Since it was none other than Prince Leon’s interview, its length was considerable.
It was in a Q&A format.
It began with, “This is interviewer Selly” and continued with various questions and answers, but what stood out was that my name appeared quite frequently throughout.
Selly: “We know that many people contributed to Your Highness’s success. Among them, is there a particular reason you are specifically mentioning Lady Seyla?”
Leon: “Before this expedition, I was utterly exhausted. Many inside and outside the palace ridiculed my failures. Just when I was about to give up, she gave me courage.”
Selly: “In what way did Lady Seyla give you courage?”
Leon: (Prince Leon clasped my hand and gazed deeply into my eyes.) “How about this?”
That was when I realized just how masterful their marketing was. At the bottom of the article, a note read:
※ Black-tier subscribers can view this video ※ *
Fortunately (or unfortunately), I was a Black-tier subscriber.
Black-tier subscribers received a slightly thicker newsletter, inside which a small jewel was embedded.
It was a magic stone that stored the video.
By touching the jewel, the recorded video would play like a hologram.
Rumor had it that the number of Black-tier subscriptions had skyrocketed recently—and now I knew why.
“Wow. I reached out without even realizing it.”
In the video, Leon reached out his hand, and I instinctively extended mine toward the empty air.
I even went so far as to curl my fingers, as if to grasp his.
No one was watching, yet I quickly pulled my hand back and pretended I was just fixing my hair—
as if that had been my intention all along.
“Wow… this is practically criminal.”
Leon was looking straight at me.
Not in flat 2D, but in vivid 3D!
Just as the interviewer Selly had said, it was a deeply affectionate gaze.
Even though my personal favorite was Jerimiel, this was beyond preference or taste.
“Calm down, heart. This is just a video.”
Because it wasn’t real, it felt all the more beautiful.
If it were in person, I’d have to be cautious in many ways, but since it was harmless video footage…!
If I’d lacked dignity, I probably would’ve been drooling.
No wonder everyone claimed to have fallen in love.
Selly: (convinced.)
“This is something I really want to keep.”
Unfortunately, the <Geoyeogeu> video-recording stones had limited storage life.
At most a month, and duplication was nearly impossible.
Sure, you could try re-recording with another magic stone, but the vividness would degrade—
like how video quality declines when copied too many times on Earth.
“But wow, the interview content is way too dangerous.”
Throughout the interview, Leon kept mentioning me.
Leon: “…Have you ever received such beautiful comfort?”
Leon: “At the final moment when I was about to give up, she alone reached out to me…”
Leon: “Looking back now, I realize what I truly needed wasn’t material support, but emotional encouragement…”
Leon: “I dedicate this honor to Lady Seyla d’Vernon…”
All right, fine.
I could see he was genuinely grateful to me.
And yes, I had aimed for that outcome too.
But still…
“I can hear it—the sound of a million antis being born.”
To keep mentioning me in such a way, with that face and those eyes, while attaching a video like this…
He clearly hadn’t thought about how much trouble this would cause me.
Selly: “Traditionally, members of the royal family married before the age of twenty. Has Your Highness thought about marriage?”
Leon: “I have never thought seriously about marriage. However, if I were to marry, I would want a woman like Lady Seyla.”
I slammed the newsletter shut.
Had I no composure, my legs would’ve been trembling uncontrollably.
“…Ah.”
That night, I dreamed of a love-sick boy screaming, “Let go of the prince, you fox-like wench!” before hurling a vial full of poison at me.
Somarpi Academy.
Recently appointed as an adjunct professor, Demian attended the faculty meeting.
A muscular man with a gleaming bald head and a white sleeveless shirt stood at the front.
It was the academy’s headmaster, who declared:
“With a majority in favor, we approve Prince Leon’s transfer as a second-year student.”
He glanced around and added,
“I believe our esteemed professors would never do such a thing, but let me be clear: if anyone gives him special treatment just because he’s a prince, I’ll personally beat you up.”
Incidentally, the headmaster was a wizard.
Though people often added the qualifier (Physical) before that title.
Leon’s transfer was scheduled for two months later, coinciding with the incoming first-years.
Back in his office, Demian examined the newsletter.
※ Black-tier subscribers can view this video ※ *
He pressed his index finger against the jewel embedded in the page.
Crack!
The jewel shattered with a sharp sound.
“…A certain kind of special treatment might be necessary.”
He fully understood Leon’s feelings.
Back when he was drowning, certain it was the end—Seyla had reached out to him.
That memory was more valuable than any he’d ever had.
He could sympathize with most of Leon’s words. It was even endearing.
But there was one statement he could not forgive.
Leon: “I have never thought seriously about marriage. However, if I were to marry, I would want a woman like Lady Seyla.”
To mention someone’s name so specifically in connection with something as sensitive and private as marriage—without an engagement—was unacceptable.
Slouching in his chair, Demian curled his lips into a crooked smile.
“As her brother, I don’t recall giving permission.”
At Somarpi Academy, all students were equals.
Titles and power outside the school were meaningless.
“I’ll make sure to treat you properly, Prince-to-be-student Leon.”
The successful launch of Seylia Brand.
Prince Leon’s interview.
With these two events happening back-to-back, my name blazed across society.
Anonymous submissions in the newsletters increasingly mentioned me, and more girls started calling me “sister.”
Dozens of invitations poured in every day.
From something small, like a young noble’s birthday party, to something grand, like a trading company’s founding ceremony.
Under every pretext imaginable, they summoned me.
In <Geoyeogeu>, nobles invited people at the slightest excuse to share conversation and wine—that was their “social life.”
“The moment I step into society, the number of variables will spiral out of control.”
I had no intention of entering high society.
The <Geoyeogeu> social scene was a battlefield without blades.
Not merely exchanging words and wine, but cultivating political alliances and flaunting connections.
On the surface, everyone laughed and smiled, but every gesture was linked to politics—
a terrifying stage of intrigue.
There, nobles forged friends and allies, but just as easily made enemies.
A single careless word or gesture could earn someone’s hatred.
“For someone like me, already under constant threat of death, high society is fatal.”
Thankfully, I had a convenient excuse: my devotion to sword training.
But refusing invitations was a job in itself.
“Turning them all down is another full-time job.”
I was never tired when training with a sword, but after swinging a quill all day writing refusals, I was utterly drained.
By the time invitations piled up faster than I could reply, I finally gave up.
“Mary. Reject all invitations.”
“Regardless of the sender?”
“Yes.”
Answering selectively—some yes, some no—was the quickest way to make enemies.
If I wasn’t going to attend, then refusing everyone was the fairest option.
Through the newsletter, I publicly declared, “As my sword training must not be disrupted, I will politely decline all invitations.”
Even so, dozens of invitations still arrived daily.
“Well, it’s a little easier now…”
But my heart grew uneasy.
Anonymous submissions in the newsletter began criticizing me more.
[Every beautiful flower has thorns. Fools, beware of approaching carelessly.]
[To spurn so much goodwill requires remarkable cruelty. Or perhaps it is proof of her wickedness.]
[Is it dignity, arrogance, rejection, or conceit?]
They rarely mentioned my name directly, but the intent was clear.
My refusals were being interpreted as arrogance.
In short, the sentiment was: “Who do you think you are, acting so high and mighty?”
Only phrased more elegantly—
as if to pretend it wasn’t just cheap insults.
They were basically classier-looking hate comments.
Sigh.
If you paid attention to every little thing like this, you’d never survive in <Geoyeogeu>.
[Your invitation is a lowly one, another’s invitation is glorious. Will the beautiful flower also refuse an invitation of gold?]
“Gold” usually referred to the Imperial Palace.
They really could twist anything to fit their narrative.
I decided it was time to stop reading.
“I should just focus on my sword training.”
