Chapter 68
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: Sweet Victory
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She murmured, lost in some fond memory.
"Joseph."
Joseph responded without a moment's hesitation.
"Yeah."
"Joseph."
"Yeah."
"Joseph."
"Yeah."
It was fun how he answered so monotonously without ever asking why, no matter how many times she called his name. And it was fun how her scalp tingled every time he spoke.
It was beautiful. It was fun. Having Joseph by her side made her happy, and even though she had planned it all and boasted she would win, she still couldn't believe they had actually triumphed.
Just participating in the tournament had been thrilling beyond belief...
Charlotte felt her eyes growing misty.
"We won."
"...Yeah. We did."
"It's thanks to you. I never could've made it this far without you."
Those words were Charlotte's true heartfelt feelings.
Dropped suddenly into a completely unknown world, she had felt nothing but bewilderment about what to do next. Perhaps it was the little boy who appeared before her out of nowhere who had guided her through it all.
It felt like finding an abandoned kitten—she had to care for it tenderly, feed it, and find it a proper owner. That sense of mission had welled up inside her.
Of course, she had also resolved to live diligently for her own sake... but without him, she might have wandered lost in this world for ages, unable to adapt.
Yet Joseph, who always nodded along without contradicting a word she said, slowly shook his head this time, as if he couldn't agree.
"Thanks to me...? You really don't know anything."
Charlotte leaned all the way back, practically reclining against him just to see his face.
Joseph bent his head down over her face, as if curious about the color draining from it now that it was right in front of him.
...So close.
Charlotte stared blankly up at Joseph's face, inches from her own.
Joseph's face was stunningly beautiful, and watching the halo of light cascade over it was... a scene of perfect beauty.
"Charlotte."
For once, Joseph called her name first.
She started to reply, but his lips were so near that his breath tickled, sending her into a fit of giggles.
It was then.
- The award ceremony will now begin.
The announcer's voice rang out once more, and Joseph—who had seemed so serious—effortlessly helped Charlotte sit back up.
Amid thunderous applause, the two children climbed onto the stage, looking tiny against its vast expanse.
Tiny compared to the enormous cheers raining down—and to the massive, multi-tiered trophy awarded to them both.
"My goodness, Charlotte. Charlotte just... she won? Charlotte won, Mother. Look at that."
Jerome was so worked up he looked ready to leap onto the stage, his words tumbling out nonstop.
Camilla patted his shoulder to calm him down, but it did nothing. Calling her "Mother" in such a formal setting—Jerome must have been utterly beside himself with shock.
Camilla glanced toward the stage, her eyes meeting the Emperor's for a split second as he approached the front.
Raccoon-eyed old coot. What the hell did you do to Prince Joseph?
But she wasn't the only one thinking it—the Emperor's gaze interrogated her right back.
...What a joke. Raccoon through and through.
"I, uh, I should go down to greet Charlotte at the stage."
"Go ahead."
"Would you like to join, Mother...?"
"Go on. I'll catch up soon."
"Yes, ma'am."
Russell hurried after the fidgeting Jerome, his eyes wide with surprise.
Camilla clicked her tongue.
Whatever the Emperor was scheming, anyone could see how stunned the Setia House was at the tournament results just by looking at that clueless father and son who couldn't hide their faces.
She was stunned too.
Even Camilla Setia, who had few worthy opponents left in the Cheiker Empire.
She narrowed her eyes at Charlotte on the stage, her cheeks flushed red.
That child had just unleashed absurd feats with that adorable little face.
With a body that belied such immense power, skill, and judgment.
Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap.
Camilla drummed her fingers on her scabbard, deep in thought.
Just this morning, her mind had been on which successor candidates the Setia House could narrow down after the tournament—and how best to praise Isaac if he took first.
Now, thoughts crowded in so chaotically that she couldn't focus on a single one.
'If you win, I'll grant your wish.'
'Any wish at all.'
Suddenly, she remembered promising Charlotte that in front of Isaac, Russell, and Byaki.
Camilla's lips curved into a smile unbidden.
"Ahaha. What a cheeky little delight."
She had dismissed it as mere bravado, but no—it was a calculated gamble. How hilarious. The girl had absolute confidence in her victory.
As her laughter faded, Camilla rose with a pleased smile tugging at her lips.
For now, the Empress's opinion or the Emperor's suspicions could wait.
She didn't hate people bold enough to voice their minds. Far from it—she admired them.
And when that boldness was backed by real skill? Irresistible.
She was dying to hear what wish warranted such a monumental bet.
As she walked slowly forward, her eyes never left Charlotte.
A thought struck her belatedly.
Gratitude.
Camilla knew she had no time to oversee every household detail while guarding the borders, so she felt no guilt for never personally mentoring Charlotte. Still, she was grateful the girl had bloomed with such talent regardless.
Even knowing Jerome had lost his wife young and botched raising the child, she couldn't help but be thankful that Charlotte had turned out so upright.
And another thought surfaced.
'Is this what they mean?'
Gazing at Charlotte—her flawless sword stance as a swordsman, her noble heart saving a friend... not a single trait like her father's...
'She's precious beyond words. "You could put your granddaughter in your eye and it wouldn't hurt"—that's this feeling, huh.'
"On Shadow Blade Day, this tournament to measure the youths' prowess—we are grateful to have witnessed such outstanding talents from so many young souls. Especially the two victors..."
The Emperor gazed at the pair standing side by side on stage, like fairy-tale heroes.
The black-haired boy and the pink-haired girl.
Their resolute expressions made one forget their age for a moment, but the small hands clutching the laurel crowns—marks of championship—drew involuntary gasps.
The two who would lead this nation's future were so young.
This young already... how far will they grow? Unimaginable.
The Emperor felt his heart race unbidden.
Growing older meant fewer chances to prove himself in person. And as Emperor, entering tournaments came with endless hassles.
A long-forgotten spark—like competitive fire—ignited within.
His eyes lingered on Joseph, standing calmly before him with a stoic face.
...You've grown well. Even though I never cared if you lived or died all those years.
It wasn't his imagination, seeing his younger self in Joseph's face.
Emperor Sanchez closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
That's fatherhood with a son.
Acting the stern patriarch forever, only to be surpassed by your suddenly grown child.
He hadn't dwelled on that moment much.
He wished one son would mature enough to bear the nation's crushing weight and duty—but could never picture it.
Yet here it was: his authority first threatened by his towering offspring.
His twelve-year-old youngest, no less.
Sanchez welcomed it.
Despite all he'd done wrong by Joseph.
That was Sanchez's sole way of showing care. Though Joseph—and everyone else—would disagree.