I'll Be Looking Forward to It
The Imperial Academy of Versa, nestled at the heart of the Tyranto Empire, was an educational institution so vast that anyone would nod in agreement if you said its grounds rivaled a decent-sized city. As the largest academy on the continent—with "the continent's finest" tacked on as if it were the most obvious thing in the world—Versa drew students from not just the Eastern Empire of Kun'Rung but from every corner of the land. Most were royalty or influential nobles from their kingdoms. And those sorts were always hypersensitive to trends. Especially since the Tyranto Empire wielded such immense cultural influence across the continent. What was fashionable in the empire was accepted as gospel everywhere else, no questions asked.
"Shuren Chronicle? What's that, this novel?"
"They say it's shaking up the entire imperial literary scene lately. Word is, it uses a completely radical style unlike any traditional imperial novel."
"Hmm, that big a deal?"
"I highly recommend giving it a read. The first volume just came out, and it's sold out everywhere—impossible to find."
"Alright, I'll check it out."
A novel written by an imperial author but featuring a Kun'Rung protagonist instead of an imperial one. Whether you were a foreigner studying abroad or just a tourist, it was impossible not to be intrigued.
"Apparently, it's facing backlash in the empire for being too radical."
"Makes sense once you read it. A story drenched in raw vengeance like this? Unbelievable. It'll be a massive shock to the imperial literature scene, stuffed as it is with cookie-cutter hero worship and epic sagas."
"Don't say that kind of thing out loud anywhere. This is the empire."
"I know. But it's seriously shocking. Mueller Ducal House wrote this?"
The shock over the Shuren Chronicle's content naturally extended to probing the author's background.
Alan Edgar von Mueller. In this empire, only one house could bear the name Mueller—the empire's sword, the Mueller Ducal House.
"No way. Mueller? I didn't hear that wrong, did I?"
"Seems like it—the Sword King's house, Mueller Ducal House. I asked around, and it's the Sword King's youngest son."
"No way."
"He's enrolling in the academy this year, so we might run into him."
"Good luck getting close."
Snap. A fan adorned with ornate frills unfurled dramatically. Behind it, a girl with blue hair flashed a sly smile.
"But overcoming such obstacles is what makes one a true noble of the Palos Kingdom!"
New students at Versa Imperial Academy numbered in the staggering thousands each year. True to its founding principle of admitting both nobles and commoners without discrimination, the sheer volume of enrollees was inevitable. Over six hundred freshmen this year alone. Even after rigorous preliminary screenings and exams, six hundred making the cut meant a wildly diverse crowd.
Yet despite that, enrollment rates across the knight, magic, and other departments showed massive disparities.
The five departments of martial (武), civil (文), technical (技), humanities (學), and arts (藝).
Crowds always flocked to magic and knights—the symbols of sorcery and swordplay—while the other three saw more modest, even numbers.
It was only natural in this world. With real monsters out there attacking people, commoners gifted in sword or spell chose knights or magic to protect themselves. Those eyeing bureaucratic posts for social climbing headed to humanities.
Six hundred freshmen. Among them, what were the odds of landing in the same class as the two highest-born: the princesses?
Answer: practically zero.
That slim chance piercing through was Alan's biggest headache.
Damn, this really hurts!!
Flanked on both sides by the two princesses—that alone was a problem. The stares from everyone were insane, and the princesses' utter nonchalance only twisted the knife deeper.
Felicia Alcir von Tyranto, princess of the Western Empire Tyranto.
Lin Xiao Mei, princess of the Eastern Empire Kun'Rung.
Sandwiched between golden and black hair—the starkest contrast imaginable—Alan looked pale enough to keel over any second, even to onlookers.
Poor guy.
How'd he end up between the two princesses?
I'd have bolted from that spot.
But Alan couldn't. The princesses were glued to both his sides, blocking any escape.
He was visibly withering away in real time.
And no one was coming to his rescue.
Alan felt his soul leaking out.
How the hell did this happen?
Five departments. Splitting into knights or magic already lowered the odds of running into them.
Plus three more besides. Alan had zero interest in knights or magic, so he'd picked the safe bet: humanities.
Why'd both pick humanities as their minor?!
He'd heard the rumors. Unusually high number of academy students minoring in humanities this year.
But he'd never dreamed the princesses would be among them.
Arrogant assumption: royalty wouldn't bother with humanities.
On Rozelia Continent, education meant sword and spell as the mainstream. Humanities, the outlier, drew thin crowds. That stagnation choked the imperial literary scene.
Most imperial novelists hailed from Versa Imperial Academy's humanities department—their cartel was ironclad, thanks to literature classes veering into arts territory.
Is this for real?
Alan swallowed a curse. Not even the shittiest gacha game pulls probability this bad.
Tech and arts are options—why the humanities horde?!
Not one, but two princesses. No idiot drooling over girls would dare approach seats with Eastern and Western imperial princesses side by side.
Touch that, and your head might roll—who knew?
Lin alone? Maybe. But with Felicia? Steer clear.
"Young Master Alan, are you unwell somewhere?"
"Just a bit queasy. Don't worry—it's not your doing."
Polite distance. Lin sensed his discomfort.
Felicia chimed in. "Queasy? Then straight to the infirmary—"
"Not infirmary-worthy."
"...Quiet. Class starts, and you're already noisy."
A crotchety voice. Alan's gaze shifted.
The classroom noise died instantly.
A gaunt professor with a slightly balding head and a prickly face. Years etched his features, mingled with unyielding stubbornness.
His eyes drifted over the students, then arrowed to Alan.
"...Alan Edgar von Mueller. Correct?"
"Yes."
"Fascinating. Facing a student who might become the empire's literary prodigy."
Alan barely kept his face from crumpling.
Just ignore me, ignore!!
I'm losing it.
He'd braced for this, but with Lin, Felicia, and now the professor? Head pounding like he might collapse.
"Literature instructor for humanities: Quiros."
No family name. Commoner, then.
Alan and most students looked shocked.
Meeting their stares, Professor Quiros grinned.
"A sincere welcome to Versa Academy, everyone."
"Literature class isn't about drilling grand lessons. Just how to approach books properly."
Unlike his gruff voice, Quiros had progressive ideas.
"Stuffy nobles praise literature as the pinnacle of academia, but it's not. Know the biggest critique of imperial literature?"
Silence.
A few here might aspire to novels, but few.
Professor Quiros smiled at Alan and the cadets.
"It churns out nothing but cookie-cutter stories. Sold as 'cultured' reading. Bloated with flowery nonsense."
Scrape. Chalk slashed a white line on the blackboard. "Literature" loomed large atop it.
"What is literature?"
"Using language as an artistic medium to truthfully depict humanity and society."
Felicia answered. Quiros nodded approvingly.
"Spot-on definition, Princess. Precisely. But what of imperial literature now?"
"...Rigid. Excessively so."
"Flooded with the same ilk. Even commoners can't relate. Core buried in verbiage. Is that literature?"
Thwack. A giant X crossed "Literature" on the board.
"Frankly," Quiros said, "it's less literature, more kindling scraped together to survive."
Radical words.
From a humanities literature prof—the literary cartel's heart. Ripples inevitable.
Alan found it bold, entertaining. He'd never expected shared frustration with stuffiness—from a literature prof, no less. Odd kinship.
"Literature is a noble pursuit. Shouldn't it prioritize culture and refinement?"
"You misunderstand novels."
Quiros scanned the cadets.
"What is a novel? Literature? Is art merely a tool for debating erudition?"
He swept his gaze again.
"First assignment: next class, debate this topic. Lecture ends here."
His eyes flicked to Alan.
"I'll be looking forward to your views, Alan Edgar von Mueller."
Alan rubbed his forehead, watching Quiros sweep out.
Ah, my head.
A quiet academy life? Yeah, that was a million light-years away.