Ro-fan Imperial Families Are Hell (1)

The room before my eyes was a lavish spectacle of Baroque splendor.

A bed I'd never seen. Framed portraits I'd never seen. A desk I'd never seen.

And in the full-length mirror at the corner of the room, the face of a man I'd never seen stared back at me.

"...Ah, ah."

The man in the mirror moved exactly as I moved.

I wanted to deny reality, but the life story of this man, rising unbidden through my memories, told me plainly that what had just happened was real.

"Fourth Prince of the Empire, out of four imperial princes. That's... me?"

A mellifluous voice that I couldn't believe had come out of my own mouth echoed through the room.

"Damn it. If this is a dream, I'll wake up eventually."

And if it was a dream, I'd lose nothing by acting now, since I'd wake up sooner or later anyway.

But if it wasn't a dream, then not acting immediately would cost me everything.

Rationally speaking, I had to behave as though this situation was real.

One minute after waking in a prince's luxurious bed.

I finished my assessment and sifted through the memories of my past life, fading like dying embers.

'I should have caught on the moment I saw a mechanic as insane as Duel Succession.'

A few years ago, my editor had sent me a 200-episode novel.

I had a hobby of reading web novels, so I happily read my editor's manuscript and shared my thoughts.

The Knight Lady Wants to Be Loved.

The novel my editor had sent was a romance fantasy I'd never spared a second glance.

No—in truth, I doubted whether it even qualified as a romance fantasy in the first place.

The platform had classified it as such, but it was a reverse-harem story where the female lead gathered a flock of male leads around her.

To summarize the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠core of my editor's novel in one phrase: good triumphs over evil.

It was the story of a virtuous, overpowered female lead vanquishing corrupt villains alongside her power-wielding male leads.

Well, young men and women spending all day, every day together naturally bred a little romantic tension here and there.

But by the time the novel was complete, the female lead had never so much as held the male lead's hand.

'Readers called that the best part of the story at first... and then when she never even held his hand by the end, all hell broke loose, didn't it?'

Thankfully, I wasn't the sort to enjoy reverse-harem stories, but apparently the site serializing it took quite a beating in the comments.

Of course, none of that mattered anymore.

I recalled my editor's strange behavior, which had seemed off even in my past life.

'Never answered the phone. Never met in person. And the name on the paycheck account was... Na Shinyong, was it?'

An editor who wouldn't meet you even to buy you a steak dinner.

Back then I'd done the editing work half out of fan devotion, so I'd never pressed for details.

But thinking back on it now, the red flags numbered far more than one or two.

Of course, my editor's true identity wasn't what mattered at the moment.

'If my memory serves... the Emperor is a complete lunatic.'

Duel Succession—a setting so absurd it defied realism.

According to my memory, the mastermind behind that insane rule was the reigning Emperor himself.

The Emperor had declared to his children: kill me, and the throne is yours.

'The Emperor's personality... yeah, it's no different from the novel.'

According to the Fourth Prince's memories surfacing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in my mind, the reigning Emperor was a rigid authoritarian who demanded competence befitting one's station.

He forced those in high positions to prove their merit, and ruthlessly discarded anyone who fell short. A tyrant.

Those brutal standards applied to the Emperor himself as well—his martial prowess ranked among the very finest in the Empire.

'No wonder the first boss mob was obscenely strong.'

In the game, I'd won without taking a single hit, all through raw mechanical control.

But with the game now become reality, playing it like a game was impossible.

'How did he exit the story in the original? Ah—so THAT's where this insane mechanic came from.'

In the original, as the female lead and her male leads crushed the wicked and the corrupt, the Emperor stood in the way of her campaign.

And the Crown Prince who fought at her side triumphed in the Duel Succession and seized the throne.

The first time I'd read that development, my editor and I had fought tooth and nail over it.

So why couldn't I remember the novel when I saw the same setting in the game?

The broadcast timer, sitting beside my viewer count, floated up through my memories.

'How many hours did I stream? I'm pretty sure I saw past the 180-hour mark...'

Dopamine had kept me wired and wide awake right after hitting the achievement, but from the midpoint on I'd been playing half asleep.

It was only natural that a novel I'd read years ago refused to surface.

'Wait. Do I even need to worry about this? I've transmigrated as a prince with no real claim to the succession. I could just live the honeyed life and coast.'

From a nobody streamer in a corner room to the prince of the world's strongest empire—youngest of the bunch, sure, but still. Did I really need to try hard?

For a moment, a future of idly lapping honey under my righteous Crown Prince brother played across my mind... and then—

'...The Late-Game Crisis. Don't forget the Late-Game Crisis.'

The Late-Game Crisis that had dropped just as world conquest sat within my grasp: the Demon King's Army.

The Empire, mere steps from continental unification, had been pushed back by the Demon King's Army in the war's opening phase.

If the character I controlled hadn't personally cut down the Demon King, I would have lost the entire game.

'How did the original novel end, again?'

A female lead who, to the very last chapter, never held a single male lead's hand.

The story ended with her persuading the male leads who wanted to flee, marching together toward a battlefield they couldn't win.

However I spun it, I couldn't see the ending after that being a happy one.

'And... there's one more thing that's bothering me.'

The message that had filled my vision as I collapsed at my computer.

At the time I'd assumed I was hallucinating from too many hours of gaming.

But thinking about it now, there was a very real chance that message had been reality, too.

'Did I misread it? Ha, damn it. I'm certain I saw it...'

The last message I'd glimpsed right before closing my eyes, scrolling past the cascading achievement window.

Simple, brief sentences—and yet riddled with terms that demanded interpretation.

'Is Cycle 1 the novel, or the game? Given that achievements carried over, the game seems more likely. And does "characters" only cover those who appeared in the game?'

Game or novel, nobody calls a nameless extra with a single line of dialogue a "character."

Which meant that Hans, working on some republic farm and eating ten meals a day, would never be regaining memories of Cycle 1.

In truth, even among the nobility, the ones who'd appeared in the game or the novel were only a fraction.

'I'd prefer it to be characters from the novel... though there are fewer of them than in the game.'

The Fourth Prince I'd transmigrated into, for one, had been practically dummy data in the novel.

If the handful of novel characters who regained their Cycle 1 memories were known, preparing for variables would have been far easier... but.

'Stop running the copium and start drawing up a plan.'

As long as Cycle 1 was definitively the game I'd played, the characters in question were likely the game's cast.

'People who absolutely must not regain their memories... and people whose regaining them would be good for me. Who fits where?'

Rank one on the "must not" list: the Emperor.

In Cycle 1, I had wrenched the throne from him in a succession duel.

Granted, the Emperor had created ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Duel Succession in the first place—but a man can be different entering the privy than he is leaving it, and it would hardly be strange for him to hold a grudge against me.

A chill crawled up my skin, and my gaze slid to the door of the room.

For a moment it seemed the door might burst open at any second and imperial guards come pouring in.

But the door stayed firmly shut, not stirring in the slightest.

'Okay. It's definitely not the Emperor, then.'

The next candidates I could think of were the female lead who'd opposed me in my past life, or the power brokers of rival kingdoms.

Neither had any way to reach me, hidden away here in the Imperial Palace.

'If it's someone for whom remembering would be a benefit...'

The ones who had served as my hands and feet, shining brilliantly, during my continental conquest in Cycle 1.

The vast majority of them had been high ministers serving the current Emperor.

If they regained their Cycle 1 memories and came over to my side, they would become a bedrock foundation for my power.

Granted, having conquered the world alongside me, many of them held rather extreme ideologies... but.

'Still, the upside dwarfs the risk by miles.'

I was the youngest prince, with no support base to speak of.

My mother, a mere concubine, had died when I was young, and even the maternal relatives who should have stood behind me were hopelessly obscure nobodies.

'Even one person helping me would make everything so much easier... who could it be? Who got their memories back?'

Until I knew who had regained their Cycle 1 memories, distancing myself from power was nothing short of suicide.

As I mulled it over, sketching out the road ahead, a knock sounded at my door.

"Your Highness, it is time for morning meal."

"Understood. I'll be out shortly."

While I'd been lost in thought, the meal hour had arrived.

Breakfast, shared by the Emperor and his eight children.

Following the Fourth Prince's memories, I changed into light formal dress and left my chambers.

Walking the broad corridor behind my attendant and passing through the enormous doors, I laid eyes on a dining table absurdly, wastefully large.

'No way I'm reaching anything at the center of that thing.'

Was I the last of the Emperor's children to arrive?

Every seat at the table was filled—seven of them, leaving only the head seat empty.

I went and sat in the vacant spot beside the Third Prince.

'Could one of them have regained their memories...?'

Rolling my eyes with careful discretion, I studied the complexion of the most dangerous person present: the First Princess.

The First Princess was yawning softly, boredom written across her face, as she trimmed her nails.

Exactly as she appeared in the Fourth Prince's memories.

The First Princess's end in Cycle 1 had not been pretty, to put it mildly.

Had she regained her memories, she couldn't possibly have looked that relaxed.

The very moment I'd concluded the First Princess hadn't remembered and moved to survey the others—

The Crown Prince dropped a plate onto the table.

Every eye in the banquet hall snapped to him.

"Ah—s-s-s-sorry."

The Crown Prince apologized, his whole body shaking violently.

He apologized to everyone around the table, but his eyes never once touched mine.

"P-pardon us for a moment."

The maids waiting in the background swept away the shattered plate and laid out a fresh one.

The brief commotion passed, and silence settled over the banquet hall once more.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Only the sound of the Crown Prince trembling echoed through the hall.

That suffocating silence was broken at last when the closed doors of the banquet hall swung open again.

"His Imperial Majesty the Emperor enters."

Without a word of instruction, we all rose from our seats.

"Kgh—"

The trembling Crown Prince nearly toppled out of his chair as he stood, but he managed to find his feet safely before the Emperor entered.

The great doors of the banquet hall opened, revealing a man of staggering size.

A frame standing well past two meters, wrapped in thick muscle.

The colossal man I'd privately dismissed as game-induced exaggeration strode into the hall.

The Emperor walked naturally to the head of the table, sat, and swept his gaze over us.

"..."

His eyes paused briefly on the violently shaking Crown Prince—then moved on, and the Emperor spoke.

"Sit."

We all took our seats, none waiting on the others, and the Crown Prince barely managed to dump his trembling body into his chair.

"Eat."

Having confirmed the Crown Prince was seated, the Emperor raised his fork.

The meal began in silence.

The Emperor swallowed a piece of steak, then opened his mouth.

"It behooves the imperial bloodline to govern one's own body at all times. An inability to hold oneself together is unbefitting a prince of the Empire..."

No one needed to be told whom he was aiming at.

The target of that lecture, the Crown Prince himself, head bowed and trembling, seemed not to hear a word of it.

"...And so, should any of you find yourselves ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unwell—"

"Father."

Once more, every gaze in the banquet hall turned to the Crown Prince.

Daring to interrupt His Imperial Majesty himself—we stared at him in open shock.

But the words that left the Crown Prince's mouth rendered everything before that moment meaningless.

"I—I, your son, intend to lay down the position of Crown Prince. It is a seat too heavy for me to bear. I will surrender my claim as a prince and... and take up farming somewhere quiet, in some remote corner of the—"

Morning of Day 1 in another world.

The seat of Crown Prince fell vacant.