Front-Row Seats to Ruin
Ow.
First, I took the seat beside Kyle's empty place.
It was a good spot. From there I had a clear view of Deron and Blund sitting across the table.
Even though the air in the great hall was cool, both of them were soaked in sweat. Their pupils wandered without focus, lost and directionless. Their faces looked pale enough to have been slathered in white paint, and for a moment they almost seemed pitiable — but I had already done the bare minimum of my responsibility with warnings and hints. There was no need for any scrap of guilt, and no need to feel sorry for them either.
Front-row 3D seats to Hupijip.
For this very moment, I had preached self-reflection until I earned the three regret-route boys' open contempt. As a transmigrator, I had fulfilled my own modest duty. All that remained was to look forward to whatever the dinner on the round table would taste like — and what the Hupijip of a female-oriented romance fantasy would taste like as well.
Wonder if it'll be monster cuisine again this time.
I wanted to lift the lids already. What dish would they serve tonight?
My heart was racing. I was genuinely excited.
That said—
"Has Young Master Kyle taken ill or something?"
I asked, looking at Blund.
The two of them had always gotten along well; even at the Academy they had stuck together like glue. Unless Kyle had turned into a runaway ninja or been confined to a sickbed, he would certainly have arrived with Blund.
Instead of an answer, a question thick with resentment came back at me.
"Elden. You knew, didn't you?"
"Knew what, exactly?"
"Drop the pathetic act. You noticed the Third Grand Ducal Princess was Erincia and declared your withdrawal because of it, didn't you?!"
There they go again. Taking their anger out on the nearest convenient target.
I was just a humble commoner chasing peace and a little romance, thank you very much.
Faced with Blund's sharp hostility, I stuck out my lower lip and shrugged.
"I only found out today myself."
Bang!
Deron, who had been listening, slammed his fist down on the round table. Then he glared at me with eyes full of resentment and bitter grievance.
"If you knew, you should have shared it with us! We were in the same boat — how could you abandon your comrades and disembark alone?!"
…Hmm.
In the original Elden's memories, there was nothing that could even remotely be called "comradeship." They had always looked down on him and used him, and now they had the gall to talk about comrades? Even in this moment, they reached for blame before self-reflection.
Truly remarkable specimens.
"As I said, I only learned of it today. I was rather shocked myself."
"Enough with the deceit. You'd been cozying up to Erincia long before this, hadn't you?"
What fresh nonsense was this now. I had declared my withdrawal precisely because I did not want to get cozy with anyone.
"Right. There was a reason she favored you. Tell us what you offered her in exchange. Spit it out."
All I wanted was to know what was under the lids on the table. All I wanted was a sequel to that roast red longger hind leg. Why was everyone always like this with me? Why did everyone only ever pick on me?
"Just confess what Erincia is planning with you. Tell us what the hell she wants from us—!"
It looked as though a tedious back-and-forth was about to begin, so I reached to pull out the Mana Record. Only a few days had passed, and they already seemed to have forgotten what I had on them. A little reminder was in order.
But then—
"Grand Duchess Lumiang is entering."
At the voice announcing the start of the main course, I had to rise from my seat to receive her.
Lumiang entered the great hall, having changed into a crimson dress and crimson shoes. Everything about her was the color of blood, as if to announce the overture of her revenge.
"Everyone, please be seated."
I sat down after her.
Her eyelids looked faintly swollen, but I decided that was just my imagination.
The cool air of the hall turned icy with her arrival. Or rather — it turned chilling. A fierce blizzard seemed to howl through the room, and yet it was unnervingly silent.
Deron and Blund could not even meet her eyes. From the moment she stepped inside, they kept their heads bowed. They had raised their voices and puffed themselves up at me, yet the second they met the tiger they became puppies with their tails between their legs. Watching them was almost pathetic.
Lumiang, who had been regarding the two of them, shattered the silence.
"After I saw my father off, I discovered that Young Master Kyle Bellaon had vanished without a trace. He abandoned his household retainers, his belongings, and his honor — all of it."
Oh…
I had wondered if Young Master Kyle Bellaon might be lying prostrate in shock. So he really had class-changed into a runaway ninja?
I offered a silent tribute to that extraordinary decisiveness and drive — utterly devoid of caution, utterly unconcerned with reflection or repentance. Of course, given the sins he had committed, that mindless flight was only the natural course of things.
Ringleader Deron was a villain in his own right, but Kyle was no lesser evil. He had forced bugs into Erincia's mouth, beaten her indiscriminately, and spat on her while mocking her as she lay collapsed on the ground. From Erincia's perspective, Kyle had probably been the worst of them all. Hating the one who personally manufactured her pain more than the one who merely stood behind and savored it was only natural. He had been the only one to faint dead away during the introductions — that alone said enough. That the eldest son of House Bellaon, once the family's soaring hope, would cast that hope aside and flee said enough as well.
"Everyone looks terribly pale. Young Master Deron, Young Master Blund? Are you worried about Young Master Kyle?"
Lumiang smiled as she asked them. Only then did the two raise their heads — only to bow them again under the chilling threat that followed. Deeper. Heavier.
"Don't worry. He'll come crawling back on his own. I've already sent a letter to the head of House Bellaon myself. I believe you all can guess the contents without my saying them."
In other words, Count Bellaon would learn of the vile atrocities his family's hope had committed. And that was her declaration that she intended to begin her revenge in earnest while her father, Grand Duke Logan Winterfell, was away from the castle. It was also a public announcement that no one could leave this grand duchy without her permission — that any careless dream of escape would only summon greater calamity.
If I had attempted to flee right after declaring my withdrawal, she would have bound me by some other method. A man scheduled to inherit after his parents' deaths had no one to tattle to, after all. That method would have been impulsive and radical, and it would have caused suffering for both of us. The fact that I had carefully, cautiously laid out an escape plan rather than charging ahead had just been proven not to be a waste of effort.
"Please don't worry too much. So long as you don't simply run from your sins the way Young Master Kyle has, everything that happens in this grand duchy — everything that happened at that Academy — will be buried in the past."
Plant fear, then dangle hope. And through that, crush them all the more thoroughly and cruelly.
"So please, don't give up. In the long tradition of the Betrothal Banquet, there has never been a time without a victor."
It was the very strategy she herself had endured for three years of school — and so she wielded it better than anyone.
"And to that victor, I will grant forgiveness, along with everything they desire. Honor, money, love — all of it."
By promising a bright future that could overcome even their abject terror, she stoked their will to compete. It was the same method by which Erincia had once been told that if she wasn't caught within five minutes the bullying would stop — a promise that had given her hope and made her run for her life, only for that hope to be trampled every single time, plunging her into a deeper abyss. And now she was encouraging them the same way.
And that was also her way of returning the "advice" Deron's pack had once given her.
Heh heh. Erincia? Don't forget the "life lessons" we taught you for three years. Live strong, alright?
She had not forgotten those three years of instruction. She was giving it right back.
A moment later—
Thud!
A pair of knees struck the floor of the great hall.
"E-Erin…! No! Grand Duchess Lumiang! I have committed a sin worthy of death! Please forgive me!"
The younger brother forever overshadowed by his gifted elder. The second son who had never once received recognition from his father. The ducal house's second son who had to prove his worth through victory.
Deron Kellid.
The ringleader who had always stood in the back and merely spectated had charged into the situation faster than anyone. Of course, that also meant he had snapped up the bait the heroine had cast faster than anyone else.
Click. Click.
Lumiang rose from her seat and walked toward Deron. Then she lifted the lid of the dish that had been set at his place.
The veiled cuisine was revealed.
Oh!
While riding in the carriage with Rachel toward the second evaluation match, I had skimmed a monster cuisine encyclopedia and pulled out one dish that looked particularly delicious. I had even asked Rachel what it tasted like.
Namely—
Drake Tail Salad?
The random holes pocking the tail meat like soap bubbles made it unappealing as an ingredient at first glance, but the texture was said to be exquisite. And here it was — seasoned drake tail salad, appearing on the table.
But then—
Just as my mouth began to water, Lumiang seized the plate and flung the dish straight onto the floor. Right in front of Deron.
Splat!
The red seasoning spread wide across the stone. That it looked exactly like blood was surely just my imagination.
Still. Why throw away something so precious? Wasting perfectly good food was supposed to invite divine punishment.
"…?"
Deron looked down at the food spilled before him, then raised his head to look up at Lumiang. With the same pitiful eyes Erincia must once have worn when begging for mercy.
Lumiang smiled a chilling smile.
At once, horror and hollow hope welled up together in Deron's eyes. Even that look was the spitting image of Erincia's.
A truly tear-jerking scene was unfolding before my eyes.
Mere minutes ago, Deron and Blund had been ready to tear me apart. Now they were on the floor, scooping up spilled food with their hands and licking it. To prove their worth. To be of use to their houses. And to receive Erincia's forgiveness. For the sake of their respective ideals, they discarded pride and authority alike, gagging as they licked up monster cuisine. The sight was pitiful beyond measure.
And somehow, the original Elden's memory of Erincia picking up bugs to eat — desperate to escape her suffering — rose with vivid clarity. An ironic thing.
Looking back, there was no memory in Elden Raphelion of ever taking pleasure in tormenting Erincia. On the contrary, whenever that scene surfaced, a strange, queasy feeling would rise up unbidden.
In male-oriented Hupijip stories, female characters are granted entry into the so-called "washing machine" according to the weight of their sins. The moment they enter the washer, they rise to heroine status…
Surely not.
Surely the original story hadn't been destined for a ending where Elden Raphelion took on that role, endured a brutal stretch of Hupijip, and finally entered a betrothal with the heroine?
Given how obsessively she fixated on Elden, a certain amount of reasonable suspicion was warranted — but I decided to treat that as excessive speculation as well. Whether it was true or not, it wouldn't disrupt my culinary travel plans either way.
"Ugh…!"
"Blegh…"
Even so, Deron and Blund's retching never stopped. The only difference from before was that they kept swallowing the monster cuisine for the sake of mercy, even as they vomited.
That said—
The moment Grand Duke Logan Winterfell left his seat, she had smashed the brakes and gone full throttle. The true charm of Hupijip was, after all, brainless catharsis, and the original author had clearly sent Grand Duke Logan far away so the protagonist could spread the wings of her revenge without restraint. But with the original plot derailed and the heroine's psyche shifted so drastically, there was no telling whether the absence of that braking mechanism would prove a masterstroke or a blunder.
Judging by the feel of things… it's leaning toward the latter.
Click. Click.
At last, Lumiang approached me. I rose from my seat and offered the proper courtesy. Even if I was going to leave, I had no desire to abandon the bare minimum of decency I owed.
We were both in an unfair situation. The heroine whose revenge had been thrown off course by the sudden personality swap of her abuser, and I who had been suddenly dropped into a villainous character — we were equally victims.
I was simply curious what dish of mine would end up on the floor.
But Lumiang did not reach for the lid of my dish. She spoke to me without preamble instead.
"You asked me once, didn't you? Whether the confession I sent in that letter was sincere."
…Hold on.
She was bringing up a confession — with Deron and Blund listening? At the moment when the introductions had only just been completed, when the real Hupijip was only just about to begin?
"It was sincere."
"Pardon?"
"I said it was sincere. Cheering you on, loving you — all of it was sincere."
No. Wait. You…?
Lumiang, who had always called me Young Master Elden, had just addressed me as "you"?
She hadn't taken the medicine she was supposed to take. Or she had taken medicine she was absolutely not supposed to take. Why was she suddenly like this with me?
Faced with this unexpected acceleration, I delayed my answer while I tried to grasp the situation — and the runaway that had begun with a sudden lurch promptly left the tracks entirely.
Lumiang extended her slender hand toward me.
……What?
A sudden marriage proposal?
Just moments ago she had dangled the hope of victory before Deron and Blund, thereby encouraging the Hupijip — and now she meant to snatch that hope away by proposing in front of them?
I shifted my gaze toward Deron and Blund. Their eyes, swimming with tears from the retching, were fixed on us. Those eyes trembled with the shock of hope stolen from them, and their mouths — which had been licking despair — were filthy with red seasoning, as filthy as their pasts.
The two who had found hope in the depths of despair. The hope of salvation, and beyond that the hope of realizing their dreams and ideals, had been ruthlessly torn away. Despair that there would be no escaping the despair to come crashed over them. And Lumiang drove the final stake into them, shoving them into the abyss — into that pit of iron thorns, tears, and blood that she herself had once fallen into.
"I promise I'll give you everything you want. The revival of your house, honor, power, forgiveness, love — anything at all. I swear it on the name of Winterfell."
Whether this proposal was meant to inform Deron and Blund of the despair of having hope ripped away, whether it was a notice that she intended to seize me and kill me, or whether it was a twisted obsession wearing the mask of passion — I could not say.
But to me, who had been detained in this grand duchy solely to prepare for a departure in search of romance and freedom, it was nothing more than a dull, uninteresting offer. Moreover, the absence of Grand Duke Logan as a braking mechanism was not a masterstroke that worked only in her favor.
I bowed my head with care. With that, I made it clear that my intention to withdraw was not bent in the slightest.
"I am sorry, Grand Duchess."
I raised my head.
I saw Lumiang shedding thick tears — and at the same moment, my head snapped sharply to the side.
Together with the sharp crack of a slap.
Crack—!
I had been curious. What did the Hupijip of a female-oriented romance fantasy taste like?
To satisfy that curiosity I had read the original, and I had been transmigrated into it during the free chapters. Unfortunately, having been dropped into a Hupijip character myself, I would never know what that taste was like — but I had just learned one thing.
The hand of a female-oriented romance fantasy Hupijip heroine tasted very nice… no. It tasted stinging and spicy.
Hmm. Her hand was quite hot, wasn't it?
I should have dodged a little.
.
.
.
Ow.