Can You Cut Out My Tongue?
Can you cut out my tongue? Truth be told, I just don't get the romance fantasy vibe. Sometimes, the most random people end up as male lead candidates. Take the son of the Marquis Vinicius standing right in front of me, for example. His name was Junior, right? Sounds like some unrelated celebrity name... I don't remember exactly. I'm not the type to memorize every male lead candidate's name anyway. But I do remember his defining trait clearly. This guy's gimmick was "popular delinquent." Great family background, hangs out with other hotshots because of it, struts around relying on that backing. Sucks up to families more powerful than his, bullies the weaker ones. You know, the classic top-tier antagonist type. And me? I'm a third-rate antagonist. Not a great matchup.
What rotten luck, running into this guy of all people.
"So that's why an arts beggar like you was lurking in the library where you don't belong."
He sauntered right up to me, scowled, and leaned against the bookshelf.
"Musty and tucked away in a corner—just like the Ashy family."
...This prick? Straight-up insulting my family. How does a punk with no manners end up as a male lead candidate? Sure, he redeems himself by falling for the saintess's charm, but still.
Even so, this is just too much...
I just can't wrap my head around romance fantasy sensibilities.
Right, Saintess?
I wanted to ask, but our ever-charming heroine was trembling behind my back. Can't blame her—this saintess already fears men, and this guy's got the build for it, all bulky and meaty. Which naturally led to one question.
...But why isn't she scared of me?
Am I not manly enough? I shook off the sudden identity crisis and refocused. Had to deal with the jerk in front of me first.
Sigh. It's not like I'm dodging shit because I'm scared.
It's because it's gross. Time for the plague avoidance strategy: ignore him.
I turned back to my book, but he stepped right up and snatched it from my hands.
"And what's this? Theory of Elemental Mana Conversion: Master This and Rule the World—Blue Magic and Red Magic? Ha!"
"......"
Honestly, it was a bit embarrassing. The title is pretty cringy.
"What a joke. Ancient magic theory from who-knows-when? Hasn't it been over a century since these trash ideas got booted from the Mage Tower's mainstream four-element doctrine? And this garbage is still on the library shelves? Says a lot about the standards here."
Crack—
Something like a vein popping echoed. I glanced behind him to see the librarian's forehead throbbing with blue veins.
"You clearly don't know jack. His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince needs to show the saintess a perfect, unyielding performance in this practical exam! And you're trying to sabotage that with your cheap tricks?"
This time, the saintess flinched behind me. The guy's words were hitting everyone in range.
This isn't good.
I could feel Arina's view of the Crown Prince souring more by the second. And besides...
If this keeps up, I'll lose the antagonist stare-down.
Antagonists in stories are like animals—they live by hierarchy. When two villains clash, it's all about the intimidation game. If I back down to this count's brat here? I'd become the neighborhood pushover, his personal errand boy starting that day. Time to push back hard.
I yanked the book from his hand and slammed it shut with a thwack.
"Hey, why are you picking a fight anyway?"
"...What?"
He blinked, caught off guard by my sudden shift.
"You're just here to deliver a message, right? At best, you're the Crown Prince's errand boy."
"W-What?! E-Errand boy?!"
"Yeah, errand boy. Hell, you even wear that badge like it's a badge of honor."
His bronze skin flushed beet red at my blunt jab.
"H-How dare you insult a knight? Think I'll let that slide?"
"What, you wanna duel or something?"
I shoved the book back onto the shelf.
"Library backyard, right now? I won't forfeit first, so go ahead—try breaking my limbs with that fancy sword of yours."
"Grrrh! You really wanna die, huh?!"
Yeah, I'd die. One swing from you, and I'd be bisected. But third-rate villains fight with their three-inch tongues.
"Oh, but is that okay?"
I smirked slyly as I added that, and he froze mid-reach for his sword hilt.
"You know the Crown Prince's temperament better than me. He'd want me at my best, facing him without disappointing, right?"
"H-How do you..."
"If you fight me now and leave even a scratch—or mess up my condition—think His Highness will be thrilled? You'd be the one breaking his precious toy first."
Crown Prince Leonhardt Bell. A benevolent ruler on the surface, but harboring the seeds of tyranny within. Wanting his marked prey in prime condition? Classic tyrant trait.
His pupils shook like they were in an earthquake at my logic.
As expected. He can't throw down with me, not even once.
He's just a dog barking on the prince's authority—no guts to defy his master and actually hurt me. How would he explain an injury later?
"G-Grr! You sly rat...! I'll rip that tongue out right now!"
"Oh yeah?"
I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue.
"Gimme a twy(try)."
"...?"
"What? Scared? Can't do it?"
He couldn't. The Crown Prince would flip. He bit his lip until it nearly bled.
"J-Just you wait! On exam day, you'll kneel before His Highness's sword, pissing and crying!"
"Sure, sure, take care, errand boy sir."
He stormed out, stomping as loudly as he'd come.
"Phew..."
I finally let out the breath I'd been holding. Inside, I'd been terrified of a sword wreathed in aura decapitating me... but I'd played it cool. Mind games are won by the one who doesn't flinch first.
"......"
That said, the librarian's glare from the counter had been burning holes in me. I turned to see her right by the shelves now, gripping a thick hardcover with metal-reinforced corners—like a weapon. Her eyes gleamed cold and murderous behind her glasses.
Was she waiting to clock him from behind?
The angle was perfect for his blind spot.
"...Th-Thank you."
I bowed my head, and she wordlessly returned to her post. I wiped the cold sweat trickling down my back and averted my eyes.
Whether it was righteous fury at a library disturber or something else, I didn't know. Either way, I'd skimmed the books enough—no need to get dragged into more hassle. Best to bail.
I hurriedly packed up and fled the library.
The library door clicked shut.
In the spot where Ian and the knight had left, Saintess Arina alone collapsed to the floor, legs giving out.
"Haaah..."
Her cheeks burned hot as her mind swelled with the intense sensations from moments ago.
...That was scary.
The sudden violent intruder. When she heard he was an imperial squire knight, Arina had been shocked. Even a squire—how could a knight be so rough and crude?
If not for the Holy Emperor's insistence, I'd have broken off this political engagement ages ago.
Arina despised violence. Were all imperial folk this brutish?
Except... exactly one.
A counterexample flashed in her mind: Ian Ashy, of course. The boy with delicate writing and acting beyond reproach. He'd shielded her behind him without hesitation this time too.
"......"
Arina's ear tips flushed pink. Her gaze drifted to the books Ian had been reading.
Fringe theories thoroughly condemned as heresy by the Mage Tower. Why would Ian Ashy, with his dazzling literary talent, delve into such dangerous, forgotten tomes?
...No way?
Suddenly, a perfect, logical hypothesis formed in Arina's head.
'Noble resistance against the empire's mainstream powers?'
Yes! Ian Ashy was a true artist crafting soul-stirring, subversive narratives. The empire? A cabal built on rules, force, and class control for absolute power. And they even scorned art, as the academy's Art Department proved!
"So Ian Ashy is..."
Fighting the empire's suppression of artistic freedom by borrowing the strength of the marginalized fringes? It all fit perfectly.
A genius author standing alone, solitary and defiant against the arrogant, exclusive Mage Tower and coercive imperial court to protect his literature and art.
Arina knew what novels called people like that.
"...A hero."
Heroes weren't some grand, over-the-top figures. They were people like Ian—unyielding, fighting massive foes without giving up. That's what made them heroes.
In Arina's eyes, Ian was already painted as a tragic yet noble hero.
"The duel with the Crown Prince must be huge for him."
A battle against the empire's symbol. Ian didn't want to lose. That's why he'd even turned to lost magic.
And yet! Facing such a lonely, exalted fight—when he'd be at his most sensitive—he'd still hidden Arina behind him.
"H-He really is a good person."
The thought made her feel guilty. Bugging someone with such a crucial task ahead.
I... I should help him.
Arina clasped her hands demurely and whispered softly toward the door Ian had left through.
"May the grace of God be with you."
From her pale fingertips rose a brilliant holy power. A saintess's blessing—something even billion-gold donations to the Holy See couldn't easily buy.
Exam day.
"Huh?"
Ian Ashy sat up in bed, tilting his head.
...Why am I in such great shape?