble visitor who asked so sharply was a stunning beauty with short black bobbed hair.

"Y-Yes, the master is currently..."

Yeriel, the prickly half-sister as notorious as her brother. The maids bowed their heads at her arrival.

"Show me."

The butlers, not daring to meet her eyes, guided her inside.

Together, they ascended the central staircase of the mansion to the highest floor, stopping before the grand door that served as the entrance to a room spanning the entire level.

Knock-knock─

Yeriel rapped casually on the door that everyone in the household feared.

Knock-knock─

No response.

Knock─knock─! Knock─knock─!

After a few more irritated knocks, Yeriel couldn't hold back and flung the door open.

"...Hey!"

In the pristine room lay a handsome man with a disheveled face.

His hair shimmered faintly like bluish crystal, and his pale, flawless skin paired with sharp, intellectual features looked especially shadowed today.

It was enough on its own to stir any woman's heart, but Yeriel ignored all that and snapped at him.

"What the hell are you doing!"

The butlers trembled at Yeriel's insolent tone.

Yet the master of the mansion, the head of the family, Deculein von Grahan Yukline—who had just suffered such insubordination—merely muttered in a low voice.

"...I thought I would wake if I slept a few times. But I do not. It is still a dream, then."

At those words, the maids jumped to a conclusion.

Things must have gone really south with the Phairden lady!

"Again..."

Yeriel seemed to interpret it similarly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Right then, everyone present except Deculein had the same name in mind: Julie von Dayia Phairden.

The second daughter of the northern Phairden family, and the current fiancée of Deculein von Grahan Yukline.

To the outside world, they were a couple bound by marriage vows, but their feelings for each other couldn't have been more different.

Deculein seemed to truly love Julie, while Julie's feelings toward Deculein bordered on outright disgust.

It wasn't mere speculation—it was common knowledge.

"Can't you stop thinking about that woman already? You've canceled all your lectures—what the hell is this?"

"...Lectures?"

"Yes!"

Yeriel pulled a document from her luxury clutch and tossed the stack of papers onto the bed with a rustle.

"You said you'd handle it yourself. So what, you gonna make the family look bad by lying here like an idiot?"

"..."

"Today's at the university, so you better show up! Unless you want to lose that precious professor position!"

"You... are quite bold."

Deculein let out a scoff. In that moment, Yeriel's expression twisted. A vein bulged at her pale temple.

"I'm not bold—you're the idiot! You moron!"

Such vicious profanity. The maids flinched hard, but their master showed no reaction.

He would have punished her in the old days. How had he become so listless?

I hope he stays like this forever.

"...Understood. Now leave."

"Hmph."

Yeriel snorted and stormed out.

She didn't particularly want to stick around watching her brother turn into a pathetic wreck over some girl.

"Y-Yes, Lady Yeriel. Shall we prepare a meal?"

"No need."

"But you've come such a long way. Just a moment—!"

"I said no!"

The butlers hurried after her.

With the master's mood sour today, the best policy was to stay out of sight...

"...A lecture, is it."

I examined the documents Yeriel had shoved at me.

The lecture title was "Imperial Royal University Chief Professor Deculein: Fundamental Understanding of Magic and Mindset Toward Mana."

And its outline was as follows:

1. Classification of magic by attributes and series.

2. Rough understanding of spells by magic series: destruction, support, summoning, spirits, etc.

3. Proper mana usage...

"What kind of magic is this varied?"

In a world overflowing with magic, where had science gone...? They say sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.

I muttered nonsense and flopped back onto the bed.

"...Hah."

A week had passed.

Just like that, a week had slipped by in the blink of an eye.

In that time, I hadn't figured out why I was trapped here.

Not a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dream, not lucid dreaming, not VR.

The most plausible explanation: I got struck by lightning and died, and this was the afterlife...

In any case, I had become Deculein von Grahan Yukline, the character modeled after me from that damned game.

For reference, Deculein was a central antagonist—a nexus connecting the entire story. He was the arch-nemesis to countless named characters or a mid-boss for the player.

My parents' killer—my lover's killer—my village's destroyer—the thief of my achievements—and so on.

Clearly, he had racked up plenty more grudges. A villain woven purely for death and obstacles.

Of course, Rain had said this character had a little twist, but surely that twist wasn't me possessing him...

"He dies in almost every route."

True to form as a villain, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his death was practically inevitable.

Whether killed by the player, hired named characters to do it, picked fights with named characters on his own, or assassinated—somehow, he always died.

Like the purple-headed bald villain in that famous hero movie.

"More importantly, this..."

I sorted through the papers Yeriel had flung.

Glancing over them, I saw the lecture was today.

"...I should go."

Lecturing was a first for me, but I couldn't just sit idle. I couldn't afford to slack off any longer.

I had to move to gather info, figure something out to maybe get back—and above all...

Those bizarre lines flickering in the corner of my vision.

For them—and Yeriel—I needed to get moving. She was one of this guy's "death flags," and that "shop currency" was pretty important.

Fortunately, knowledge? Attitude? Experience? for the lecture wouldn't be an issue.

Before getting stuck in this world, I'd mistaken it for "empathy" and added Understanding.

I trusted its power.

It was unique-grade, after all—something that only appeared in the late game, which even my playthrough character never got.

"Time to wash up..."

I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Stripped and turned on the shower.

Immaculate surroundings, warm water, strong pressure. Everything was to my liking.

After a thorough shower, I opened the dressing room door. The room, larger than my old apartment, brimmed with valuables and suits.

I selected my outfit by feel alone.

White shirt, aristocratic navy suit. Blue tie, intellectual glasses. Coat over top, cologne to match, hair slicked back without a strand out of place.

Then I checked the mirror.

"..."

This look could come off as sleazy, but instead, it exuded nobility. Overflowing ego verged on arrogance, yet elegant dignity coexisted perfectly.

Probably the work of traits like "Intimidation and Grace", "Aesthetic Sense", and the personality "Noble Etiquette."

In truth, I couldn't act or speak against etiquette. No matter how hungry, I couldn't shovel food; no idle chatter; every movement required poise and refinement.

And from my perspective, it felt natural.

My personality had shifted entirely—it felt more comfortable than slouching.

Even crude, ignorant sights stirred contempt and disdain.

"...I won't get devoured by this guy."

This character had especially pronounced "personality" traits.

Just from the system log: "Noble Etiquette," "Chosen One Complex," "Mysophobia," "Authoritarian," "Refinement Obsession," and more.

They were almost certainly infecting me.

That's why even this "duty" to lecture felt utterly natural. I was an outstanding, noble aristocrat... bullshit.

"Woojin."

I glared at the handsome reflection and repeated.

"Kim Woojin."

I wouldn't lose myself.

I wouldn't be swallowed by this pathetic character.

"That's your name."

Universe and True—Woojin.

A healthy South Korean man, objectively tall and handsome, but a loser by someone's account.

"A pathetic, lazy bastard."

That's me.

Slap—!

I smacked my cheeks and stepped out.

Thud— Thud—

Crisp, rhythmic footsteps. Long legs moving with fluid grace.

A walk of perfect poise, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without the slightest disorder.

I arrived before the car in the garden, displaying elegance even I admired.

"Greetings, my lord."

An antique car from the Ford era— in this world, it symbolized wealth.

"We depart."

"Yes, sir!"

I slid into the back seat the butler opened, where a small, robed figure was already seated beside me.

"...?"

Under the hood, a cute but tense face stared back.

"P-Professor! Good afternoon! H-Here, here it is!"

The figure thrust out some documents in a nervous voice.

"...Are you a mage?"

"P-Pardon? Oh, y-yes. Yes... I've been under you for... three years now..."

"I was joking."

I smiled gracefully and examined the documents.

I'd expected lecture notes, but it was a script. Word-for-word from start to finish.

Just recite this, huh.

Of course Deculein wouldn't prepare himself.

He was all flash, no real talent. His trait was "Magic Mediocrity," not genius. Exactly what I wanted.

"Good work."

"...P-Pardon?"

One word of praise flustered the mage.

Honestly, it twisted my gut too. Clear "personality" infection, but I had to overcome it.

I gritted my teeth and added,

"You've done well. Rest until we arrive."

"A-Ah, yes! Yes! Understood!"

The bowing mage went corpse-still. A pleased quirk at the corner of his mouth peeked from under the robe—he liked the praise.

"..."

I read the script. The paper's texture grated. Filthy, almost. Gloves next time... no.

Anyway.

I knew the game's lore somewhat, but Understanding made the content click instantly.

About thirty minutes of studying later.

"...?"

An intriguing sight appeared outside the window.

I turned naturally toward it.

And smiled, for reasons even I couldn't fathom.

Bathed in noon light, waves sparkling brilliantly outside.

The statue of the founding emperor at the entrance, paths harmonizing with vibrant flowers and trees.

Vast grounds filled with buildings, soft light rays descending from the lofty sky like a blessing.

The whole called Imperial Royal University.

Deculein's—my—workplace.

This hyper-real 3D rendered on my retinas... all my design.