Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

The arena remained utterly silent, the echoes of my story lingering in the air long after the last word was spoken. The scorched earth, the broken stones, the very air itself seemed to hold its breath, caught in the grip of a story that was too raw, too real for this world of magic and political games. Every pair of eyes—Layla's sharp violet gaze, now softened with a confusing pity; Noora's calculating crimson stare, now wide with a dawning, horrified understanding; Sasha's disbelieving ones, shimmering with unshed tears—were locked onto me. But what shocked them most wasn't my words.

It was the single, traitorous tear that glistened in my shadowed eyes before I could stop it.

"A-are... you fine?" Layla asked, her usual icy composure cracking for the first time, her voice a hesitant whisper that was completely out of character.

[System: What an actor. You just flipped their perception of you in a matter of seconds. And that story—how do you come up with this stuff at the perfect moment?]

I didn't respond immediately. I took a shuddering breath, a genuine, ragged intake of air that felt like dragging up memories buried deep beneath layers of ice and stone. When I finally spoke, my voice was raw, thick with an emotion that was both a performance and a painful truth.

"That wasn't just some story." I clenched my fists, the shadows at my feet writhing in agitation. "The burned woman... was my mother."

A collective gasp ripped through our small audience of spectators.

My next words were barely above a whisper, a broken prayer directed at a sky that could no longer hear me. "Mom... there's so much I still want to say to you."

Then, I turned my gaze to Eren, who still knelt broken in the dirt, his own tears forgotten in the face of my raw, exposed grief. "I hope you find your real love someday, Eren. Truly. I'll even pray for it." The words held no mockery, no trace of my usual arrogance—just something that felt dangerously close to sincerity.

Noora flinched when my gaze landed on her. "Stay by his side," I said quietly, my voice steady now. "Maybe you two can actually change the Whitehound legacy for the better."

Sasha's breath hitched as I faced her next. "Remember this—a promise made in my mother's name is one I never break. Enjoy your freedom." A ghost of my usual smirk appeared, a flicker of the mask returning. "And congratulations... you've got the pen to write your own fate now."

Finally, I glanced at Layla. "For you? Just... thanks for supervising, I guess."

The sheer whiplash of my demeanor—from vicious duelist to grieving son to... whatever this was—left everyone speechless, their minds struggling to reconcile the different versions of Ashen Crimson they had just witnessed.

Then, like a switch flipping, the performance ended. I stretched, my body aching, and checked the holographic display on my academy bracelet. "Shit, you guys wasted my time. Only ten minutes left for lunch." I rubbed the back of my neck, the vulnerability gone as if it had never existed, replaced by a familiar, bored indifference. "If I'm late, Headmaster Evelyn will fry me ten times over in our next elective."

I scooped up my discarded cloak from the ground, shaking off the dust with a casual air. "Guess I'm eating in class. Later."

With that, I strolled out of the arena, leaving behind:

A prince questioning his entire existence. This соntеnt is prеsеntеd by М4VLЕМРYR.

A knight's daughter clutching her "pen of fate" with trembling, hopeful hands.

And a student council president reevaluating every single assumption she'd ever made about me.

[System: That was insanely manipulative. Even for you.]

"Wasn't manipulation," I thought, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. "Just truth with good timing."

At 5 PM, after "studying" (read: sleeping) through all my afternoon classes, I finally left the academy building. The usual elven troublemakers who had taken to blocking the entrance in a pathetic display of intimidation quickly scrambled out of my way this time—apparently, a severed tongue taught faster and more permanent lessons than words.

Just as I stepped onto the cobblestone path that led toward the dormitories, two familiar figures emerged from the shadows of a nearby archway.

"Hi, Prez. Vice Prez," I greeted dryly, shoving my hands into my pockets. "To what honor do I owe this royal summons?"

Layla crossed her arms, her violet eyes unreadable, her expression a mask of cool authority. "We need to talk. And before you refuse—it's for your own benefit."

"My, my," I mused, tilting my head. "People who care about me? How novel. Do enlighten me."

"Not here," Layla said, gesturing toward a nearby café, a quaint, quiet establishment favored by the faculty. "Follow us."

"Fine. Lead the way."

Layla strode ahead, her silver braid swaying with each purposeful step. Lucielle, however, stayed glued to my side like a particularly persistent shadow, her presence a silent, heavy weight.

After a few minutes of tense, uncomfortable silence, she finally spoke.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Her voice was low, strained, a fragile thread of sound in the quiet evening air. "You don't reply to my messages. Mom is worried sick. She told me to protect you—you've pissed off every royal and noble family in the academy!"

I kept walking, my eyes fixed on the path ahead, my face a mask of indifference.

Lucielle grabbed my sleeve, her grip surprisingly strong. "You only come back to your dorm at night, and you've even banned me from entering. That damn maid of yours follows your orders like a soldier. I just—"

"Protect me?" I interrupted, a cold, bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Hilarious. Like you protected me back when the entire noble circle bullied me? When Father turned a blind eye? When I was called 'weak' and 'a disgrace' in every competition, beaten, humiliated?" My voice dropped to a venomous whisper, each word a carefully aimed dart. "Where were you then, sister?"

Lucielle flinched as if struck. "I—I didn't do anything to you!"

"Exactly," my smile was razor-thin, a cruel, unforgiving line. "That's why I changed. Because no one did anything. Not you. Not Mother. Not a single soul." I leaned in, my voice a low growl. "I was a fool who believed that family meant something. Until I learned the truth—blood is just another chain."

The air between us turned glacial.

Layla, who had been silently observing our exchange, cleared her throat. "We're here," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. She pointed to the café's ornate door. "Save the family drama for later."

The café was empty save for a single table in the back, where three steaming cups of tea awaited, their fragrant steam curling in the dim light. Layla took her seat with a regal poise, while Lucielle slumped into hers, her usual fiery demeanor dampened, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

I remained standing. "So? What's so important that the Student Council's top brass needs to ambush me?"

Layla gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit first. Then we talk."

I narrowed my eyes but complied, dropping into the chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, Madame President. Enlighten me."

Lucielle opened her mouth to speak, but Layla raised a single, elegant hand, stopping her.

"This isn't about the fight today," she began, her voice calm, measured. "Not entirely. It's about what's coming next."

I tilted my head. "Next?"

"There have been murmurs in the capital. The royal court is watching you. The Council of Nobles is growing restless. And after today... after you showed everyone a different, more... complicated side of yourself..." She leaned forward, her violet eyes sharp and intense. "They're either going to want to use you, or destroy you. There is no in-between for someone like you."

My eyes gleamed with a cold, dangerous light. "Let them try."

"That's exactly the problem," Layla said, her voice turning sharp. "You're strong—but you're reckless. You play games with noble houses and prod into secrets you shouldn't. Even Headmistress Evelyn is beginning to lose patience with your theatrics."

I frowned. "So what? You're here to offer me protection? To be my noble saviors?"

"No," Layla said, her expression unreadable. "We're offering an alliance."

Lucielle looked up then, a flicker of desperate hope in her golden eyes. "We want you to join us. Not just as a member, but as part of the Council's inner ring. We want you to take the vacant Vice-Warden seat."

I blinked, genuinely surprised. "You're serious?"

"As death," Layla confirmed.

The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle clinking of a spoon against porcelain as Layla stirred her tea. I leaned back in my chair, the shadows in the corner of the room seeming to deepen, to curl around my ankles like loyal pets.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, my voice a low, noncommittal murmur.

Layla nodded, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Good. Just don't take too long. Because the ones coming for you?" She took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea. "They won't wait."