The Wallenstein Count Family
Lying in bed lost in thought, I must have dozed off without realizing it.
By the time I woke, evening had already settled in.
Growl.
Maybe it was because I had fallen asleep without a proper meal. Clutching my empty stomach, I made my way to the academy cafeteria.
Today was Sunday. Most of the assignments handed out to parties had to be finished over the weekend—obviously, so they would not interfere with weekday classes. Having precious holiday hours stolen away never sat well with me, but assignment results converted straight into grades, so almost no cadet dared slack off. Of course, for tasks that simply could not be completed by Monday, absences were specially excused.
The cafeteria was as crowded as on any weekday. By Sunday evening, most of those who had left for assignments were back. For the record, I never particularly enjoyed crowds. It was not that my social skills were lacking or anything of the sort. It was simply that—
“Look over there. That’s Louis Wallenstein.”
“A scion of a traitor house, huh.”
“How can he show his face at the academy so shamelessly…”
—every time I overheard those muttering voices, the urge to drive a fist into their faces became almost unbearable. Being stared at with open dislike was something I had grown used to by now. But badmouthing someone loud enough for everyone to hear? Exactly how much of their manners had they sold off?
I forced myself to ignore them and started eating, all the while turning over my own situation in my mind.
Louis Wallenstein. Heir to the Wallenstein Count family. And, according to the game’s story, the villain of the protagonist’s party.
I recalled the setting of House Wallenstein. Originally, the Wallensteins had been one of the Lucia Empire’s most storied noble lines. “Just a count family,” some might sneer—yet only a few decades ago they had held a dukedom. The previous head, the grandfather of the Louis whose body I now occupied, had supposedly raised a rebellion against the empire. The reason was never given; the game never mentioned it. Not that I particularly needed to know. The old man had probably just gotten tired of being a duke and decided he wanted the throne for himself. Thanks to him I was now living this despised academy life.
Incidentally, Louis’s father—now my father—insisted the whole affair had been a frame-up. One day, once my strength was enough to stand against the imperial house, I intended to dig into the matter myself.
Normally a traitor’s bloodline would be wiped out entirely. The problem was that House Wallenstein was not merely old; it was one of the three great ducal houses that had helped the founding emperor establish the Lucia Empire itself. So they executed only the then-duke, confiscated most of the lands and fortune, and demoted the title from duke to count. In exchange, our house escaped annihilation.
That was the family lore. Next came the setting for the Louis Wallenstein I had possessed.
In the game, Louis was a villain through and through. His personality was wretched: he looked down on anyone weaker, tormented commoners, and burned with inferiority toward the protagonist, Leo Epsilt. Family prestige, wealth, skill—even the fact that Leo was a Hero candidate—Louis lagged behind in every respect. His only saving grace was looks; he had been a pretty boy on par with Leo, until corruption by Magi twisted even that face into something grotesque. Unable to beat Leo no matter what he tried, Louis finally reached for Magi, fell, and became the monster the hero and his party eventually had to stop.
“Haa…”
I let out a long sigh. Why, of all characters, did I have to transmigrate into this one…
While I poked listlessly at my food, lost in thought, a shadow fell across the table. I tried to ignore it, but the person in front of me showed no intention of leaving. Looking for a fight? I raised my head—and found myself facing the Imperial Princess I had seen earlier that day in the student council room.
“May I sit across from you?”
She spoke. I glanced around. Uh… there’s no one else here? Of course there wasn’t; no one had been willing to share a table with me to begin with. As I stared in mild confusion, she repeated herself.
“I am speaking to you.”
“Ah… yes, please sit.”
I nodded. Where she chose to sit was none of my business anyway. The princess set her tray down. I turned my eyes away and went back to eating. The food really was in a different league from my old high-school cafeteria fare. Comparing them was almost insulting. Still, every so often I found myself missing kimchi and plain rice—
“Would a brief conversation be all right?”
Her voice came from across the table. Only then did I notice she had not touched her food; she was simply watching me. I looked around again.
“I am speaking to you. Again.”
What was this about? Until now there had been almost no connection between the princess and me. Wait—was this because of what happened earlier? Just because of a little joke?
I swallowed, suddenly tense.
“Is it something important?”
After a short silence she shook her head.
“Just light conversation over a meal…”
The words sounded utterly wrong coming from her, but that was secondary. I stood up.
“My apologies, President. I’ve already finished eating.”
“Wh—what?”
I left without hesitation.
“Wha…?”
I thought I heard her voice behind me. I ignored it.
Something rather interesting had happened that afternoon—interesting enough that its central figure was none other than one of the academy’s most notorious figures: Louis Wallenstein. Notorious for the wrong reasons, of course. The princess herself paid little attention to such rumors; she preferred to see and judge everything with her own eyes.
A few hours after the young man had submitted a Video Recording Artifact and two sheets of paper to the student council room, the remaining six members of his former party returned to the academy. Their faces were nearly as famous as his. The princess still wondered what the professors had been thinking when they put that particular group together. In any case, each of them also turned in their own necklace and a single sheet of paper. While they were removing the necklaces, the white-haired thief of the party—Aine, was it?—muttered a small “Ah, right” and finally switched hers off. There were always a few who forgot to stop the recording and handed the artifact in still running. The princess thought nothing of it. What held her attention were the papers they had submitted. She already knew what they would say without reading them: petitions requesting Louis Wallenstein’s expulsion.
They stood waiting as if for her response. She simply waved them away.
“Ah—understood.”
A slightly flustered reply, and they left the council room. The princess gathered the necklaces from her desk.
“Where are you going, President?”
someone asked.
“I have a small matter to attend to. Oh, and clear those away, will you?”
She pointed at the scattered papers they had just submitted.
“Huh? Yes, of course.”
Leaving the puzzled voice behind, she headed for the private office provided to the student council president. Checking the contents of the artifacts and grading the assignments was the professors’ job, but the president’s authority let her preview them if she wished. As she reviewed the seven necklaces, a puzzled frown crossed her face. The white-haired thief’s recording was long, as expected—she had just watched the girl turn it off. But one other necklace contained a recording longer than the rest, and that necklace was stained with blood. It was the one Louis Wallenstein had submitted.
She watched Louis’s footage, then Aine’s, one after the other. A considerable time later she murmured a single word.
“Interesting.”
Leaving the students who usually clung to her side, she went alone first to the infirmary. The young man’s body had been covered in wounds when she last saw him. But Louis Wallenstein was already gone. Next she headed toward the dormitories. On the path leading to the men’s dormitory she spotted him walking toward the student cafeteria. She followed him in, ordered a modest meal of her own, and approached the table where he sat eating alone. Even with his terrible reputation, one would expect him to have at least one or two friends to share a meal with. Perhaps, like her, he simply preferred to eat alone.
She set her tray down opposite him and asked if a conversation would be all right. He asked whether it was important. Truly odd. Everyone else usually scrambled for even a single extra word with her. For a moment she wondered whether what she intended to say really counted as important. It was moderately so, but then she recalled the female council members’ advice: she needed to stop diving straight into the main topic when speaking with people, and to stop treating meals as nothing but silent fuel intake. So she gathered her courage and said,
“Just light conversation over a meal…”
“My apologies, President. I’ve already finished eating.”
…What?
Louis left. He actually left.
Really?