I Became the Pushover Grand Duke
"Ah, this is really unbearable."
Lying in bed, I glared at my smartphone screen and pinched the bridge of my nose. The cover image, overflowing with pink, featured the cringeworthy title How to Be Loved at the Academy. A women's reverse harem romance novel I wouldn't normally even glance at. But the platform event was the problem.
Read up to chapter 30 and receive 300 coins instantly!
"300 coins... that's enough for 30 chapters of the steamy stuff I've been reading..."
A slave to capitalism, I ended up scrolling down anyway. But I hadn't even reached chapter 10 before my brain started melting. Did all the characters in this novel escape from some collective asylum for the profoundly stupid? Their intelligence levels were all straight-up "duh-duh, duh-duh" territory.
Especially one of the male leads, the Grand Duke of the North, Theodor Balder. It was ridiculous.
["Lady Ayla, I can't let words like 'starvation' come from your lips. Send the wagons loaded with grain from the North right away. You won't have to worry about this winter."]
"Is this guy insane? Do your own territory's people eat dirt?"
A curse slipped out automatically. The heroine, Ayla, just shed a few crocodile tears and flashed a sweet smile, and that was it. Then the male leads would rip out their hearts and livers for her, competing in a self-destructive giveaway contest. Even gender-reversal stories in the same vein didn't hand out everything this stupidly. At least those had the satisfaction of the protagonist achieving something on their own power.
But the most unbearable part was that all the "heroines" in this novel were actually 'men.' The crown prince constantly emitting halo-level eye pollution and drowning in self-love; the Grand Duke of the North, who stuck out like a noir film character in a fresh campus romance; the next tower master afflicted with cold urban guy syndrome that didn't fit the fantasy world; and some holy saint-type kid who hogged all the world's purity under that label, either too saintly or just plain dumb.
"Ugh, shit. My eyes."
I meticulously adjusted my scroll speed. These platform bastards even calculated that to judge if you were 'properly reading.' Somehow, I forced myself to the end of chapter 30.
The ending of chapter 30 was a sight to behold. Theodor was carving an entire massive sculpture from the territory's core resource—mana stones—for Ayla's extravagant birthday party. And with a smug look like he owned the world.
"God, this pushover bastard. Time to bail."
300 coins have been credited to your account.
The moment I confirmed the notification, I closed the app without a second thought. Romance fantasies just aren't for me. A true protagonist needs overwhelming force to smash through obstacles or clever schemes to turn the tables on deceivers—pure catharsis. Yeah, that's right.
Tomorrow, I'd use these hard-earned 300 coins to cleanse my eyes. Something like a hardcore revenge story to wipe away the pink fog, or a brainless munchkin tale where you pop open a status window and smash everything.
With that thought, I slowly closed my eyes.
A chill nipped at my nose, making my body curl up instinctively.
'Ah, achoo. Did the boiler in my studio apartment break again?' No money to fix it right away. Maybe I should pick up some short-term gig.
Lost in such pathetic thoughts, I tried to pull the blanket over my head, but an unfamiliar texture made me crack my eyes open.
It wasn't the cheap, scratchy blanket. This was excessively soft and heavy—top-grade silk. And every breath stabbed my lungs with dry, frigid air.
As my vision cleared, the first thing I saw wasn't moldy wallpaper but a dizzyingly high ceiling. Turning my head, I found myself alone in the center of an excessively opulent, spacious room, my bed isolated like an island.
In that instant, cold sweat slithered down my spine.
'......This is.'
Years of web novel experience—how could I not recognize this setup? Waking up to an unfamiliar luxurious ceiling in a fancy room. 100% that pattern. Possession.
I held my breath and slowly sat up. Then I approached the large full-body mirror by the bed.
With each step, the figure in the mirror sharpened.
Standing before it, I swallowed hard. Ash-gray hair, blood-red eyes. A strikingly handsome man with a cold, sharp impression that sent chills just standing there stared back at me.
The pushover Grand Duke I'd been cursing through all 30 chapters, Theodor Balder.
"Ah... damn."
In my head, a raw, primal 'fuck!' echoed fiercely, but what came out was just a dry sigh: 'damn.' Ridiculously, this noble Grand Duke's body auto-filtered vulgarity.
'Of all people, him...? Why?'
I rubbed my dry face with both hands in despair. The other male leads in the original story each had solid 'weapons.' The crown prince had the empire's top power and social influence; the next tower master, genius magic knowledge; the saint, divine power and popular love.
But Theodor? Everything was mediocre. He had power, but bowed to the crown prince; wealth, but only as an ATM dumping territory resources; not smart, not beloved by all. Just brute force, burning with jealousy in a "I'll give more to win first place" pushover position.
Tearing at my hair, I finally gave up and flopped back onto the bed.
'Fine, if you can't avoid it, enjoy it. Time to fix this properly.'
This might actually be a good thing. The dumb Grand Duke handing over his guts to the heroine as an ATM? Gone. From now on, I'd live freely, enjoying this stacked spec, lounging in luxury and happiness.
Thinking about it, this Theodor had cheat-level specs. Ruler of the North with overflowing wealth, face so handsome it took your breath away (confirmed in the mirror), and strength among the continent's top swordsmen.
Of course, in the original, he was treated like a 'brute who only knows sword-swinging' sandbag, subtly dissed amid the other flashy leads. But that power dynamic only held when begging for the heroine Ayla's gaze.
'The heroine's not my problem anymore. I'll solo and reap the honey.'
Decision made, I steeled myself, feeling refreshed as I stood.
Stretching, I naturally headed to the window. Curious about the view from the Grand Duke's lavish academy dorm, I swept aside the heavy curtains with anticipation.
And the moment I looked out...
"......Huh?"
I doubted my eyes. No academy courtyard in sight.
Instead, under a gray sky, clusters of dwellings. Steep roofs burdened with thick white snow, faint smoke rising from chimneys everywhere. Beyond, a massive wall loomed, guarding against external threats.
Gripping the ice-cold windowsill, I muttered blankly.
"...What the hell. Why isn't this the academy?"
My mind flashed white. The last chapter 30 I'd read was Ayla's birthday party inside the academy. No way snow fell amid thin dresses and sparkling champagne.
"It definitely wasn't winter..."
The progress I'd read didn't match reality at all. My freshly heated hope circuit cooled rapidly. An ominous chill crawled up my spine again.
Then—
Knock knock— A calm middle-aged man's voice came from beyond the door.
"It's Hans, Your Grace. May I enter?"
Hans? Unfamiliar name, but no rejection. Weird. I swallowed and opened my mouth.
"...Enter."
The words came out, and I cringed inwardly. What the hell is this speech pattern? So not me.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man with white streaks in his hair entered quietly. Slicked-back hair, impeccably wrinkle-free attire, perfect posture. The textbook butler image.
Hans bowed lightly upon entering.
"Breakfast is prepared, Your Grace."
I stared at him briefly before replying shortly.
"...Alright, let's go."
"Understood."
Hans responded crisply and turned. Watching his back, I called out hurriedly.
"Wait."
He stopped immediately.
"Yes, Your Grace."
I hesitated, glancing away. The outside view confirmed we were in the North Territory. The question was when. I had to figure out why I was here instead of the academy.
Picking the least weird question, I asked casually.
"...How old am I this year?"
Hans paused faintly, then answered flatly, expression unchanged.
"You are currently twenty, Your Grace."
Brain freeze.
'...What? Twenty?'
My mind raced. At chapter 30 when I bailed, Theodor was seventeen, freshly enrolled in the academy. Now twenty?
'That means three years have passed...?'
The point I'd read was long over, and three more years gone. In those three years, pushover Grand Duke Theodor must have dumped who-knows-how-many territory assets on Ayla. No need to see it—video evidence in my mind.
Which meant—
'Ah, we're screwed...'
My grand plan to lounge like a rich NEET? It evaporated cleanly before it even started.