Signs of Premature Onset
Selos Abaran. He was two years younger than me, and though we had different mothers, we were technically brothers. Not that he ever considered me an older brother, of course. In the original novel, he appeared in a few scenes with me. He was just another minor villain, after all. As evidenced by his seat being so close to mine—the absolute lowest seat reserved for the completely powerless—his Manis was on the weaker side.
"Are you deaf as well as uneducated, you pathetic half-breed?" His tone grew harsh, likely feeling ignored because I had been too lost in thought to answer.
"Ah, my apologies." Remembering that Ran was usually completely intimidated whenever he was around Selos, I offered a brief apology. How long had it been since I last apologized for something I didn't even do?
But my apology didn't seem to satisfy him. One of his eyebrows arched high. "Have you lost your mind?" Perhaps because the Eighth Prince was still two years younger than his novel counterpart, he was even more hot-tempered than described in the book. Still, what a relief. To know that people could actually improve with age. Thinking that way made me feel a bit more generous. After all, I was a twenty-eight-year-old man on the inside. A seventeen-year-old was basically a high school freshman. I was perfectly willing to humor a teenager's tantrums to some extent.
"What, did your pest of a mother abandon you before she could teach you how to apologize properly? If you're a bug, act like one. Keep your head down and beg."
...I had always wondered what it would feel like to have a younger brother, and now I knew. It was absolutely rotten.
"Absolutely rotten."
The Eighth Prince's eyes widened, his face flushing as red as his hair. Judging by his expression, the chances that he hadn't heard my quiet mutter were slim to none. My new half-brother seemed to have excellent hearing. Damage control. I needed to do some damage control. What could I say to soothe this sweet little brother who had shown such deep concern for my upbringing the moment we met...?
"...I am glad to see your hearing is perfectly intact, brother." To be completely honest, both in my past life and this one, I had a bit of a talent for getting under people's skin.
Perhaps stunned to be insulted by the half-brother who usually couldn't even squeak a word in his presence, the Eighth Prince froze. For someone who had just casually insulted my mother, his reaction was surprisingly bashful. As I stared at him, he finally snapped out of his daze, his face contorting with rage as he slammed his hands on the table and stood up. "You bastard...!"
I was well aware that hearing someone lecture me about my upbringing for the first time in ten years had made me slightly emotional. But I didn't want to cause a scene here. Up until now, this could still pass as the Eighth Prince giving the Seventh Prince his usual scolding. I sighed, preparing to calm him down. Fortunately, since he died much later than I did in the novel, I knew quite a lot about the Eighth Prince.
"Brothers should get along." But before I could speak, a soft voice cut between the Eighth Prince and me. Our gazes turned toward the source of the voice. It was a beautiful woman accompanied by two maids. With her voluminous golden hair, her striking features stood out even among the exceptionally attractive members of the imperial family. She made brief eye contact with me, cast a glance at the Eighth Prince, and then swept past our table.
"We mustn't show such unsightly behavior in front of His Imperial Majesty." Her gentle voice drifted between me, still seated, and the Eighth Prince, who was frozen in a half-standing posture. Her long, warm golden hair caught the light. Though her words were as soft as her voice, they clearly didn't sound gentle to the Eighth Prince.
"M-My apologies, Princess." His face instantly drained of color, and he bowed his head, quickly sinking back into his seat. I watched the now-subdued Eighth Prince for a moment before scanning the blue stone table, which was now almost entirely occupied. Since nearly everyone treated me as if I didn't exist, observing them wasn't particularly difficult.
With nearly twenty blondes gathered together, the already magnificent hall looked even more lavish. The most eye-catching area was, of course, the head of the table on the opposite end. Seated in the second spot to the left of the emperor's throne was the woman who had just inadvertently terrified the Eighth Prince. As expected, she was the First Princess. That meant the man in the first seat on the left was the First Prince, and the one sitting opposite him was the Third Prince. The pleasant-looking man sitting across from the First Princess would be the Second Prince.
As the seating arrangement—with me and the Eighth Prince at the very end—indicated, they weren't seated by age. The closer a seat was to the Emperor, the lighter the occupant's hair, bordering on platinum blonde. It felt absurd, like sorting puppies by the color of their coats, but there was a reason for it. In this world, the stronger a person's Manis, the closer their hair color was to platinum blonde. And possessing such bright golden hair was a trait exclusive to the imperial family. In other words, ordinary humans could never possess powerful abilities, no matter how hard they tried. Well, with the exception of our black-haired protagonist, of course.
The Seventh Prince of the original novel was neither the protagonist nor a blonde. Because of his black hair, he was the only sibling who possessed absolutely no Manis, which was the root of all this mistreatment. Having spent twenty-eight years of my life entirely removed from such fantasy elements, it was hard to comprehend. But as long as a person had a functioning body, they could always find a way to survive.
"His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, enters." At the attendant's solemn announcement, the noisy hall fell so silent that not even a breath could be heard. The Emperor entered with slow, measured steps. Dressed in a dark red uniform that resembled military attire, he possessed a remarkably youthful face and a robust build that made it hard to believe he was over sixty years old. However, his weary, detached eyes and sluggish movements proved that he was by no means as young as his face suggested.
"Sit." He waved a dismissive hand at us as we stood frozen, then took his seat. In front of him lay a triangular stone slab with rounded corners. Positioned so that its corners pointed toward the Emperor and his immediate flanks, this object was the core of the ritual. About the height of an adult man's palm, the blue slab emitted a strange, eerie glow that contrasted sharply with the smooth surface of the blue marble table.
"We shall begin immediately." Fortunately, the Emperor seemed to prefer efficiency, raising his right hand slightly to signal the start of the ritual.
The Emperor's low voice echoed through the hall. It wasn't a magic spell. It was merely the traditional chant passed down through the imperial family, a quote left behind by the First Emperor before his death. It hadn't served any real purpose in the novel, so I had assumed the author just threw it in to make things sound cool. Seeing it happen right before my eyes, however, felt entirely different.
The Emperor, whose eyes were just as dry and detached as mine, slowly placed his hand on one of the corners of the stone slab. It looked as though he were channeling something into it, or perhaps simply pressing down firmly. *Vroooom.* The slab vibrated violently and began to glow with a brilliant blue light. Soon, a cluster of shimmering light erupted from the very center of the slab. A column of light as thick as a massive tree trunk stretched out like vines, sweeping across the table until it reached a distance that felt close enough to touch me at the very end. Once the light stopped expanding, the Emperor withdrew his hand. The radiant vines vanished like mist.
Everyone present stared at him with expressions of awe at the mesmerizing sight. The extraordinary stone slab the Emperor had just touched was the ancient relic, Prasa. It was one of the few artifacts left behind by the First Emperor. When Manis was channeled into it, it measured the user's quantity and purity of Manis. The imperial family gathered at least once a month for this ritual specifically for this measurement. To put it more accurately, it was to solidify the hierarchy of power.
The quantity of Manis represented the scale of one's power. The person with the greatest Manis would become the next Emperor. Anyone seated at this table could place their hand on the Prasa and display their Manis in front of everyone. Once the two individuals seated on either side of the Emperor finished their measurements, anyone else was free to step forward. However, since almost no one ever challenged the results, the ritual usually ended there. This was because every member of the imperial family had their latent Manis measured once when they turned twelve. The ranking established at that age was rarely overturned, even after they reached adulthood. Well, perhaps there were exceptions if one dug deep enough into the archives, but they were so incredibly rare as to be practically nonexistent.
Simply put, this ritual was nothing more than a superficial tradition. While they claimed anyone had the opportunity to try, in reality, it was a public declaration of who held the absolute power. It served to solidify the position of the heir apparent and provided the Emperor with an opportunity to demonstrate that he was still in his prime.
"Y-Your Majesty, your power is especially magnificent today." Once the lingering pressure of that immense power faded, someone sitting far down the table—either the Fourth or Fifth Prince—managed to stammer out a word of admiration. The Emperor ignored him completely. Still, it certainly seemed far more spectacular than how it had been described in the novel. Had the light really reached the very end of the table back then? While I was busy questioning my memory, the turn passed to the First Prince, who sat to the Emperor's right. He was currently the most influential candidate for the throne, wielding a powerful water-attribute Manis. With a confident expression, he placed his hand on another corner of the slab.
*Vroooom.* The blue table glowed brightly, just as it had for the Emperor. Feeling a bit bored, I crossed my arms and watched. The current First Prince wouldn't be able to produce a power as massive as the Emperor's yet. It would probably reach just past the halfway mark of the table...
"Ugh!" "Brother!" The beautiful spectacle everyone had anticipated never came. Instead, crimson blood gushed from his nose, spilling down his chin and staining the blue table. The red blood flowed without stopping. The Second Prince, who sat right next to the First Prince, panicked and shouted toward the entrance. "Hey! Is anyone out there?!"
At his urgent cry, the waiting attendants rushed inside. The hall instantly descended into chaos, the solemn atmosphere evaporating as whispers and murmurs broke out among the royals and servants alike. "Damn it... *cough!* I'm fine, so get back!" "But Brother, we must call a doctor..." The attendants could only hover awkwardly at a distance under the First Prince's irritated gestures. People exchanged bewildered glances or watched with their hands over their mouths.
Yet, I was confident that no one in this room was more shocked than I was. Amidst the widespread confusion, I was the only one who understood exactly what had just occurred. The First Prince was going to die soon, coughing up blood from every orifice. The beginning of the original novel had been moved up by six months.
The evening ritual ended in an anticlimactic blur. After the First Prince was hastily escorted back to his palace, the situation was far too chaotic to continue. The Emperor, who had watched the entire scene with an expressionless face, simply declared that the ritual was over for the day and departed. I, too, hurried back to my shabby bedroom. This was strange. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Currently, Ran's body was nineteen years old, still a year away from his coming-of-age ceremony. The novel's plot should have begun a year from now. Under normal circumstances, the First Prince was supposed to suffer this nosebleed during the ritual six months later. From that point on, things would spiral downward. Up until then, because the First Prince's Manis was overwhelmingly superior to his siblings, he was the undisputed heir to the throne. But that incident would trigger a bloody storm within the imperial palace. It was the prelude to the hidden struggle for the throne—the very first page of the original novel.
And now, it had been accelerated by six months. Was this the only event that had been brought forward? Or had the entire timeline shifted? Six months was more than enough time for a person to change and grow. But what if only the First Prince's death had been accelerated, while everything else remained on the original schedule? What if the protagonist wasn't yet strong enough to face the imperial family? ...What if the protagonist lost the struggle against the royals because of this? A cold shiver ran down my spine. That absolutely could not happen. If he lost...
Overwhelmed by anxiety, I burst into my room. Shortly after, two servants knocked on the door to help me change out of my formal attire. I didn't wait for them to enter; I flung the door open myself.
"Leave. I am going to rest, so do not let a single soul into this palace until tomorrow morning. If anyone enters—or if anyone lets them in—I will make them beg for death." Pale with fear, the two stammered their understanding and practically fled the hallway.
"Whew..." I needed to calm down. What had already happened could not be undone. Even in a novel, that rule held true. I slowly extinguished the lights in the room one by one. Fortunately, I was an avid reader who had read the original novel over a hundred times from start to finish. I might very well be the person who had read Dark Header more than anyone else in the world. There were still plenty of things I could do.
I took a look around the quiet room and slowly walked over to the window. Besides, didn't I possess one more ability outside of my character's default settings? Though it wasn't particularly elegant, it was incredibly useful to me right now. Outside the window, I could see the deserted, dilapidated laundry area and, further in the distance, the dense trees of the imperial hunting grounds. The view from the Seventh Prince's shabby room was terrible, but that also meant no one bothered to look this way.
I closed my eyes and wished, just as I had on that day. I want to fly. Soon, a warm energy that felt somewhat familiar by now enveloped my entire body. Spreading my pitch-black wings, I stepped out of the window. I had a strong premonition that my peaceful days in the imperial palace were officially over.