"Whosoever desires constant success must change his conduct with the times."
— Niccolò Machiavelli
***
The group walked away. Their voices drifted back across the courtyard, and they weren't even trying to be quiet about it.
"Well, that was disappointing." Marcel didn't bother lowering his voice. He'd shown up for blood sport and gotten a wet napkin instead.
"Disgusting is more accurate," Elena replied. Her cultured voice could have frozen water. "I've never seen anyone so pathetic. It's almost impressive. Like watching someone speedrun hitting rock bottom."
"At least he knows what he is." Gareth shrugged, his simple brain apparently finding comfort in my self-awareness. "That's something, I guess."
Leo said nothing. I felt his eyes on me for another second before he finally turned away. His golden hair caught the sunlight one last time, because of course it did, and then he disappeared around the corner.
I stayed on the ground.
Counted to thirty in my head. Made sure they were actually gone. Made sure this wasn't some test to catch me dropping character the second they left. When I finally sat up, the courtyard was empty except for a few servants who immediately looked away and hurried off. Nobody wanted to be associated with whatever had just happened.
Act One complete. Survival achieved.
My knees were bleeding. I could feel warm blood running down my shins, soaking into my stockings. Every noble in the region would hear about this by dinner. The story of how Kaelen Leone groveled in the dirt like a dog. My reputation, already garbage, would be nuclear waste by nightfall.
On the other hand, my ribs were intact. My shoulders were in their sockets. My teeth were all where they belonged.
Profitable trade.
More importantly, and this was the real win, I'd just changed the story.
In the original novel, Leo would have beaten Kaelen into the infirmary. A week in bed. Cracked bones. Swollen face. The readers had loved it. "Finally, justice!" "This is so satisfying!" I remembered the comments, remembered typing my own criticism about how the scene was just violence porn dressed up as heroism.
Now? Leo had walked away looking like someone who'd bitten into a lemon. He'd come for righteous fury and gotten a sobbing mess that didn't even fight back. Like trying to kick a ball that was already deflated.
Sucks to be you, golden boy.
I grabbed the wall and hauled myself upright. Brushed dirt and pebbles off my clothes. My hands were shaking. Adrenaline, probably. Or maybe the realization that I'd just bet everything on a gamble and won.
The original Kaelen would be unconscious right now. Face like hamburger. Pride in pieces that couldn't be put back together. Instead, I had scrapes and bruises. Surface damage. Stuff that would heal in a week.
And I had proof.
The narrative could be changed. It wasn't physics. It wasn't fate written in stone. It was just a story, and stories could be rewritten.
But don't get cocky, Alex. Leo's still the protagonist. The plot wants what the plot wants. The world is going to keep pushing toward the original ending. I'm not safe. I'm just slightly less doomed than I was an hour ago.
I limped back toward the manor. Every step sent little jolts through my knees, but I ignored them. Servants and guards watched me pass, then quickly looked somewhere else when I glanced their way.
Let them whisper. Let them spread stories about the pathetic young master who cried in the dirt. Let them think I was broken. Harmless. Not worth the energy it would take to finish off.
That was the whole point.
The maid from earlier was waiting inside the entrance hall. Same neutral expression. Same carefully blank face that servants wore like armor.
"Young Master? How did your meeting with Young Master Leo go?"
Something in her tone. Hard to pin down. Curiosity? Something else?
"As expected." I kept my voice small. Defeated. "I've learned my lesson. I understand my place now."
She nodded slowly.
But her eyes.
There was something in her eyes I hadn't expected. Disappointment. And not the fun kind, not the "I was hoping for better gossip" kind. This was deeper. Colder. Closer to contempt.
She'd watched me grovel. Heard me beg. Saw me prostrate myself in front of Leo like I was less than human.
And now a servant was looking at her master with something close to disgust.
Well. That's a problem.
In a world like this, hierarchy was everything. Nobles ruled. Servants served. The social order was supposed to be absolute, unquestionable, carved into the foundations of reality itself. A servant feeling contempt for their master was a crack in that foundation. Small cracks spread. Small cracks became big cracks. Big cracks brought down houses.
I filed that away for later. Another fire to put out. Another consequence of the choice I'd made.
Worth it. Still breathing. Still have all my limbs pointing the right directions. Everything else is details.
"Very good, Young Master." Her voice was perfectly polite. The lie underneath it was less perfect. "Perhaps you'd like to rest in your chambers? I can have the kitchen send something light. You look... unwell."
"That would be appreciated, thank you."
I kept the mask on as I walked past her. Small steps. Hunched shoulders. The beaten dog heading back to its kennel.
My room was the same as I'd left it. Expensive furniture. Tapestries on stone walls. Silk sheets on a bed big enough for four people. All of it still felt like wearing someone else's life.
I closed the door behind me and let out a breath I'd been holding for what felt like hours.
Then I walked to the mirror.
Grey eyes stared back at me. Black hair hanging across a face that was too thin, too pale, too aristocratic. Someone else's face. Someone else's body. Someone else's disaster of a life that I'd somehow inherited.
"Okay," I said to my reflection. "Okay. You survived day one. Good job. Don't let it go to your head."
The reflection didn't respond. Rude.
I had so many problems. The narrative was going to keep pushing. Leo was going to keep being the protagonist. The original Kaelen had made enemies everywhere, racked up debts of hatred that I was going to have to pay. The servants thought I was pathetic. The nobles thought I was pathetic. Everyone thought I was pathetic.
Good. Let them.
Because pathetic people got ignored. Pathetic people got overlooked. Pathetic people weren't worth the effort of destroying.
And while everyone was busy dismissing me, I'd figure out how to survive in a world that wanted me dead.
Step one: Learn everything I can about this world, this body, this situation.
Step two: Find allies. Or at least people who won't actively try to kill me.
Step three: Don't die.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, wincing as my bruised body protested. Outside the window, the sun was still shining. Birds were still singing.
A beautiful day in a world that had tried to kill me before breakfast.