Compliment Barrage in a Romance Fantasy (2)

I had praised her, and lost points for it. Maron was terrified.

How did it end up like this?

"I—I'm so terribly sorry for showing such an unsightly pair of eyes to a duke's son… From now on, I'll live so that I never cross your gaze again, Liam…."

Ah. Right.

This was a romance-fantasy world.

Maron had taken my praise as sarcasm—or as something with some other hidden meaning behind it.

Compliment someone, and you earn points.

If the person is only a little pleased, you get a little. If they're overjoyed, you get a lot.

And if your compliment actually made them feel worse?

It goes negative. Intent irrelevant.

If it scales with negative numbers, then yeah—minus makes sense.

Okay. Understood.

So heartfelt praise nets big scores, and half-assed flattery nets small ones.

Intuitive enough.

Of course a genuine compliment was worth more than a lazy one.

Then false compliments would also go negative… Oh? Wait a second.

So if I lied with a compliment and made someone feel bad, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the two minuses would multiply, and—

Nope. Not happening.

Not as simple as I thought.

I'd figured I could just spray compliments at random people and farm points on autopilot. In practice, the conditions were a lot pickier than that.

The hard part was this:

This world is an open-world subculture game—but it's also a romance fantasy.

Sniping. Scheming. Betrayals and alliances. All of that was daily life in a romfan world.

The heroine was the absolute queen of underhanded tactics, which was how she'd conquered this world's academy—but she was absolutely not the only one.

A world where roundabout speech, snide digs, and political maneuvering were the air people breathed.

Fire off praise without thinking, and you could get the exact opposite of what you wanted.

Just like Maron getting spooked a moment ago.

So the ideal strategy I should take from here is clear.

Ruthlessly calculate the other person's state and mood, then deliver only the praise that will make them happy—right place, right time.

However.

If I were the kind of person who could do that, I never would have suffered the way I did at that female-dominated company in the first place.

The ideal strategy?

I know it. I just can't do it. I literally, genuinely cannot.

So for Rule 1: I'll do my best, and expect nothing.

Obviously I wasn't going to look at a bald guy and call it a compliment to say, "Your scalp is so shiny, it looks great." That wasn't a social-cues problem; that was a common-sense problem.

But Rule 2.

Sincere praise earns points in proportion.

That, I can do.

And even if they take it the wrong way and feel bad at first, if I keep praising them from the heart, that feeling will get through someday.

That was my strategy.

Time to put it into practice.

"…Liam?"

Even after that scare, Maron spoke to me again.

Or maybe it was the reverse. Maybe she was speaking to me because she was scared.

"Miss Maron."

"Y-yes…."

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

"There was no hidden meaning in what I said just now. I meant it exactly as it sounded."

"!!"

I ignored it. I decided to ignore it.

My balance was already zero. A man with nothing left to lose had nothing left to fear.

"I meant it then, and I mean it now."

I looked her in the eyes so the feeling would land straight.

"Miss Maron. I think those eyes of yours are charming precisely because they're so unusual."

"!!"

Maron's irises shifted color again. Purple, this time.

"I thought they were fascinating from the first moment I saw them. And the more I look, the more charming they become—those eyes that change color with your feelings."

It was something I'd always thought, even watching Maron berate herself in the original work.

"My eyes? Haha… They're monstrous, aren't they? So ugly…."

Maron Clearias hugged her own arms.

It came through in the gesture—how deeply she disliked herself.

I didn't think that was right.

In person, they looked genuinely beautiful.

"It seems you don't like those eyes of yours, Miss Maron."

To underline that I meant it, I leaned a little toward her beside me.

"I'll say it again."

I met her gaze head-on, and spoke each word carefully.

"I think your eyes are truly beautiful."

"…."

"…."

"…."

"…."

Strange.

Why wasn't there any reaction—

I'd finally done it.

Only one point—but still.

Maron slowly turned her head aside.

The ear I could see had gone red.

"…."

"…Miss Maron?"

"…."

"I really do think they're beautiful eyes."

"…."

No words.

But the Compliment Points kept coming.

A toy that spit out points when you pressed it—except it was a person.

IF compliment → +P

IF not compliment → 0P

"I think they're beautiful eyes."

"…."

"The way they change with your emotions is charming on its own—but every individual color is beautiful too."

"…."

"And more than anything, they suit Miss Maron's smile so—"

"You there! Are you not paying attention to class!?"

The female professor snapped at us in a shout.

Crap.

I'd gotten so absorbed I'd forgotten we were mid-lesson. I apologized without protest.

"I'm sorry."

"Late from the very first class, and now this… tch."

The tongue-clicking professor's name was Kadisha Flareheart.

Long blue-silver hair. Slender legs sheathed in black stockings. And a face so youthful it seemed to defy her age—that was the impression she left.

"Gilliam of House Everchess, is it? I'll say this up front—no matter how high your noble rank, there will be no interference with grades. I do not play favorites!"

That wasn't true.

Even an academy that claimed fairness on paper couldn't entirely ignore the nobility.

But unlike most people, Professor Kadisha was someone who could say that and mean it.

Because she alone was the sort who actually practiced the words she'd just spoken.

And as a result, she fell.

"Manipulate grades? I refuse."

Even under the heavy air of the headmaster's office, Kadisha did not yield.

"Professor Flareheart, this is not a matter of your personal conscience—it concerns the entire academy. Can you even imagine what will happen if we fail the crown prince?"

"Even so, I cannot do what I cannot do. If it must be done, dismiss me and have someone else do it."

"…It seems I misjudged you."

The headmaster sighed.

"You truly will not listen unless I dismiss you?"

"Yes."

"Then get out of my sight this instant."

"…Excuse me?"

The headmaster's voice carried open anger.

"I will dismiss you, as you wish. And do not imagine it ends there. I will make sure you learn just how small this academic world truly is."

In the end, Professor Kadisha struggled to find new work, grew hostile toward the academy, and became a villain who attacked it.

Ultimately she was "disposed of" by the main male lead—the crown prince—and Kadisha ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Flareheart's life closed on a tragic note.

And what became of the crown prince who caused it all?

He put on a teary show in front of the heroine—"So it was all my fault after all"—and that was the end of it. The heroine sat there comforting him with, "It wasn't your fault."

Naturally, any talk of punishing the crown prince never even came up.

It was one of the scenes I'd hated most.

"Professor Kadisha."

"Since when does a student address a professor by—"

"This may sound sudden, but there's something I'd like to praise you for."

"…Huh?"

Professor Kadisha looked at me as if I were insane. Unfair of her, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really.

"Is this not the first time we've met?"

True enough.

"I heard about you."

"Hah… Fine. You heard about me."

Professor Kadisha's face tightened into a frown.

Why was she reacting like that?

"I intended to leave it at a mild warning, since it's the first day—and yet you insist on making this bigger?"

The students in the classroom began to murmur.

"Why is he suddenly doing that?"

"Trying to pick a fight on day one…?"

"Tch. How uncouth."

Eyes poured onto me—half sting, half curiosity.

And the sharpest glare of all came from Professor Kadisha herself.

"Then by all means, speak, Gilliam of House Everchess—heir to the ducal seat of Rotrand, the marquisates of Kschul and Piores, and a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heap of lesser titles besides."

Heavy on the sarcasm.

"Just what sort of rumors about me did you hear? Surely they were flattering ones?"

"Yes."

"Very well—tell us just how flattering—"

"I've heard a great deal about how fair and upright Professor Kadisha is."

"…?"

Professor Kadisha froze.

Blink.

She blinked again.

"What is that even—no, after going out of your way to manufacture this situation, the best you can say is—"

"I mean it."

"That's not the issue—"

"What could matter more than sincerity? Is it not true that you refuse to tolerate injustice—that even if someone demanded grade manipulation, you would never comply?"

"G-Gilliam!"

"So if someone demanded grade manipulation, would you go along with it?"

"Of course not—but that isn't what I'm trying to—"

"Professor Kadisha, I mean every word."

There was distance between us, but I locked eyes with her straight on.

"You are an outstanding educator. I believe you have every right to take pride in that."

Professor Kadisha's face went red as tomato sauce.

"H-hwaaugh…?"