The Pink-Haired Protagonist
The root of all evil. ‘It can’t be.’ At first I tried to deny it. After all, the situation was far too unexpected. But the moment my brain registered what was happening, my body—having long since surpassed human limits as a Swordmaster—snapped into focus like a high-powered telescope, capturing her fleeting figure in an instant and thrusting it before my eyes.
So in the end, I had no choice but to face it. The existence known as Lucia Arbel, this world’s protagonist. Soft pink hair and blue eyes. Large, innocent-looking eyes that seemed to know nothing of the world’s darker side, paired with an expression so pure it reminded one of a small animal. It matched the original novel’s description exactly.
Even in a world where one could encounter at least ten different vividly colored hair shades just by walking five minutes down the street, pink hair was exceedingly rare. While natural two-tone hair wasn’t uncommon, the reason pink stood out as special was simple: it existed solely to emphasize the protagonist’s uniqueness. The author had even mentioned it directly in the afterword. Back then, I’d only thought it was a bit annoying that the writer would bother explaining such trivial details unprompted. Now it was more than annoying—it was infuriating.
‘Forcing me to swallow the red pill, huh.’
Because I could no longer even deny reality by telling myself she was just someone who looked similar. True to Lucia’s setting—designed to trigger protective instincts by making her small in stature—her pink head was quickly swallowed by the crowd and disappeared from view. Yet my mind had already grown unbearably complicated.
‘How on earth…?’
The protagonist, who should still be staying at her family home and being mistreated, was here in the capital. Even if the original story had changed and her actions had diverged, why of all places had she appeared at my victory banquet? If only I’d been given a little time to think it through calmly—
“Well, well! If it isn’t the young master of House Abraxas I used to know! You’ve grown so tall I barely recognized you!”
“Haha… It’s been a while, Your Grace, Duke Royter. Thank you for gracing us with your presence despite your busy schedule.”
Among the countless possible scenarios, I could have narrowed it down to the most likely few. But right now there were simply too many people I had to deal with.
“My, my. You’ve become quite the respectable gentleman in the time I haven’t seen you. I’m truly moved.”
“I’m glad to see Your Grace is still in good health. The passage of time hasn’t dulled your dignity in the slightest.”
“Hahaha! You’ve even learned how to say pleasant things! Ah, the memories of my youth come flooding back.”
Among them were several figures I absolutely could not afford to neglect. That meant I had to focus entirely on the banquet as much as possible. Even as I told myself that nothing catastrophic would happen right away and that I could think it over slowly, my attention kept drifting elsewhere against my will. Just moments ago I’d been swimming in dopamine, yet—
‘If only she hadn’t caught my eye.’
That damn pink hair had ruined everything. The banquet’s warmth suddenly felt stifling, and all of it seemed meaningless—until Beatrice, who had been reigning haughtily among the many ladies, suddenly approached.
“Uncle Theo.”
“Ah, Your Highness the Princess! It’s been a long time!”
No matter how high a duke’s rank, he had no choice but to bow before royalty. Duke Royter immediately lowered his head as though prostrating himself. Beatrice shot him a sidelong glance.
“Are you bothering people again like some tiresome old man? How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”
“No, I was only trying to greet him…”
“Don’t lie. You were going to ramble about the old days for an hour again, weren’t you? Young people these days hate that sort of thing.”
Her tone was rather rude for addressing an elder with blood ties, but—
“Ah, this old man has been meddling again.”
Rank was everything, and the duke, well aware of what kind of madwoman Beatrice used to be, simply laughed it off without a care.
“Well, the young should enjoy themselves with the young…”
With a somewhat wistful expression, he glanced between the two of us before quietly withdrawing. Paying no mind to Duke Royter, who was surely wounded despite pretending otherwise, Beatrice spoke.
“Sir Damian, come with me for a moment.”
She dragged me into a private room in an instant and looked up at me with clear displeasure.
“You’ve been acting strange since earlier.”
Wow, she actually noticed? Even though we’d naturally drifted apart midway through the evening. I wasn’t the type to be so transparent with my emotions. Even the duke, who had spent his life reading people, hadn’t noticed a thing. This went beyond quick-wittedness into something almost uncanny.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Of course it was. When you’re genuinely happy, you only lift one corner of your mouth in that smug little smirk. But when you’re forcing a smile, you lift both. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
I gave a bitter laugh and admitted it.
“I suddenly remembered some troublesome homework.”
“Ha! What kind of homework is that?”
Beatrice crossed her arms with an incredulous laugh.
“How dare you not fully enjoy the banquet I prepared for you and think about something else instead? Who gave you permission?”
It was such an absurd complaint that, oddly enough, her unchanging self felt especially endearing right now. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Pfft.”
“What? What’s so funny?”
Her mouth—only one corner was raised again. My Swordmaster’s hearing didn’t miss her tiny mutter as she turned her head, but I pretended not to hear and extended my hand toward her.
“Then would you grant me a dance, Tricksy?”
“What?”
Beatrice’s face flushed bright red. Perhaps because she had spent her life keeping others beneath her feet, she became a tyrant when she held the initiative, yet grew unexpectedly vulnerable the moment it was taken from her. She was weak against shameless persistence.
“W-why would I?”
“I feel like a dance might lift my mood again, but dancing alone would be a bit embarrassing.”
The usual Beatrice was irritating, but the disarmed version was honestly rather cute.
“Just a few years ago you couldn’t even meet my eyes properly…”
“Did I really? Now that you mention it, your eyes do look especially pretty today. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t look away.”
“Ahem, ahem!”
Of course, she was still heavily armed most of the time, so this rarely happened. But a Swordmaster was the kind of existence that rendered even the sturdiest armor meaningless.
“Fine. This place is for you, after all. If you’re begging so earnestly, I’ll make an exception just for today…”
Beatrice—disarmament complete. She looked visibly happier than usual as she smiled faintly and reached for my hand.
People had to endure and live properly for a simple reason: if they acted on every impulse and vented every anger without restraint, they wouldn’t be able to handle the consequences later. As social creatures, reputation mattered. Those who did whatever they pleased would eventually find themselves unable to live among others, so any reasonable person learned to watch their behavior. Even those of the highest status or greatest power observed at least the minimum boundaries for the same reason—they feared earning the hatred of too many people to manage. Of course, if someone was prepared to bear that hatred, the story changed. But were those bastards truly prepared?
I intended to find out starting now.
‘So it was those guys.’
I walked slowly toward the two men glaring at each other with murderous intent, both injured and standing amid overturned tables.
“Sir Damian.”
“We were all enjoying the banquet when they suddenly started fighting for no reason…”
Without needing to say anything, people cleared a path and explained the situation. The banquet hall was a place where alcohol flowed, so it wasn’t unusual for drunken arguments to escalate into light scuffles. But once mana entered the equation, everything changed.
“Ugh, my legs…”
“I’m so dizzy… I think I’m going to be sick.”
When those who could wield mana fought, innocent bystanders inevitably got caught in the crossfire. Especially in a crowded banquet hall like this. People could be directly wounded by the waves of materialized mana, or suffer dizziness and panic from the tangible killing intent. The bigger problem was that high-level fighters rarely caused widespread collateral damage unless they deliberately spammed area attacks—yet when mediocre fighters clashed, mana tended to leak everywhere, amplifying the harm.
‘They’ve crossed the line.’
This was exactly that kind of situation.
“Do you really think someone like you is worthy of standing beside her?”
“Hah! How vulgar. This is why lowborn trash like you…”
I stepped behind the two snarling men. They hadn’t even noticed my approach despite my making no effort to hide my presence. I lightly placed my hands on their shoulders and twisted my ankles.
“Ghk!”
“Aaaagh!”
Both men dropped to their knees with pained groans, instantly neutralized. I calmly recited the facts to them.
“Using wide-area mana attacks capable of mass slaughter and destruction in a location filled with unspecified civilians. This is treated the same as terrorism threatening the empire’s peace.”
“What…!”
“Wait, let me explain—”
They tried to make excuses, but there was no need to listen. I didn’t want to hear them anyway. And this was already me being generous.
I placed my left hand over the blue-haired man’s heart and my right over the red-haired man’s dantian. Then—
—Crack!
I forcibly poured mana inside and churned their insides, shattering their pathetic circles and cores. Imperial law granted summary judgment authority over active criminals to high-ranking nobles above the count level and to general-rank commanders with immunity privileges. I satisfied the former simply by breathing, and as a field commander or higher, I retained command authority even in the reserves during emergencies, satisfying the latter as well.
“Ghhk…”
The two men, reborn as ordinary imperial citizens rather than terrorists, groaned in unison and fainted. Honestly, I’d wanted to kill them, but even so, it didn’t feel right at a joyful occasion. Since no one had died, their crime didn’t warrant death. I stood up, brushing off my hands with lingering displeasure.
“No matter what, this is going too far!”
And then I quietly stared at the pink-haired girl who had spread her arms protectively over the fallen men, blocking my path.