Just Breathing Gets Me Tangled Up

Vast grounds sprawling like a city, with sharp, towering spires rising here and there. Passing the grand statue of the founding emperor at the center, a signboard in elegant calligraphy welcomes visitors.

This was the main stage where the leads of the original work Golden Chains gathered to unleash their fatal romances and messy love triangles—and for me, the gateway to hell, dragged here by force because of the massive 200 million krone sponsorship fee I'd have to cough up if I dropped out.

'Hurry up and hide.' I quietly bowed my head and slipped along the edge of the crowd.

But of course, the world doesn't roll the way I want it to.

"Hey. Hey. Isn't that the guy?"

"Who? Oh... the art beggar?"

"What the hell. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠causes that scandal and still comes back to school? No shame."

Noble ladies and young masters passing by whispered behind their hands. Art beggar, huh?

'That's a seriously harsh nickname.' True art only comes out when you're starving, anyway! You art-illiterates! And don't look down on beggar artists. Do that, and you might end up starting a revolution.

"More than that, check out his clothes. What is that? Did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he come out in pajamas?"

"Probably sold off all his fancy stuff 'cause he's broke."

"Oh my, even when you're talking about him. Hehe."

Anyway. The second they sniff out a weakness, they all swarm like an internet comment section ripping someone apart. But I'm a webtoon artist. Bad comments? I'm numb to them by now. And the best way to deal with hate is to let it roll off like water off a duck's back. Pretend I didn't hear, and they soon moved on.

One funny thing, though—they'd badmouth it as "undignified" or "beggarly" while still eyeing my outfit up and down. Guess Korean fashion standards hold up even here.

By the time I'd settled into a corner of the auditorium,

"Hey, you read the new Extra? This chapter was insane."

I nearly choked on air at the secretive whispers from the group of guys standing behind me.

"Honestly, the maid garter belt this time... whoa."

"Yeah. I wanna buy it too. Limited edition, sells out fast."

"Shh! Keep it down. Talk about that blasphemous book here, and we might get hauled off for sacrilege."

Yeah. Be careful, boys. If you get caught, who'll buy my comics? The author cares, you know.

Ignoring my silent worries, one of them spouted something ridiculous.

"Honestly, whoever draws women that well has gotta be the god who created them, right? Extra's secretly a deity."

"You're insane."

"How's worshipping a god sacrilege? Admit it?"

"You're crazy. But... kinda agree."

Dopamine rush. What faces would they make if they knew I'm Extra? Just imagining it made my lips twitch, but I held it in. The moment my identity leaks, the crazy crown prince would have my head.

That's when it happened. The auditorium entrance grew noisy, and the crowd parted like the sea.

Soft footsteps emerged through the gap. Silver hair gently drifting. Violet eyes. White uniform neatly buttoned, with the student council ribbon—a figure who seemed to draw in the light even in the midst of this flashy hall.

Arina Saint.

"Ahh, how can she look so holy."

"Do they pick saintesses for their looks?"

The heroine of Golden Chains. I checked her out stone-faced, then immediately dropped my gaze.

All connections start with eye contact, after all. No matter the situation, avoid getting familiar—at all costs.

...And my conscience stung a bit, too.

As I wallowed in self-reproach,

"Oh, she's coming!"

"Woooah!"

The murmurs ramped up another notch. At the entrance, Leonhardt Bell appeared alone, without escorts. Golden threads in his hair. Red eyes. Firmly set lips. Seeing him head-on for the first time, I could really feel how insane the beauty inflation was in this world.

"He's the real star of this entrance ceremony."

"Doesn't he match the saintess perfectly? Total golden couple."

"Rumors say their engagement's about to be announced."

Hmm... I don't exactly remember when those two get engaged. Wasn't that into this novel.

'Anyway, hope you two stay blissfully happy.'

Wishing them well, I figured since the ceremony's star—the crown prince—had arrived, things would kick off soon. I was about to yawn wide when,

"Oh dear, I'm a bit late."

A languid, oddly sticky voice. All eyes snapped to one spot.

"Sorry. The carriage got held up."

Her words said sorry, but her bold stride showed no regret. Seductive black waves, red lips, killer eyes—Judith La Roche, eldest daughter of the La Roche ducal house and this novel's main villainess lady.

Each step filled the hall with heavy rose scent. Male students blushed but couldn't tear their eyes away from her captivating gaze.

Looking closer, Judith's outfit wasn't ordinary. Red gold threads subtly woven into ribbons and frills. They oddly matched the crown prince's seal today. Not coordinated, right? Whether coincidence or image play, I couldn't tell. But the noble kids in the hall were already sneaking glances, comparing the two. The couple vibe was forming on its own. Whispers spread fast.

"Oh my god, look at Lady Judith's outfit. Matches His Highness perfectly, doesn't it?"

"Provoking the saintess so openly..."

I clicked my tongue. 'Whoa... classic villainess.' Mental warfare on another level.

As Judith approached,

I slipped behind a pillar, eyes on the floor. Survival rule one in this world: Never make eye contact with named characters.

But.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The heels are getting louder? Suddenly, I recalled what she said to me at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entrance banquet.

No way. With this crowd, she couldn't have spotted me. Overthinking. Overthinking. Please just pass by.

Mocking my desperate plea, Judith slowed as she brushed past, turned to me, and flashed a bewitching smile.

'Why me!'

While I screamed internally, she glided elegantly to the front-row noble seats like nothing happened.

The entrance ceremony was boring as hell. The elderly dean droned on from the podium about the empire's future and the academy's glory—standard stuff—until one word hooked me.

"Especially this year, the academy's pride and the pinnacle of imperial magic engineering, the Tower Master, has made great contributions to our facilities."

Tower Master. A lead-level character. The name-drop had everyone buzzing.

"As expected of the empire's youngest Tower Master—such a cool guy. Heard he'll teach this semester too."

"Youngest? How old?"

"Twenty-three, I think. First time a Tower Master's stationed here full-time. Rumors say he's got an agenda."

I had to perk up my ears. That bastard monopolized my printing gear, after all!

—The Mage Tower recently designated Rune Presses as strategic materials.

'Is that this Tower Master's doing?'

I crossed my arms and scanned the podium corner. Among the figures beside the principal, one stood out as unusually young. Deep navy robe. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Neatly tied dark hair. Expressionless face, but eyes heavy beyond his years. The type who pressures a room with a look alone.

'That guy?'

I studied his face briefly, then looked away. If the Tower Master's here full-time, securing a printing press might be worth considering.

Of course, approaching him in this cave full of leads is suicide. He probably has underlings handling ops. But greed too much at once, and my head rolls.

'Long-term goal. Long-term.' Slow and steady. Haste makes waste—even in another world.

Two hours. I endured two hours in the corner without a word. Perfect success.

I waited for the flow of exiting students, then slipped out when the crowd thinned.

"Haa. Now I can live."

Unwanted academy life. But one silver lining: No need to obsess over it.

For the original leads, grades and magic growth matter. Not for me. Ian Ashy just needs to keep his enrollment. Hit the bare-minimum attendance, and no dropout penalty. Until I scrape together 200 million krone short-term, hanging my name here is best.

'Meanwhile.' I strolled the academy corridors, taking in the sights. Old grand buildings, mana labs, admin halls. With the Tower Master here, a Mage Tower branch must be somewhere. Printers likely stashed in one of these.

'Map it out slowly.' If I can tap academy equipment somehow, it'll be way faster. Today? Just recon. Don't stand out, don't chat, don't get involved. That's it.

Heading down a quiet path with that in mind—

—Thud.

Heavy pain in my shoulder. Stumbling back a few steps, blinking, I saw thick notebooks scattered on the floor. And in front of them,

a girl with long hair and huge glasses, sprawled flat.

"...Huh?"

Oddly familiar vibe. No noble scent these kids all have. Hair color awkward. Glasses frame some tacky style I'd never seen here.

'Someone Ian Ashy knew?' His memories are fuzzy; hard to say.

The girl shakily stood, gathering her scattered notes. One open page caught my eye.

".......?"

Were those the saintess and crown prince's names? Villainess too. Stepping closer, I swallowed hard at the words below.

What the hell is this person?