The Name That Should Die
It was raining. No—at first, I thought it was rain. The cold sensation dripping onto my eyelids. The damp chill sliding down the nape of my neck. The mingled scent of wet earth and blood. But when I opened my eyes, I realized it wasn’t rain at all.
It was red. The liquid running over the back of my hand, the stains seeping through my torn uniform, the spreading pools across the stone floor—everything was crimson.
“Kyle Diaren.”
Someone called my name. It was unfamiliar, yet disturbingly familiar at the same time. The name of the fallen noble villain from the early chapters of the fantasy academy novel The Covenant of the Blue Moon, the one I had stayed up reading just days ago. Kyle Diaren—the heir to a ruined ducal house, a scoundrel who squandered his academy life on drink, duels, and arrogance. Framed for attacking the saintess candidate Aria Elowen, he is executed according to imperial law in the story’s opening act.
And now that name was being spoken to me.
“Get up. It isn’t your turn to fall yet.”
I forced my head up. Through blurred vision, silver hair shimmered like moonlight. Cold blue eyes. A black cloak embroidered with the imperial crest in gold thread. Rhea Silverrian—the Third Princess of the Lumenhart Empire, the original protagonist’s first heroine, and a central figure in the academy’s early power structure. She stood before me.
“Answer me, Kyle. Did you do it?”
Before I could process the question, the surrounding noise flooded in—murmuring students, the clatter of armor, someone stifling sobs. And beside my right hand lay a blood-stained dagger.
Lines from the original novel flashed through my mind like lightning.
— On the night after the entrance ceremony at Saint Ignis Academy, the saintess candidate Aria Elowen is attacked in the Rose Garden.
— The dagger discovered at the scene bore the crest of House Diaren.
— Kyle Diaren denied the crime, but no one believed him.
My heart plummeted. Damn it. I was inside the novel. And of all moments, I had landed exactly at the scene where Kyle Diaren gets framed.
“Why aren’t you answering?”
Rhea’s voice was cold, but suspicion outweighed anger. In the original story, this incident makes her utterly despise Kyle. The protagonist later catches the true culprit, earns her trust, and their relationship begins. So what about me? Silence would end me. Protesting my innocence would end me. Running would end me. Kyle Diaren was written as untrustworthy—too many drunken duels, too many insults toward the weak, too many acts of disrespect before the princess. No one would believe a word I said.
Then I saw her. A woman collapsed nearby, her pure white hair stark against the blood-soaked saintess uniform. Aria Elowen. She wasn’t dead yet. Her fingers twitched faintly. Her lips moved soundlessly, shaping a single word I could read clearly: No. She knew I wasn’t the culprit. But if she lost consciousness now, every piece of evidence would condemn me—the dagger, the location, my reputation, and the ruined name of Diaren.
I clenched my teeth and pushed myself upright. Pain tore through my body, especially the center of my chest where my mana circuits burned like fire. This body was already gravely wounded. Yet the terror of death cut sharper than any pain.
“It wasn’t me.”
The students stirred. A mocking laugh rang out somewhere. Of course. Kyle Diaren claiming innocence? It sounded absurd to everyone.
Rhea’s brow twitched. “Can you prove it?”
“Right now.”
I picked up the bloodied dagger. Knights drew their swords at once. Frost gathered at Rhea’s fingertips.
“Don’t move.”
“Look at the dagger,” I said, holding it by the hilt. “The crest of House Diaren is far too clear.”
“That is your proof of guilt.”
“No. That is exactly why it is fake.”
The murmuring ceased. I recalled a minor detail from the original novel. Before its fall, House Diaren had guarded the empire’s western front. Their crest—a black lion—could only be engraved using bloodline-authenticating magic. Yet the novel simply described the weapon as “a dagger engraved with a crest.” The real culprit had overlooked that setting.
“Diaren’s true crest turns black upon contact with blood. This one remains silver. Someone merely copied the surface.”
Rhea’s gaze dropped to the dagger. I held my breath. If she refused to believe me, it was over. One word from her and I would be arrested on the spot. My reputation would collapse without even reaching a trial. But Rhea was calm—logical rather than emotional. That was my only advantage.
“Verify it.”
An imperial knight accepted the dagger and chanted a short spell. The blood-stained crest did not change. It stayed silver.
“Your Highness, there is no bloodline reaction.”
The air shifted. Doubt replaced contempt in the eyes around me.
At that moment, a shadow moved behind the rose garden. The real culprit.
My body reacted before thought. Staggering, I hurled the dagger. My aim was clumsy, but true. The blade struck the ground at the shadow’s feet.
“Over there!”
Knights rushed forward. A curse echoed from the darkness as a cloaked figure vanished over the wall.
Rhea looked at me. Her blue eyes remained cold, yet the open contempt from moments ago was gone.
“Kyle Diaren.”
“Yes.”
“You owe me a debt tonight.”
“I do?”
“For not taking your life immediately.”
Her tone was arrogant, but I nearly laughed. I had survived. At least for now.
Then a faint voice called from behind. “Lord Kyle…”
Aria. Her hazy eyes found mine, her bloodied hand reaching out. After a brief hesitation, I took it—an act the original Kyle would never have done. Her fingers were cold.
“Don’t… run away.”
“I won’t.”
It was a lie. If I could, I would flee this academy at once. Princesses, saintess candidates, assassins, noble politics—everything here spelled death. But Aria’s grip tightened, stronger than it looked.
“Truly?”
I had no answer.
Rhea watched us, her expression cold and sharp, faintly displeased. In that instant, I understood. I had dodged the first death flag—only to step on an entirely new one that never existed in the original story.
The gazes of the heroines. Far more dangerous than any dagger.