Declare the Opening
Declare the Opening
At that moment, the event venue.
The square of Fran was packed with the players participating in the card game and the facilities set up for it. They called themselves duelists, and each one had come to this battlefield carrying a deck as precious to them as their own life.
"What in the world is going on...?"
"For a while now, it's been swarming with people holding strange cards..."
But because it was a public square.
To outsiders who didn't know the game, they looked like a bunch of weirdos. That was when a couple of rough-looking duelists glanced over, laughed heartily, and spoke up.
"Civilians, get lost, now!"
"Today, this city becomes a warzone!"
It was a line everyone wanted to try saying at least once.
Having finished delivering the line, the two duelists shook hands, thanking each other for pulling it off so perfectly. Then, they kindly explained to the bewildered onlookers that a card game tournament was taking place, politely asking if they'd mind following the event staff's directions and guiding them away.
Fierce on the outside, gentle within.
That's what it means to be a duelist.
And among them was Isabella.
'Today, I'll show you the might of the first-ever champion.'
Even if it was through match-fixing, the Duel King was still the Duel King.
It would be a shame for Isabella, the winner of the first unofficial tournament using a prototype, to miss an event like this.
Obviously, it was because her involvement in the game's production gave her a deep understanding of it. That was why, when she received the special invitation ticket, Isabella had specifically requested to participate as a competitor.
'If I win, their desserts are completely dead.'
Besides, the prize money was fairly substantial.
Of course, most duelists had signed up for the exclusive promotional card, but from Isabella's perspective, the promo card was just something she could draw herself and call it a day, so it wasn't particularly appealing.
'...This is a rather amusing atmosphere.'
And to Zeke, who stood by her side, everything felt novel. After all, the Holy Empire was a far cry from the free-spirited culture unique to Fran. And Zeke himself had never exactly been close to this kind of game, which probably contributed.
"...If I'd known it would be like this, I should have learned a bit, Isabella."
Zeke felt a certain frustration — it all looked fun, but he felt left out because he didn't know how to play. The fact that Isabella herself had created the game only made his emotions run higher.
"Then let's play together later, Kreed. I may not look it, but I am the creator of this game. I'll teach you step by step."
Sitting on a bench and shuffling her deck, Isabella made the promise.
"...Is it, by any chance, similar to chess? I could adapt quickly if it were."
"Hmm... I wonder. I don't play chess myself, so that's a bit..."
Chess was the only game Zeke knew. Even then, it was less for fun and more of a comfort object he fiddled with in his spare time so as not to lose his tactical and strategic sense.
And Isabella didn't particularly like chess. She had been thoroughly cleaned out too many times betting against people like Leo, so it wasn't a game with many pleasant memories for her.
A moment of awkwardness settled in the air.
That was when someone approached Isabella.
It was a man with eyes full of expectation.
"Excuse me, if you're the one who created this game..."
His expression was like that of someone meeting a person they'd long admired.
"...Are you the Grand Artist Isabella? I am truly a fan! Would it be possible for you to give me an autograph?"
So saying, the duelist brought out the White-Eyed Blue Dragon card, Isabella's masterpiece, and requested her autograph on it.
'G... Grand Artist...!'
Isabella had heard the self-proclaimed title spoken by someone else for the very first time. A boundless surge of deep emotion rose within her, and thanks to that, the corners of Isabella's mouth began stretching toward her ears.
"Fufufu... That's right, I am that Isabella!"
She looked as if her nose and shoulders were about to touch the sky.
At this moment, Isabella was savoring the feeling of being the supreme being. Fran may have been a land of persecution and humiliation, but look at her now, returning home in glory! Who was the loser now?
Thinking such thoughts and recalling the friends who had annoyed her, Isabella giggled as she prepared to place the autograph she'd had ready (waiting three years) onto her own masterpiece of a card. That was when it happened.
"Hey, did you hear? That person is the..."
"What? Really? That's really her?"
"No way! I want one too!"
The information began to spread in an instant.
The rumor about the Grand Artist Isabella, who had created that historic beginning, instantly became a shockwave and spread among the duelists. Everyone crowded forward, forming a long line in front of Isabella, each hoping to get her autograph on their most beloved card.
"...Isabella?"
The only one flustered was Zeke. He couldn't understand what was so special about a card game that so many people would line up just to get Isabella's autograph.
And truthfully, deep down, he was jealous.
Even Zeke himself had never received an autograph before.
"Excuse me? What's everyone gathering there for?"
However, the sudden commotion was disrupting the event. As soon as one person explained the situation, the guides looked panicked as they hurried over to Isabella.
"Ah... We are truly sorry. We should have informed you beforehand..."
So saying, a staff member pushed through the crowd, pulled Isabella out, and repeatedly apologized to her.
"Ah... No. This was my own arbitrary action."
Isabella was equally sorry. A comment she had simply made had snowballed and led to an unexpected situation. Isabella apologized, saying she was sorry for acting rashly and forgetting this was a formal event.
"...That aside."
And then, the staff member who had led Isabella behind the booth began rummaging through his pockets and took something out.
Sure enough, the staff member pulled out a card.
"I'm a fan as well... would an autograph be possible?"
Saying this, the staff member produced a feather pen he had brought for the event.
"...This is an abuse of authority, you know."
Fairness was on Isabella's mind.
But she also couldn't bring herself to refuse the request before her eyes, so Isabella kindly gave him her autograph on his card.
And just then, a figure from the hosting organization appeared, being guided behind the booth.
"My name is Lint. I am the one hosting the tournament and operating the printing factory that produces the cards."
Lint, the owner of the printing house in the factory district who had wondered who on earth sends a messenger pigeon at 3 a.m., showed himself to Isabella for the first time.
"Ah, hello! I am Isabella."
The two exchanged names.
But for now, Isabella found it difficult to meet his eyes.
That was because Isabella, accustomed to working through the early hours, had often sent the finished card manuscripts around dawn. Remembering her unconscious self, the Unconsciousbella, she simply felt far too sorry to look at Lint's face.
"...Um, I'm sorry for sending the messenger pigeon at 3 a.m."
That was when she was about to apologize, feeling genuinely remorseful.
"Not at all! There is no need for you to apologize!"
Lint wore a smile of capitalism that had arrived rather early. He had made a fortune, and moreover, it was set to become a long-term business— what on earth was she apologizing for?
"Thanks to Lady Isabella and Lady Rosaria, our factory has expanded! How could I dare accept an apology from the one who even reformed my son, who previously had no interest in anything!"
Lint was practically kneeling in gratitude.
"All I wish is for you to enjoy the event to the fullest. If you would like to hold an autograph session... I will do everything in my power to arrange it as a brief surprise event now, before the tournament begins."
From his perspective, Isabella was a benefactor among benefactors who had essentially given him the magic to duplicate gold.
Even his son, who had been stricken with lethargy, had taken an interest in the card game. Thanks to that, the son was now working tirelessly, day and night, to inherit Lint's business, living a life completely different from before.
To her, the light and salt of his life, he could only bow his head.
He was prepared to grant any wish of hers.
So much so that the faint hint of madness felt in Lint's demeanor was slightly frightening.
"I... I see."
Isabella was slightly put off by the genuine fervor.
But since she knew it was good will,
she expressed her thanks equally and declared her intention to hold the autograph session.
"What are you all doing! Not escorting our benefactor!"
Simultaneously with those words, Lint shouted sternly and began to take control of the scene. The sight of the employees moving in a swarm, as if one were watching a well-trained army, creating a simple booth for Isabella in an instant, was truly a spectacle.
"You may sit comfortably here, Lady Isabella."
Then, Lint brought over a large, plush leather chair fit for a company president and urged her to sit.
"Ahaha... Thank you."
She sat in that seat, feeling immensely burdened.
But the moment she sat down, Isabella began to feel an insane rush, as if her heart were swelling with majesty.
After all, this was the superstar life Isabella had always dreamed of.
Simply sitting here and seeing those fans who wanted her autograph was, to her, happiness itself.
'...I'm so happy!'
Isabella felt an endless sense of bliss.
Then, she mentally projected herself onto the image of someone shouting in a park and screamed it inside her heart.
Leo out!
Fran, rise!
Mikel, come forth!
Grand Plaza, come forth!
Of course, she felt sorry about the Mikel part as she thought it. After all, he was the artist she admired most.
Wasn't Mikel the greatest artist of this era, having worked on most of the Holy Nation's artworks? During her time in the Holy Nation, Isabella had nurtured her dreams while looking at those pieces.
So, after silently apologizing in her mind, when she opened her eyes again—
"...Kreed? What are you doing over there?"
She saw Zeke, trying to get an autograph.
"...I'm a fan, Isabella."
Saying this, Zeke placed down the ceremonial handkerchief he had kept in his uniform pocket. He wasn't unaware of what sort of action he was taking.
Zeke was mortified enough to die.
"...I... Is that so."
And Isabella was flustered by this sight she was seeing for the first time.
But a superstar must overcome even these adversities.
Fighting back her embarrassment and the ticklish urge to laugh, she gave Zeke's handkerchief the most earnest, greatest autograph in history, more diligently than ever before.
Then, the moment he received the autograph, Zeke moved to stand behind Isabella.
"...I will handle security."
A bodyguard whom no one but the Saint and the Demon King could defeat had taken position behind her. With the handkerchief bearing Isabella's autograph tucked into his chest pocket, at that.
"...Thank you."
Seeing that, Isabella found it incredibly hard not to laugh.
The gap she felt in the stubbornness displayed by the Emperor of the Holy Empire.
Even that was endearing to Isabella.
So much so that she would have laughed out loud if they had been alone.
And the autograph session began at the same time.
The true appearance of Isabella, the beautiful girl second only to Rosaria and Canaria, thickened the loyalty of all the male players even further.
And thanks to the looks of the bodyguard, Zeke, standing behind her, female players developed a proportional loyalty as well.
The person who gained in the long run was Lint.
Thanks to this, he thought to himself.
That anyone sending a messenger pigeon at 3 a.m. is a benefactor.
Thinking this, he resolved a problem he had been agonizing over for a long time.
*
The lightning autograph session ended quickly.
It had been an impromptu event with no prior schedule to begin with, and at the same time, the tournament's start time was approaching. Isabella, who had to compete as a participant, had no more time to be here.
"I'll return victorious, Kreed."
So saying, Isabella, having finished preparing to draw the sword that was her cards from her deck, put on a solemn expression and headed for the event floor.
It was the stride of a king whom no one remembered, moving to become a king whom everyone would remember.
Isabella advanced straight ahead, joining the event.
At that moment alone, she was a duelist and a gladiator.
She held the sword called cards and the shield called the Duel Desk.
"Declare the start of the duel!"
And since the time had simultaneously come,
the event staff member brought his mouth to the magic tool that amplified voices, raised his hand, and opened his mouth grandly.
"Duel, begin!"
At the same time, they each drew five cards from their shuffled decks.
The battle of numbers had begun, and a tension for victory hung in the air between Isabella and the duelist before her eyes.
'...So this is that Lady Isabella.'
The original creator of the game.
Naturally, her understanding of the game would be profound.
He was watching her with immense wariness.
Thinking this, he looked at the five cards he had drawn.
'...My hand's completely bricked, isn't it?'
Three high-level monsters he couldn't summon immediately, one card utterly useless when going second, and one card that benefited both the opponent and himself — these were the five cards he was stuck with.
'...What's with this hand?'
And the same was true for Isabella.
After all, Isabella had an attachment to her masterpiece, the White-Eyed Blue Dragon. Thus, she, who could build a deck without worrying about cost, ran a deck crammed with three copies of the most expensive and strongest monster: the White-Eyed Blue Dragon.
But that had become a liability.
Because she had just drawn all three of them at once.
On top of that, she was stuck going second in the current situation.
Nevertheless, both of them smiled, maintaining their poker faces.
Because bluffing was the foundation of a card game.
Similar to poker, deceiving the opponent and leading them to make wrong choices was also a quality of a duelist.
Therefore, even though their hands were bricked, they showed no sign of it.
Then, to deceive the opponent before them, they opened their mouths at the same time.
" "A perfect hand." "
...On the outside, they pretended to be bright; on the inside, they were crying.
*
"Whoa! I won!"
Fortunately, it was Isabella who had won.
A muddy victory that barely managed to preserve the pride of the first Duel King (unofficial) and the game's creator. If she kept riding this momentum well, she had a hunch that if she really did it well, she might even be able to aim for the championship.
Isabella had become an unexpected dark horse.
She was savoring her first tournament victory when.
"...What are you doing over there, Isabella."
"...Let's just leave her be to enjoy herself, Rosaria."
Rosaria and Canaria, having arrived at the venue before they knew it, could only stare in bewilderment or pinch the bridges of their noses at the sight.
Thinking these thoughts, the two looked toward Zeke.
For some reason, he also seemed completely immersed, cheering Isabella on with total sincerity.
'......They're both idiots.'
Canaria, who knew the truth, could only sigh.
It was then, as Isabella was enjoying her duel while adhering to the rules and manners, that Canaria spotted a familiar-looking old man. The moment she saw him, her entire demeanor shifted.
-...Could you please step out back for a moment?
Then, Canaria whispered to him using her divine power.
When the old man was startled by this phenomenon he had never felt before, Canaria added an explanation and calmed him.
-This is not an illusion or an auditory hallucination. It is a power you would certainly know, having painted the sacred paintings and read the scriptures in the Holy Nation.
At the explanation of it being divine power, the man understood immediately.
After all, had he not felt a miracle before his very eyes?
But the Saintess's appearance was different from what he knew.
Strangely, it was not a girl with golden hair and silver eyes bearing the Saintess's symbols, but a girl with black hair and golden eyes who was looking at him and conversing through divine power.
That was the symbol of a demon, not the Saintess.
The man was finding this immensely puzzling when.
-...As it happens, I had something I needed to discuss with you.
So saying, Canaria briefly moved away from the spot.
"Serena? Is something the matter?"
Rosaria asked the uneasy-looking Canaria.
"...I was just going to buy something to eat and drink. The tournament will take a while to finish anyway, and it's awkward for you to move around during that time, Rosaria. And Kreed... doesn't even know what you like, so I'll be back quickly."
So saying, Canaria left the spot.
At the same time, the moment she had disappeared, mingling with the crowd, she used her divine power again and called the old man by name.
-Mikel, I have something to discuss with you. Please follow my instructions. I have something to give you, you see.
The Grand Artist Mikel.
He was Isabella's mentor,
and the very reason Canaria had come to this place.
She had been saved the trouble of seeking him out, Canaria thought, as she and Mikel began to leave the event venue.
-...Let's go to a nearby cafe.
Of course, since she also had to keep her promise to Rosaria, Canaria and Mikel headed for a cafe where she could buy drinks and bread.
-Please guide me to a place with a solemn atmosphere, suited for a heavy conversation.
Because the story she was about to tell would be rather heavy for Mikel.
And so, in silence, Mikel and Canaria moved their feet, leaving behind the heated tournament venue, heading for an old-fashioned, somewhat grave cafe.