Emperor's Alternate - Chapter 13
“More disappointing than I expected.”
“…?”
“I never knew someone could have such a look in their eyes, yearning for death.”
His initial words were shockingly impolite. For a moment, I almost wondered if he found out my true identity. Such words were no way to address the Sixth Prince.
No matter how lofty Lecan’s current status might be, surely he wouldn’t have forgotten even the most basic etiquette toward royalty.
‘I cannot flaunt my status during the academy’s entrance exam.’
I tried to remain calm, recalling the established rules for fair procedures. Even as I faltered in surprise, Lecan sat casually, impassively observing me. It looked as if had no intention of retracting the words he just spat out.
If I hadn’t known Lecan as a child, he would have just made the worst first impression on me. But because I remembered him as a man who said, “Look forward to ten years,” I felt my heart sink.
I wasn’t the only one taken aback. Even the attendants alternated staring at Lecan and me with widened eyes.
I opened my mouth to speak. “If that’s how you saw it, then you saw it wrong. I am someone who wants to live more than anyone.”
Fortunately, the magical device was working well—I had a voice that clearly sounded like that of a teenage boy. However, Lecan, seemingly unimpressed, narrowed his eyes.
“What I am praised for most is my insight. I’m known for being able to read people, no matter how many masks they wear.”
“…People sometimes grovel before power.”
It was a question asking whether he genuinely believed in flattery. Rather than following the etiquette of social circles, I confronted him directly, and Lecan’s expression slackened slightly in response.
“I’ve thoroughly reviewed the answer sheet you submitted. Your proficiency in magic is truly remarkable. It’s surprising how your talent hasn’t been widely known until now.”
His recognition was straightforward and neat. However, his intense gaze seemed to question, ‘Why reveal such talent only now, especially at this time?’ It was reminiscent of the question the Emperor’s mistress posed to me yesterday.
“…”
“Did you really write this yourself?”
‘It’s a leading question.’
If I was discovered as a proxy test-taker, this wouldn’t end with just my execution. Not only would the Sixth Prince’s qualification be immediately revoked, but it would also result in a serious blow in his ascension to the throne.
‘Did I show too much skill in my answer?’
Driven by the necessity to stand out, I didn’t moderate my answers. I wanted talented people to see the Sixth Prince as someone who had the wisdom to wait for the right time and humble himself.
In the final exam, this interview, the final pass or fail decision was typically based on the combined scores from the 1st practical test and the 2nd written exam. Unless there were significant discrepancies in conduct or evaluation criteria during the interview, it was rare for a candidate who had a passing score to get rejected.
Upon arriving at the examination hall and hearing that the exam format was an ‘interview,’ I found a sense of relief. It wasn’t uncommon during interviews to ask specific questions about previously submitted essays or answers. However, questioning, ‘Did you really write this yourself?’ was exceedingly unusual
“…Of course, I wrote it myself.”
“Hmm…”
Lecan covered the documents and tilted his head slightly to the left.
At that moment, I felt a complete shift in the atmosphere. Throughout the interview, the person who should have been assessing me, jotting down notes, had completely stopped writing and was now staring at me without a pen in hand.
But I didn’t let it go unnoticed.
“If you were to select someone as your lord, what would be the first thing you would look for in them? Of course, this question assumes a situation where there is currently no lord.” Lecan’s question was direct and unhesitating.
As the Sixth Prince, I had to present myself as an obedient vassal of the Crown Prince. It was the appropriate stance to take externally, especially considering the present circumstances, even if the Persi Academy aspired for political independence.
“…I don’t concern myself with the reputation of others. No individual can impress everyone, so what I look for in a lord is someone who is kind to me and my people, someone who administers justice but refrains from excessive severity.”
“If the lord you serve is known for their cruelty, how would you adapt?”
“…As their loyal subject, betrayal is unthinkable, and I would blame myself for failing to lead my lord towards a more righteous path.”
Seemingly intrigued, he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.
“Even if it means being burned at the stake?”
“…”
The format of the interview was so casual that I wondered if this was an appropriate question to ask at the entrance exam of such a prestigious academy. It seemed closer to someone trying to engage in a personal conversation.
‘No, more precisely…’
The questioning seemed as if testing me for recruitment into a ruling position. It’s as if Lecan came here to meet me specifically.
‘I’m being too self-conscious.’
I answered, “I pledged my loyalty without recognizing their inhuman capacity for cruelty, so perhaps I am to blame for my lack of discernment.”
As if unable to contain himself any longer, Lecan burst into a hollow laugh. It was an unorthodox question, given the times, but there was no one here to stop him.
