Evidence of First Love
When I opened my eyes, the ceiling was far too high. It was not a dream. The mirror showed silver hair and ash-gray eyes. The face of that villain who had been impaled by dozens of swords and killed last night was still mine. But right now, that same villain was getting his makeup done.
Servants bustled around him, adjusting his clothes, smoothing his hair, and checking lighting angles. They handled him exactly like a performer about to step onto the stage.
I had awkwardly offered a single blanket and terrified the princess into fleeing, yet the system claimed that was worth one point. The damn thing was clearly broken. Broken or not, the answer remained the same: I had to survive.
Just then, a servant bowed respectfully.
“Your Highness. Before the main event, the major figures have each requested a private word. They will ask, one by one, who you wish to keep at your side. It is tradition.”
Major figures. The original story unfolded inside my head. Four major figures had gathered at this year’s Marriage Festival. And above them all, one absolute peak.
This empire replaced generations at a psychotic speed. The previous ones never died of old age, so seats stayed empty and were immediately filled by the young and starving. Anyone who had claimed the title of Grand Duke at such a tender age had clawed their way there for a reason.
The Eastern Grand Duke. He always wore the face of a smiling slacker, yet without drawing his sword once he had buried three rivals under mountains of debt and swallowed the entire East.
The Western Grand Duke. Carrying a blade as tall as himself, he had gone to the border and decapitated so many enemies that no one could finish counting the heads, pacifying the West completely.
The Southern Admiral. With one smile he had sunk a hundred rival trading ships and seized their entire sea routes—the young admiral of the South.
And the Northern Grand Duke. The one who had beheaded a lord who surrendered out of boredom, then drank tea while standing hundreds of prisoners on a frozen river.
Blood Winter.
…That was me.
And above every last one of them stood the Crown Prince.
Smiling, beheading, or sinking ships—they were all veterans at disposing of human lives according to their mood. And today, all of them had gathered in one place. …To talk about their ideal types.
“This country is seriously fucked up,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
The door closed. A brief, heavy silence fell. That silence frightened me more than anything, because it meant those lunatics would soon walk through that door one by one.
The silver-haired man in the mirror swallowed hard on my behalf.
The door opened. The person who entered was unexpectedly slender. Thin frame, sharp features. He gave off no aura of a major figure, just the impression of a carefree slacker. Not the type who checked for sword hilts first. Instead, his eyes glittered.
…It’s him.
The man who had buried three rivals in debt without ever drawing his sword—that smiling face.
The moment I tensed—
“Brother—!”
The slender man strode forward and clapped a firm hand on my shoulder.
…Brother?
Calling the Blood Winter who had thrown hundreds of people onto an ice river—brother?
“Haha! I am the Eastern Grand Duke, brother!”
His mouth smiled brilliantly, but the eyes scanning me were rapidly calculating profit.
…His face and his eyes are running completely different scripts.
“They’re asking about ideal types under the excuse of formality—ah, forget that. I’ll answer first. If I marry, you see.”
He grinned.
“I plan to gift my woman at least one enemy nation as a wedding present!”
The laugh was loud and warm, but the eyes stayed cold.
“So what about you, brother? What kind of family do you wish to build?”
I thought for a second. In my nine years of corporate slavery, had I ever had time to consider such things? I simply tried to answer normally.
“As long as we don’t devour each other, it’s fine, right?”
…Or so I had intended to say.
“Well. I suppose it is sufficient if we do not devour one another.”
What came out was heavy, chilling, and solemn.
…Wait, when did I start sounding like—
The Eastern Grand Duke threw his head back and roared with laughter, then yanked me into a crushing hug.
“Not devouring each other! Wow—to hear such words from the brutal North! Brother, let us become sworn brothers at once!”
…No, I literally just said as long as we don’t eat each other—
Only then did I notice the window floating in the corner of my vision.
All of your words are automatically corrected to match the solemn dignity of Blood Winter.
It was as if my nine years of survival know-how had been dubbed over with dramatic, profound narration.
…This system has been hijacking my mouth?
“By the way, brother… about those northern mines of yours.”
Here it came.
“You don’t seem to be using them much. Since the land is just sitting there, wouldn’t it be mutually beneficial if the East managed them for you? Just the mining rights, between brothers.”
…Mines? Resources? Did I even have those? I know nothing about any of this.
Not knowing how to answer, I simply stared at him. Even when my face hardened like frost, he kept pushing.
“Come now, don’t make that face. It’s pocket change to you, brother. I’ll prepare the entire contract; all you need to do is stamp—”
He tested the line, watching my reaction, inching forward like a persistent salesman. It was suffocating. I had no idea what he was talking about and just wanted him to shut up. So I gave a small, dismissive flick of my hand.
That was all.
But every drop of blood drained from the Eastern Grand Duke’s face. That exact hand gesture—
In the original story, it was the motion Blood Winter made right before beheading a surrendering lord, accompanied by the word “Next.”
…Ah. That gesture.
By the time I realized, the Eastern Grand Duke had already swallowed hard.
“H-haha! I was joking, brother! Can’t you take a joke?”
He threw both hands up and scrambled backward. The probing look had vanished completely.
…He tested the waters, I stood up, and he tucked his tail instantly.
Sworn brothers my ass—this guy’s every single word is a fishing hook.
Only after retreating all the way to the door did the Eastern Grand Duke recover his bright smile.
“As expected of you, brother—your depths are impossible to read, and I love it. Wahaha!”
…That’s my line.
…Votes? From the guy who just tried to steal my mines?
This country was seriously broken.
After the Eastern Grand Duke left, I let out a long breath. Then, absentmindedly, I scanned the room. That was when I saw it.
A huge crystal ball on one wall of the waiting room was reflecting us perfectly.
…What?
My heart sank. I had seen it in the original story. The Marriage Festival was broadcast live across the entire empire through crystal balls. The empire’s biggest dating program. Which meant—
Everything from my “as long as we don’t devour each other” speech, the sworn-brother nonsense, and that hand flick had all been transmitted to every corner of the empire.
Live. From the beginning. And I was the only one who hadn’t known.
The number had climbed on its own. …All of this came from people watching?
By the time the third guest entered, I was already painfully aware of the crystal ball. I now knew it was a live broadcast. So this time I had to pull myself together and act properly. If I wanted to live, I needed votes, and votes came from the viewers.
The door opened.
“Life is romance, Northern Grand Duke!”
The moment he stepped in, he placed one hand over his heart and gracefully extended the other—directly toward the crystal ball, at the perfect camera angle. Not a trace of awkwardness.
…This bastard knows exactly where the camera is.
It was the Southern Admiral, the man who had sunk a hundred rival ships with a single smile.
“If you ask me about my ideal type, I would answer: a woman who knows how to share a glass of wine beneath the starlight and recite a poem meant only for you.”
The words flowed like water. Not a single syllable faltered. Yet the romance felt oddly like a product displayed for sale.
…That romance was calculated for the camera.
Even so, I started to panic. In front of someone this smooth, I needed to produce something decent too—
“And what about you, Northern Grand Duke?”
My mind went blank. No poem was going to appear. What did a nine-year veteran of corporate life know about starlight and wine? This time I stayed conscious of the passive. Please, just normal. Short. Like it’s nothing.
“…I don’t have one in particular. It’d be fine if the person isn’t scary.”
I thought I had said it normally. But the passive weighed every syllable down, turning it low, cold, and heavy, as if it were a long-cherished truth.
The room fell silent. Someone sucked in a sharp breath. Glowing text scrolled beneath the crystal ball.
…No, that’s not what I meant. I literally just meant it would be nice if they weren’t scary.
Everyone else seemed to have read some profound confession into it. The Southern Admiral’s polished smile froze for the first time. He stared at me for a moment, then his eyes lit up as if he had been struck by inspiration.
“…Oh-ho. Being unadorned actually sells better.”
He nodded slowly.
“Starlight, wine—I memorized useless things. I’ve learned a thing or two from you, Northern Grand Duke.”
Those were the eyes of a merchant. He had calculated faster than anyone that his own poem had lost to my single sentence.
…It went up again? Even higher?
I was stunned. The guy who had memorized an entire poem to win the broadcast lost votes to me simply speaking from the heart. It really was from the heart, even if the passive had packaged it in dramatic wrapping.
…The people of this empire have seriously warped tastes.
And then, the last one.
The door opened—and the Crown Prince stepped in.
My breath stopped.
…It’s him.
The very person who, in the original story, had thrown this body onto the middle of a battlefield and ultimately killed it. The peak I had seen in the prologue. The single being above the Eastern, Western, and Southern powers.
I braced for the worst. Sword or insult, I gritted my teeth, ready to handle whatever came.
But the Crown Prince smiled.
“There is no need to be nervous.”
His voice was gentle. The murderous eyes that had glared at Carix in the original story were now strangely softened.
I tensed even harder.
…Why are you smiling? Why are you being kind? Just pull your sword. At least let me calculate how to block it.
I thought I should say something, but I couldn’t open my mouth. Because of that damned passive. No matter what I said, the dignity correction would add weight on its own. And of all people, I could not let this man see inside me. My mouth was no longer mine.
So I simply kept silent.
Yet those softened eyes continued to study me. For a very long time. As if searching for someone else behind this face.
…What is this? Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t tell me you’ve realized I’m not him—
My heart froze. I was so scared I couldn’t even blink. And that very fear made me look like someone who could stare down the empire’s peak without flinching while he dug through my soul.
In the end, it was the Crown Prince who looked away first.
“I came to greet you. And—about that child.”
He didn’t say the name, but I knew. Esran.
“Still, you were kind to her.”
…Kind? Me? I threw her a blanket and she ran away in terror.
“Thank you.”
“…………”
I was completely frozen. The man who had killed me in the original story was now thanking me.
“After the meeting, I saw her outside pressing a hand to her chest and letting out a long breath. ‘Hoo—’ Like someone who had overcome a great mountain.”
The Crown Prince’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“If she had been harmed, that expression would not have appeared.”
…No. That was the face of someone who had barely escaped with her life and was relieved.
The words rose to my throat but I swallowed them. If I opened my mouth now, the passive might turn it into something else entirely.
“Therefore, for now.”
The Crown Prince turned away. As quietly as he had entered, he walked toward the door, then glanced back.
“…I will be watching.”
It was clearly a spine-chilling warning. I should say something back—but if I opened my mouth the correction would—
It was already too late. A single phrase slipped out on its own.
“As you wish.”
The Crown Prince’s hand on the doorknob paused for a moment. Then, for the first time, he laughed out loud.
“…Hah. As expected, you are entertaining.”
The door closed.
What the hell just happened…?
After the Crown Prince left, I sat there dazed for a long time. None of it made any sense.
Then a servant carefully turned the crystal ball toward me.
“Your Highness’s first meeting… is currently the hottest topic in the empire.”
Hottest topic? Me? The guy who gave a blanket and got chased out?
On the screen, I was handing Esran a blanket. In reality, after the single line “You look cold”—which the passive had made chilling—she had turned deathly pale and fled. But the broadcast was different.
Soft strings played over the hand offering the blanket. The teardrop that formed as she ran away was slowed down—extremely slowly—then enlarged. Above it appeared a single caption.
“…What?”
The scene continued. It showed Esran leaving the meeting room, pressing a hand to her chest and sighing “Hoo—” The face that had barely escaped terror received another line of text.
“…………Ah.”
Only then did everything click into place. What the Crown Prince had seen was not Esran shaking with terror after barely surviving. It was the edited version—the “princess trembling after falling in first love.”
That was why he had thanked me. He thought I had been kind to her. That was why he hadn’t drawn his sword. The editing had saved me.
…Fuck.