Take Responsibility (2)
What the hell kind of situation is this, like wielding a sledgehammer in the dead of night? I was diligently holding on, explaining the basics, when someone from the spectator seats pokes their head in with, "Hey, what's this? Looks fun?" while licking their lips. It's just awkward as hell.
More than that, she hadn't left yet? I figured she'd watch a bit and then bail, but this is unexpected.
"I figured you'd find something as basic as this boring, Your Highness."
"Well, that's true, but watching the two of you makes it look enjoyable? It's more interesting to see it right in front of you than just hearing it recited, right?"
Maybe, but save that for after it's over. You're killing the vibe.
For now, the match ends in a draw. As I turn back, the princess—who'd been watching from my side—blinks in surprise.
"Why'd you end it?"
"Even if you're just supposed to watch quietly, when you suddenly butt in, how can I not get distracted? It breaks my flow."
"Exactly." Albert von Beletia chimes in agreement, striding over from the opposite side. Even our unflappable lord seems thrown off by the princess's impulsive move, his voice coming out firmer than usual.
"Especially when you're carrying on a private conversation with my vassal right in front of us. Butting in like that is hardly proper."
"Oh..."
For a moment, the princess's purple eyes fix on the margrave with a puzzled look. I tense up, half-expecting an argument, but after a pause, her response is—thankfully—a genuine apology.
"Sorry. I was too hasty. I'll think twice next time before acting. Forgive my rudeness, Ruticia Margrave."
She's admitting fault so readily; it's hard to pile on. The margrave looks a bit sheepish too, mumbling in reply.
"...Understood. Since you've apologized, I'll accept it."
Of course, the awkwardness lingers even after the exchange.
Court jesters exist to defuse atmospheres like this, but there are none here. Just one baron desperate not to suffocate in the stifling air. He jumps in quickly.
"So... Your Highness must have experienced all this ages ago. What makes it so entertaining for you?"
Unlike our margrave, who has no such track record from blindly charging in, the princess has a glittering history. From the way she handled troops last time, she hardly needs basic tips like these.
"Hmm—"
To my skeptical question, Charlotte lets out a nasal hum, then flashes a bright smile and clasps her hands behind her back. With light steps, she takes a few paces forward. Suddenly, before my eyes, cascading golden fringe drapes down, framing an exquisitely carved amethyst pendant nestled between.
"Well, I've never experienced peers teaching or sharing research outside of lectures, have I? And studying alone is boring, right?"
"...I doubt that's the whole reason."
To my strained response, Princess Charlotte doesn't reply immediately. She just pins me with those violet-rose vines of hers, smiling faintly like some hermit sage.
She's staring... piercing right through me...
As if projecting her inner thoughts, her gaze bores into me. Then her eyelids flutter shut briefly.
Crisis. No, really—something had to give soon.
If this keeps up, I'll just keep getting dragged along forever...
Truth be told, I've been brushing off her overbearing antics not because I'm some masochistic freak who enjoys being led around. The emperor's daughter or not, she has no authority to command me. If I truly hated it, I could brush her off easily enough. Sure, I'd show respect due her bloodline, but no need to indulge beyond that.
Yet the real reason I can't cleanly shut her down... well, there's my lord's face to consider, but more than that, it's probably that idiotic stunt I pulled last time nagging at me.
The princess's handkerchief. The one I borrowed just to wipe sweat once.
I hadn't thought what it meant for a lady to offer her handkerchief—or rather, her fabric—and blurted it out carelessly, sparking total disaster.
That.
She seems oblivious beyond using it to tease, but it still bothers me...
I don't want to make a big deal of it, but she might someday. That's how it goes with superiors.
So I've been waffling ambiguously all this time, but it's clearly not working.
"How about this, then, Your Highness?"
"Got a good idea?"
"Time's almost up anyway. Curfew's soon. We can't do much more here. Right, my lord?"
"Of course."
The margrave, who'd been pondering how to intervene, nods.
"—Since you're suggesting that, how about we make it a long-term thing?"
"A long-term gathering...?"
"Call it an exchange among the three of us. A study group works too. We could even do mock battles occasionally..."
"!"
Her eyes change at the third phrase. There it is. That's your real goal.
Classic dopamine addict.
Putting together what I've seen from professors, Erna, and assorted rumors, that's her type. She only wants to do fun stuff, hates the rest. Her fun just happens to be tactical games. And for some reason, she has wildly inflated expectations of me.
To shift this one-sided dynamic, time to play my trump card.
"That said, mock battles every day aren't realistic."
"Why not?"
"I need prep time too. I'm just copying from books, so to be a proper match for you, I have to study up each time. You wouldn't want the same old routine from me every match, right?"
"...That's persuasive enough."
In other words, I need build research time too. This buys me some naturally, giving grounds to ration her dopamine hits.
Essentially, dog training basics. Overfed, overly happy pups don't learn or grow. Drip rewards to motivate the grind.
"Hmm, but if so, you'd focus more on the Ruticia Margrave... Could you really spare that much time for me, Baron Hebel?"
"Well..."
Sharp question. Can't deny it outright. Lord comes first; no one else does.
The margrave, who'd been listening quietly, fields it.
"Assuming we form the group... wouldn't Your Highness have to spare time for me too?"
"Me... for the margrave?"
"I'm in a position to humbly seek learning from professors, Baron Hebel, or Your Highness alike. That would naturally give the baron more prep time. Right, Baron Hebel?"
"The margrave has a brilliant idea there."
As I chime in on the neat tripartite alliance, Charlotte hums again.
She lowers her gaze thoughtfully, then lifts it decisively.
"If you're both for forming the group, could I add three conditions?"
"Of course, Your Highness. Go ahead."
"First is for Ruticia Margrave Albert. I hate repeating myself, so when we do this, absolute focus."
Straightforward and clichéd. So the meat's in two and three...
"Second is for Baron Hebel. From the moment this starts, you can't lose to anyone but me."
"...Pardon?"
"You have to take responsibility—for beating me."
Since when? As I tilt my head in disbelief, she crosses her arms and fixes me with a steady gaze.
"Baron Hebel. I hate losing. Really, truly hate it."
No kidding; I got that memo.
Glancing back at our history, she's still staring me down.
"But you've humiliated me—not once, but three times—in front of the entire faculty. That's an irreversible trend."
"Haha..."
Three...? She's still hung up on the handkerchief too, huh?
Undeterred by my thoughts, she places a hand on her chest and declares.
"So if you lose to someone else, that means I've lost to them too."
"Wins and losses happen; no need to worry about it..."
"No, I worry about it!"
Straight-backed with unyielding pride, Princess Charlotte steps closer.
"Got it? Until I beat you three times, you stay undefeated. Until then, only I have the right to beat you! In other words—"
Her eyes blaze unfiltered before mine as she proclaims haughtily.
"Only you qualify as my rival until then! Because—I've never lost once!"
To her bold declaration, my first stray thought is:
What if you lose to someone else now...?
But I'm not dumb enough to voice that. Instead, I bring up something that's bugged me.
"Back in that mock battle... you brought spectators on purpose to beat me in front of them, right?"
"Of course. Spot on."
"Isn't that self-inflicted, Your Highness...?"
"Of course. And I'll apologize belatedly for that intent."
I twitch an eye, sigh softly, and reply.
"Well, water under the bridge. I don't like losing either. So, I'll accept the condition."
Who likes losing? But when she puts it like that, a guy's gotta play it cool.
Rival, huh. I roll the cringey word on my tongue.
And think: This dopamine-addicted princess is a real riot.
"So, what's the last one?"
I close and open my eyes, looking at her again. Surprised by my easy acceptance, she's the one blinking now.
"Huh... You're agreeing?"
"Why would a mere baron turn down a chance to stand equal—even briefly—with Your Highness?"
"Fair point..."
More importantly, it's a shot at not getting dragged around legally. She called me rival; I can push back a bit.
Now eyeing her in return, she unusually bites her lip, hesitating.
Tough one for her to say, maybe.
"—Then the last... Baron Hebel, could you be honest about one thing?"
"What is it?"
"You don't... resent me, do you?"
"Pardon...?"
Caught off-guard, I blink. Her excited fingers drop from their dainty curve, fidgeting under swelling shadows.
"I mean, um... You seem troubled? And you had to switch faculties."
Bit late for regrets, Your Highness...
At least she has a shred of conscience.
Thanks to her, I did switch and dealt with hassles—fact. But on reflection, nothing's been irrevocably twisted by her.
"You want honesty? This is all my choice. Everything else was just a trigger. It was tricky at first because I didn't know how to handle Your Highness."
Our first contact was just too steep.
"So... I can keep talking to you casually like this?"
"...As long as you don't overwhelm me?"
"Hehe. Kidding. If it was just a trigger, can't be helped."
She nods, as if the condition's cleared.
"Any conditions from you?"
"None. Margrave?"
"Just... don't hound me too much."
"Then that's settled... Details tomorrow!"
She turns with buoyant steps, excited it went through. Pauses, glances back.
"Oh right, and... no lies between us. Got it?"
Leaving that loaded line, the princess departs briskly.
Something snags me about it, but the margrave's voice pulls my attention.
"This turned into quite the affair, eh?"
"Tell me about it."
"No, as her rival, aren't you higher-status than me now? You could drop the formalities."
"Don't tease..."
I laugh awkwardly. The weird feeling's real, but... that cringey word, rival. Might be fun after all.
* And the chance for a rematch with that so-called rival came sooner than I expected— the very next day.
"Next! Werner! Charlotte! Take your empty spots and prepare!"
Our no-nonsense military studies professor, Claudio Montecuccoli, bellows noble names freely. In his practical class, we'd drawn the same team.
Why does this keep happening...?
Guess luck—or misfortune—is real. Probably that evil character in front.