This Is War? I'd Rather Fight Orcs!

"You may cry as much as you like. However, this is not a problem that can be solved by avoiding it."

I had fled the Archmage's laboratory as if escaping and returned to my room, where my stamina had already hit rock bottom. Just dragging the heavy dress hem while walking made my thighs feel like they were about to burst. But what tormented me most wasn't the physical exhaustion.

Rustle. With every step, the thick wad of cloth stuffed into my crotch relentlessly rubbed against the soft, delicate flesh between my legs.

"Haa... Haa..."

The moment I entered the room, I collapsed onto the fluffy sofa like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Well done, Your Highness. But it is not yet time for you to rest."

Before my bottom could even settle into the cushion, Margareta approached. In her arms she carried several thick leather-bound document folders, each as thick as my forearm.

"What the hell is all this? Do I have a stack of papers to approve or something?"

"These are review materials for your first year at the academy. We must go over what you studied there."

The academy. That sacred hall of learning where the empire's and kingdom's most prestigious nobles and brightest geniuses gathered to sharpen their intellects.

Yeah. Let's just study. If I rack my brain hard enough, maybe these insane female hormones will calm the fuck down.

I forced my back straight. The corset dug viciously into my ribs, but I endured it. My knightly intellectual pride had kicked in.

"Fine. Is it magic theory? Or the political history of the kingdom? Bring it on. My head's pretty damn sharp."

I lifted my chin with confidence. Margareta said nothing as she opened the first folder and held it before my eyes. I looked down at the documents, brimming with anticipation.

And I doubted what I saw.

"...Huh?"

A dumbfounded sound slipped from my lips. With trembling hands I frantically flipped to the next page, then the next. There was nothing. Not a single trace of magic or politics. The notes were packed with sketches of pretty dresses, pressed flower petals, and lengthy impressions about someone's perfume scent.

"M-Margareta. Didn't you bring the wrong files? What I learned in a whole year at the academy... was this?"

"Yes. Correct. You achieved truly excellent grades."

"Are you fucking kidding me?! One year of academy tuition costs hundreds of gold coins that commoners wouldn't touch in their entire lives! You're telling me I spent that kind of money to learn this... this goddamn child's play?!"

I shouted, veins bulging in my neck. My chest heaved violently with rage. The heavy breasts half-spilling from the corset jiggled wildly, but I couldn't spare them any attention.

"They gather royalty and nobles in one place and pour that much tax money into it just so they can flirt and clink teacups?!"

At my lion-like roar, Margareta looked down at me with calm, insect-like eyes.

"Your Highness. For women of noble birth, the academy is not a place to pursue scholarly inquiry. It is a grand social arena for finding perfect marriage partners and forging connections between powerful families. That is their politics. That is their war."

"War? Fanning yourself and batting your eyes is war? Ha! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Breaking an orc's skull would be a hundred times harder!"

I snorted and slumped back against the sofa. If it was just this, there was nothing to worry about. Just smile vaguely, wear pretty clothes, and sip some tea. Easy.

"Is that what you believe? Then let us conduct a simple test."

Margareta pushed up her glasses and tapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one of the folders.

"You are attending a tea party, Your Highness. Lady ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chelsea, who is usually your bitter rival, looks at your new dress and says with a smile, 'My, Your Highness. Your dress today is truly... original. It suits Your Highness's lively personality perfectly.' How would you respond?"

I let out a small laugh. "What's there to respond to? It's a compliment, isn't it? Original. Just say thank you. 'Hey, you've got a good eye?' That seems perfect, doesn't it?"

Instantly, Margareta's expression turned ice-cold. It was a look of pure shock and utter disappointment, as if I had just defecated on His Majesty's dinner table.

"...You have just declared yourself the laughingstock of high society."

"What? Why? You said it was a compliment!"

"That was not a compliment. It was a high-level insult, indirectly mocking that Your Highness's dress is tacky and inappropriate for the occasion, while also implying that even your personality is vulgar."

"Wh-what?! No, fuck! If you're going to insult someone, just say 'Your clothes look like shit!' Why pretend to compliment them while stabbing them in the back?!"

I shot up from my seat.

"That is precisely the world of noble ladies. They carry no swords, yet they carve people apart with their tongues. Subtle conversational techniques that suppress your opponent's momentum without earning hatred and expand your own faction. This is the latest trend and the core survival skill taught at the academy."

My head began to throb. Margareta mercilessly continued to the next lesson.

"Relationships are equally complex. Lady Milady and Lady Sophia are the closest of friends who cannot live without each other. However, Lady Milady's family is eyeing Lady Sophia's family territory. If, at a tea party, Lady Milady puts three spoons of sugar into Lady Sophia's teacup, what does that signify?"

"That she should enjoy it sweet... like she's looking out for her...?"

My voice grew smaller and smaller.

"Incorrect. It is a veiled jab pointing out that Lady Sophia has recently gained weight and humiliating her for it. In such a situation, which side would you take, Your Highness, and what topic would you use to mediate?"

"Ah... Aaa..."

The room spun. My head had never hurt this badly even when memorizing thousands of swordsmanship manuals. This wasn't a simple clash of blades. This was a horrifying psychological war where a one-millimeter shift in expression or the nuance of a single word could strangle your opponent.

Factions tangled like spiderwebs. Yesterday's friend became today's enemy. Behind every smiling face hid a poison-coated dagger.

"You... do this... every single day...?"

I clutched my head with both hands. This wicked, insidious ecosystem of women. I had never experienced such complex, delicate emotional currents in my entire life. When men disliked something, they settled it with fists and a drink the next day. But this female world was so dark and cruel.

Suddenly, a corner of my chest felt tight. My mind was clearly thinking This is fucking bullshit, this is annoying as hell, yet my body was reacting completely differently.

Huh...?

My nose stung. My eyes suddenly burned hot. My breathing quickened and my throat closed up.

Why am I like this...?

Margareta's cold criticism and the strange pressure of failing to give the right answer. That trivial stress had triggered this sensitive twenty-year-old princess's body to reflexively produce tears.

The female hormones surged, amplifying every emotion to an extreme. Sorrow welled up over nothing. The terror of complex human relationships that my rough, crude male mind couldn't handle. And the loneliness of having to bear it all alone.

"Your Highness...? Are you crying?"

Margareta leaned down, looking flustered. Hot liquid was streaming down my cheeks.

"I-I'm not crying! Fuck, why would I cry! I'm a manly knight, for fuck's— Kk... Kkuk..."

I roughly wiped at the tears with the back of my hand. But once the floodgates opened, they refused to close. My lips trembled and snot began to run.

"Huuu... It's too hard... Why do they twist their words like that... If the clothes look weird, just say they look weird... Why make people feel so awkward... Sob..."

The sound coming from my mouth was an unbelievably whiny, pathetic sob. It was mortifyingly embarrassing, but I couldn't stop.

"Huuu... Why does adding sugar mean calling someone fat... Fucking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bitches... I'll kill them all... This is such bullshit... Hwaaaang—!"

I finally collapsed onto the table and began wailing openly. Rustle... Rustle... Every time my shoulders shook with sobs, the thick diaper between my legs crinkled helplessly.

It was a total defeat. Every ounce of macho toughness had vanished. I had been reduced to a weak female who, terrified of high society's complex relationships, wore a diaper and cried her eyes out.

Margareta clicked her tongue and let out a small sigh. She didn't pat my back comfortingly or offer warm words. She simply pulled out a white silk handkerchief and dropped it beside my cheek.

"Once you have cried out all your tears and snot, please calm yourself. If your eyes swell, you will require an ice compress tomorrow morning."

"Hic... Hooo... Shut up... I'm not crying because I want to...!"

I buried my face in the handkerchief and hiccuped violently.

Fuck, stop crying! You insane tear ducts, please just stop!

I screamed at myself hundreds of times inside my head, but this damned female body seemed to have no functioning brakes for emotional tsunamis. In my mind I wanted to draw my greatsword and split the tea party table in half, yet here I was, sniffling because I was scared of gossip. The pride I had maintained my entire life as a knight was being pulverized into dust.

"You may cry as much as you like. However, this is not a problem that can be solved by avoiding it."

Margareta closed the folder with a sharp snap, driving the final merciless nail.

"You must attend the tea party hosted by Her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Majesty the Queen tomorrow afternoon. Even if it means staying up all night, we will begin again from the proper angle of fan gestures and the art of the fake smile. Prepare yourself."

"Wh-what...?! Tomorrow afternoon?!"

At the cold gleam in Margareta's eyes behind her glasses, I let out a stupid little hiccup.

It was hell itself. Oh God, just throw me naked into the middle of an orc legion instead!