How to Survive as a Supporting Male Lead - Chapter 3.1
Kallian, as if expecting this, calmly responded and called for his aide. While Kallian and his aide exchanged words, Derrick, who had been hiding awkwardly behind Iann, whispered to him.
“The Duke became a Sword Master this time. Archmage Iann, are you really going to fight? You might actually lose now.”
“…A man must stand by his word once it’s spoken.”
“No, I’m serious. I heard it’s so bad that just a light touch can knock someone out. And since the difference in skill between you two isn’t that big, you won’t even pass out. You’ll just get beaten senseless.”
The hand that had been rolling up Iann’s sleeve paused. Iann took two steps back, subtly distancing himself from Kallian.
“Derrick, if I die, you die too. You know that, right? Remember, we made that promise under the peach tree.”
“It wasn’t a peach tree, just a peach.”
“Whatever. Pretend to stop me, then I’ll act like I couldn’t win and bow out. We can run away together. What do you think? Brilliant plan, right?”
Iann’s selective rage was instantly toned down. He hated pain, especially if it was at Kallian’s hands. His desperate, earnest gaze made Derrick’s green eyes fill with concern. No matter how much he thought about it, Derrick realized he’d made a mistake befriending, no, serving this man.
Taking Derrick’s worried expression as a sign of approval, Iann began to throw an exaggerated tantrum.
“Derrick! Let me go! I’m going to take care of that Kallian bastard once and for all!”
“Oh, Archmage, please! You can’t do this here! You’ll disgrace Count Lumoa, who graciously hosted this party!”
Derrick’s acting, though it started a beat late, reached its peak towards the end. The onlookers, fooled by the performance, looked at Derrick with pity.
But Kallian, with his 18 years of experience dealing with Iann’s antics, wasn’t fooled.
He simply raised one corner of his mouth, watching Iann thrash around like a fish caught on a hook.
And then, he dropped a single word.
“Scared?”
“Hey! Let me go for real, Derrick!”
At that magic word, Iann’s eyes flipped. Derrick obediently let go. Fine, let him mess up his own fate.
“Come at me, bastard!”
Iann stormed off to the left with angry strides. Kallian snickered again.
“It’s to the right.”
Iann subtly adjusted his direction, his expression stiffening as he remembered where he was heading: to get beaten. Derrick, following behind, glanced at the time.
It was seven in the evening. It was time to get off work. With no regrets, Derrick turned and walked away. It had been a while since he’d had an early night off.
* * *
As the troublemakers disappeared, the party hall fell silent in an instant. The silence was filled by the jingling sounds of jewels and money exchanging hands. The bets, made in the spirit of fun, had been lost, and only Count Lumoa, the host, looked dejected.
The scrawny Count Lumoa, now completely drained, muttered one final word.
“I… I knew this would happen….”
The sound of something exploding came from the dueling grounds.
“I didn’t even drink coffee for a whole month!”
* * *
Chapter 2. If I Can’t, Neither Can You.
The result of Iann and Kallian’s duel was a draw. It was a highly unusual occurrence.
Up until now, they had dueled roughly 2,400 times. Of those, Iann had won 2,258. This was the natural outcome, after all, no matter how talented Kallian was with a sword, Iann was a genius mage, the supporting male lead with memories from a past life.
Plus, Iann always had a strong desire to mess with Kallian. In other words, he trained tirelessly, like a student preparing for college entrance exams. He even occasionally stole the male lead’s items that were meant for Kallian.
For Kallian to beat someone like Iann was objectively impossible.
For now, at least.
‘This is bad.’
Iann recalled their last duel. Somehow, it had ended in a draw.
After reviewing the fight in his mind, he came to a conclusion: if they fought about 70 more times, Kallian would start winning. By then, he would undoubtedly awaken as a Sword Master too.
‘Of course the protagonist is the protagonist. But if I, the supporting male lead, start losing…’
Iann ruffled his silver hair. This was a bad omen.
It was a clear sign that the supporting male lead was starting to lose to the true male lead. And this omen pointed to something else as well.
‘Is the original plot starting already? Time’s flying. When’s the female lead supposed to appear again?’
