The morning sun hung low over the academy grounds, casting long shadows across the sparring ring.
The training field was unusually crowded. Students lined the perimeter, their excited murmurs rising like a low tide. Some stood on crates or barrels to get a better view. After all, duels were always exciting—but this one had a special twist.
The illegitimate son of Duke Everhart was going to fight.
Lucien stood in the center of the ring, his wooden practice sword held firmly in both hands. His palms were slightly sweaty. The soreness from the previous day's training still lingered in his arms. His muscles weren't used to this kind of strain, but he ignored the discomfort.
Across from him, Byron Grell twirled his own sword in his hand with a cocky grin. The golden-haired noble radiated confidence, practically bouncing on his heels. His friends stood off to the side, already preparing to celebrate.
"I hope you don't cry after this," Byron sneered. "Though I hear bastards are good at pretending to be strong."
Lucien didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed, calm and steady.
There was no point trading insults. The duel would speak for him.
The academy instructor stepped forward, raising his hand for silence.
"This will be a controlled match. No lethal intent. Victory will be awarded by disarmament or clean knockdown. Ready yourselves."
Lucien inhaled deeply, steadying his breath.
I don't need to win with strength, he thought. Just patience.
The instructor's hand dropped.
"Begin!"
Byron charged immediately.
His first strike was heavy and fast, aimed straight at Lucien's shoulder. The crowd gasped.
Lucien barely managed to block it, stepping back with the impact. His arms stung. Byron's strength was nothing to scoff at.
But it was wild. Undisciplined.
Lucien adjusted his footing quickly.
Another swing. Then another. Byron pressed forward, striking with the confidence of someone who never had to fight for anything.
[System Notice: You are at a disadvantage.]
[Skill Acquired: Basic Parry]
Lucien's eyes flicked to the floating message. His timing improved almost instantly. When Byron lunged again, Lucien twisted his hips and deflected the blade to the side.
The crowd murmured.
Byron's smug expression flickered.
"You're just dodging," he spat. "Fight back, coward!"
Lucien's reply was silent. He kept his breathing even, watching closely.
This time, when Byron swung low, Lucien sidestepped and struck forward.
A clean jab to the ribs.
The wooden sword made contact with a satisfying thud. Not hard enough to injure, but enough to score.
Gasps echoed from the audience.
Byron scowled and swung again—wilder this time. His pride had been hit.
Lucien parried each strike with growing ease. He could feel himself adjusting, syncing with the rhythm of combat.
[Reputation +2] [Progress: 5/100 – Slightly Noticed]
The whispers around the ring shifted in tone. Lucien's name, once spoken with mockery, now carried curiosity.
Then, the opening came.
Byron lifted his sword too high—his posture overextended in frustration.
Lucien stepped in, pivoted his body, and slammed his wooden blade against Byron's wrist.
Clack!
Byron's sword flew from his hand and landed in the dirt.
Silence.
Lucien stood tall, sword lowered at his side, chest rising steadily.
Across from him, Byron blinked, stunned.
"I… lost?"
The instructor raised a hand.
"Winner: Lucien von Everhart."
A moment passed.
Then a few claps began from the sideline—hesitant at first, then more confident. Even some of the upper-year students looked impressed.
Byron picked up his sword wordlessly, his face red with humiliation, and stormed off.
Lucien turned away and left the ring.
His arms were aching. Sweat clung to his back. But inside, a strange warmth flickered to life.
So this is what progress feels like.
[Reputation +5]
[Combat Skill +1]
[New Trait Acquired: Calm Insight – Slightly increases duel reaction speed]
[Progress: 10/100 – Your presence is now known]
---
Later that day, Lucien walked through the academy's west courtyard, beneath a row of blooming white flowers.
The duel had earned him attention. Some glances were still skeptical, but fewer were filled with contempt. Whispers followed him—but not all were cruel anymore.
He wasn't celebrated.
But he wasn't invisible either.
[New Event Opportunity: Rina's Favor]
[Location: West Courtyard]
Lucien spotted her immediately.
Rina, the small-framed servant girl from before, struggled to carry a sloshing bucket of water and a bundled stack of laundry. She wobbled dangerously with every step.
Lucien approached without hesitation.
"Let me help."
She flinched slightly at the voice, startled. Her eyes went wide when she recognized him.
"M-Milord? I-I'm fine, I can—"
"You'll spill it," Lucien said plainly. He took the laundry bundle from her arms, lightening her load. "Let me carry this."
Rina blinked, her cheeks coloring faintly.
[Affection +1: Rina]
[Affection Status: Neutral → Slightly Comfortable]
They walked side by side, the silence between them broken only by the sound of soft footsteps on stone.
"You're not… what people say you are," Rina murmured after a pause.
Lucien glanced sideways. "What do they say?"
"That the Duke's bastard is cold. Cruel. Always angry."
"Maybe they're just bad at judging people."
She smiled shyly at that, the corners of her lips twitching up.
They reached the servant quarters. Rina bowed quickly, her voice quiet.
"Thank you, Milord."
Lucien gave a simple nod.
[New Event Flag Placed: Rina – First Favor Complete]
As she disappeared inside, Lucien turned away, walking toward the dorm building. His pace was slow, thoughtful.
Another small connection made.
Not much.
But it was a start.
---
That night, Lucien sat alone at his desk, candlelight flickering over the parchment spread out before him. He wrote names down. Event triggers. Heroine routes. Hidden stat checks. Everything he remembered from the original game's mechanics and plot.
[Main Character Arrival – 1 Day Left]
He circled the words twice.
The protagonist was coming.
The golden boy. The chosen one with absurd stats and an innate power that let him attract allies, earn affection, and rise like a meteor.
Lucien wasn't jealous. Not exactly.
But he wouldn't let the story unfold the same way it did before.
This time, he wouldn't play the forgotten background character.
He'd already started changing the script.
Tomorrow, a new piece would enter the board.
And Lucien would be ready.
---