<Chapter 17>

One satisfying aspect since becoming a boy was this: washing hair was incredibly convenient. Maybe once the curse is lifted, I’ll try a short cut. Picturing the maids’ outraged reactions, Laren shook his head.

Staring blankly into the mirror, Laren suddenly jolted and checked the time. Late. A clattering racket echoed through the dormitory.

Rushing to the lecture hall, he found it still brimming with hostility toward the commoner.

‘Stop glaring already. Don’t your eyes get tired?’

He carried himself stoically, but honestly, it wasn’t something he could adapt to easily. Having been showered with nothing but affection, such overt animosity would likely take time to get used to.

After the lecture, as Laren walked the corridor, gray hair suddenly popped out beside him. Startled, Laren stomped his foot.

“Aaah!”

“Why so surprised?”

Zian had an oddly elusive presence, startling him multiple times despite being harmless. Glaring at the gray head, Laren touched his chin. For a mere 2nd-circle mage to be so undetectable—maybe he was an oddball.

“Hi!”

“…Hi, Zian.”

Most days, the first time Laren opened his mouth after leaving the dormitory was when he encountered Zian. He wasn’t particularly chatty, but the near-impossibility of conversation felt profoundly sad. Gratitude toward Zian welled up anew in Laren.

‘I’m really thankful for him.’

Feeling a warm swell, he smiled for no particular reason, and silence abruptly descended upon the corridor. Zian, blankly meeting Laren’s smile, soon grinned broadly and slapped his back.

“You really look like a pretty boy when you smile? Oh right, have you heard that rumor, Ren?”

“Stop hitting— what rumor all of a sudden?”

“Apparently, a huge figure is set to enroll in swordsmanship. A high noble, they say.”

“What, like a duke’s heir or something?”

Focused solely on the curse with scarcely enough time, Laren replied indifferently. More than high nobles, he wanted to escape this corridor teeming with needless stares. Oblivious to such wishes, Zian sauntered along slowly.

“The identity hasn’t been revealed yet. And if it were a duke’s heir, they’d already be in academia.”

“What? Who?”

In the empire, only the three great ducal families held the rank of duke. He himself was the sole heir to the Mercantia Dukedom, the Tatio Dukedom had two heirs, and the remaining one…

“The Mordin Dukedom?”

“Right, even as a commoner, you’ve surely heard rumors about her?”

“How could I not? The empire’s foremost beauty.”

Rumors swirled that one glance could leave you lovesick—the cherished jewel of the Mordin Dukedom, Zenia Mordin. Boredom often brought her praises gracing the empire’s newspapers, so not knowing would be stranger.

“They say she’s enrolled at the academy, but I’ve never seen her once. How beautiful must she be?”

Laren glanced at Zian, who was reverently clasping his hands in an intriguing yet somewhat childish manner, and nodded in agreement. He was definitely curious. How striking must her appearance be for the notoriously stingy empire newspapers to lavish praise? But sensing Laren’s lukewarm response, Zian grumbled and prodded playfully.

“You seem like you’d be popular with the ladies too, Ren.”

“…I’m not interested in women. Receiving interest would be troublesome too.”

If it were a handsome man with flowing long hair, maybe. Swallowing the rest, Laren quickened his pace. He had no desire for awkward situations like the one with Herr Helian. Meanwhile, Zian’s steady stride came to an abrupt halt.

‘That guy— he couldn’t be into men, could he?’

Laren’s earlier statement carried plenty of problematic implications. I have a cute face too— what if I catch a gay guy’s fancy? Zian, buying into needless worry, shuddered.

“R-Ren!”

Though he hadn’t shown any overt advances like throwing flirtations, a suddenly creeped-out Zian grabbed the shoulder of the ahead-striding Ren.

“That statement just now— it could lead to misunderstandings, so don’t say stuff like that elsewhere.”

“What?”

“You might get mistaken for being gay.”

At the pointed remark, Laren’s face twisted instantly. He’d spoken carelessly, but indeed, as a boy, such words left room for misinterpretation. Reflecting, Laren dragged the slow-walking Zian along.

“Don’t worry— even if I were gay, I wouldn’t hit on you. Your face isn’t all that anyway. Hurry up.”

“That’s really mean!”

“Just walk properly?”

As the two bickered, countless eyes trailed them. Alone was problematic enough, but Laren and Zian strolling the corridor together drew even harsher overt stares and criticisms.

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

“What is Zian Lobaine even thinking?”

Laren was accustomed to the scorn directed at him, but it bothered him when arrows aimed his way struck Zian too. Zian, however, seemed deaf to the whispers as he led Ren to the student cafeteria. Amid the concern, the aroma of frying meat assaulted Laren’s nose.

‘Let’s eat first and think later.’

The academy’s student cafeteria food was of exceptionally high quality. With most students being noble heirs, they invested heavily in welfare, facilities, and student conveniences. As usual, Laren piled his food into a mountain, while Zian stared at the plate before him with a weary expression.

“Good grief… Your appetite is really hard to get used to.”

“This is still not enough. And you’re the one eating too little. How do you survive on that?”

Spearing a perfectly grilled ham with his fork, Laren opened his mouth wide. Zian, blankly watching the intake, propped his chin with a surprised look.

“You devour so much food, yet your table manners are impeccable?”

“…My family was strict. I was properly educated in that regard.”

As Laren shoved a piece of steak into his mouth, his shoulders twitched. No matter how much of a problem child confined to the dukedom, his gait and etiquette were indistinguishable from a noble’s. Such things were mostly masked by his speech and personality, but as a commoner now, he needed to be cautious.

“But is it okay for you to hang around me like this? The gossip is no joke.”

“You know— fallen family and all. They just don’t outright ignore me; it’s no different otherwise.”

Zian blinked his round eyes and shrugged. Perhaps because he gave off the vibe of a boy raised in oblivious bliss, his nonchalant attitude felt profoundly unexpected.

Unconsciously, Laren patted Zian’s head. Those round eyes reminded him of Naias, waiting back at the dukedom.

“What are you doing?”

“Why, can’t I?”

“Uh… huh? Well, it’s not that I can’t, but…”

Thanks to Laren’s confident reply, it was Zian who found himself flustered instead. Something felt off, yet he couldn’t quite find the words to counter. Turning his focus back to the meal, Zian blinked repeatedly upon noticing something.

“Ren, I forgot to mention—there’s one thing you need to keep in mind.”

Suddenly wearing a serious expression, Zian lowered his voice.

“What is it?”

This was the first time he’d seen such solemn eyes since they met, so Laren swallowed dryly. He set his fork down on the plate with equal gravity.

“As you know, I’m a weeeak 2nd-circle mage. I don’t have stamina like a swordsman, right? You get that?”

Obviously. Mages trained mana, not their bodies like swordsmen, so their physical endurance didn’t improve. Unless they exercised separately, most mages had stamina comparable to or even weaker than ordinary people.

“So, when it comes to stamina, I have no loyalty.”

What did “no loyalty limited to stamina” even mean? Unable to grasp the implication, Laren tilted his head. Zian grinned and rose from his seat.

“…Meaning, loyalty to the extent of taking hits together is too much.”

And with that, he vanished swiftly from view. Watching the retreating figure, Laren soon comprehended the full meaning.

“How brazen, sitting here so comfortably.”

‘Annoying.’

An opponent had emerged who would follow him around, spewing abuse as routine. Academy life was far too tumultuous simply for being a commoner, wasn’t it?

Pygone appearing daily, the lively Zian, piling assignments, and now the sparring period. Far from finding a pair, no one besides Zian would even converse with Laren.

To seek the cursed one amid all this vicious cycle—perhaps this was how the duchess felt, pressing her temples upon seeing Laren.

“Insolent!”

At the indifferent continuation of the meal, Pygone slammed the table hard with a bang. Was slamming the table first a custom of brutality? Due to the clash between Laren and Pygone, the student cafeteria sank into silence as if drenched in water.

“Apologize to Lord Pygone at once!”

“How can food even go down your throat?”

“You wretch!”

Moreover, the ad-libs from Pygone’s three stooges behind him only amplified the headache. What exactly to apologize for? If eating garlic baguette was a sin, he could accept that. They say even orcs aren’t disturbed during meals.

“Well, I suppose you must eat plenty here at least. Your beggar-like devouring is pitiful. I’m curious about your parents’ faces—letting a human without table manners roam free.”

‘What? Parents?’

Laren’s brow furrowed sharply as he was about to pop in a ham. Mentioning parents made him doubt if the human before him had learned any etiquette at all. Given the filthy clinging just for being a commoner, doubting was pointless anyway.

“Is Your Lordship truly a noble?”

“What?”

“You wretch!”

Gritting his teeth, Laren finally couldn’t hold back. In an empire that frowned upon a female head of house, the duchess single-handedly led the Mercantia Dukedom. Until now, he’d consistently ignored or fled, but as with anyone, invoking parents was akin to striking an Achilles’ heel.

“Have I wronged Your Lordship in some way? I have no reason to be slapped by a stranger and endure such human insults.”

“Wh-what?!”

“If you’re behaving this way solely because of my low status, you can’t be called a noble. I understand all nobles know noblesse oblige, but who would deem someone a noble who can’t even grasp the basics?”

As blatant rebuke poured from the indignant Laren, the atmosphere in the hall sank gravely. Some bowed their heads secretly, perhaps feeling a shred of conscience and deep shame.

Pygone, who should have felt utmost humiliation, trembled with rage throughout his body. Laren could see exactly what Pygone was thinking: fury at being insulted by a commoner or worthless being.

Laren looked up at the pathetic display and popped a piece of steak into his mouth. That was the moment. Pygone lifted the plate and tilted it over Laren’s head.

“Oh my!”

“Good heavens…”

With a patter and drip, food cascaded over his head. Laren’s gaze followed the food falling onto his shoulders, uniform, and then the floor.

“Insolent wretch—how dare you try to lecture me!”

Laren glanced at Pygone’s face, then at the fallen food again. And back up at the arrogant face. With the drip of a meat piece hitting the floor, he heard the snap of his rationality breaking.

‘Mother, it seems my runaway period won’t be very long. I’ll return soon.’

Laren, with his fiery temper, had endured well until now but finally exploded. Bolting up, he gathered Ignis Qualitas mana in his hand. Today’s goal: Pygone and the three stooges die, and I survive.