“Even if it’s His Majesty’s decision, I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s supposed to be a mage group prioritizing safety—don’t you think this is too much?”

At the words of the person across from him, a young Old Human laughed quietly. Wearing glasses and a suit, he exuded the aura of an educated upper-class scholar. He called the waiter to order food and said.

“Exactly. I had the same thought.”

“Right? Nobody wouldn’t feel that way right now.”

“Yes, but…”

The pub, open for only a short while, grew crowded as evening hit. The sudden surge in noise made them turn toward the entrance.

A group of Old Humans entered, laughing loudly and chatting.

“Saw the footage—he did well.”

“Nah, brains? Any sharp kid fresh out of a gymnasium could do it. There’s so much talent—why pick a Pleroma?”

“He’s not Pleroma, is he? Kinda shady, but if he really wasn’t, His Majesty wouldn’t have chosen him.”

“Could be they cooked up a story with the hospital. Far as I’m concerned, he volunteered to suck blood.”

How exactly someone would drink runaway human blood, or whether the Imperial Court would just stand by, wasn’t something they considered. They didn’t need truth—just a sensational story to blow off steam.

“Haha, you’re pissed. Gonna throw eggs at the inauguration?”

“Middle school kids are already planning. They’re like, ‘Let him step out of the Imperial Court after the ceremony…’”

“Kids are wild.”

The Old Humans sat, cackling.

The evening paper was out, but since it was just released, everyone was still steeped in the morning’s articles.

The hostility sparked by the media manifested like this.

The young man, interrupted mid-sentence, muttered as he watched them.

“They’re on the same topic.”

The capital was abuzz with mage-world talk today.

Especially the fact that a Pleroma student took first place, stirring the mundane lives of countless Old Humans.

Listening closely, every table in the pub—ten out of ten—was discussing it. His companion shrugged with a smile.

“Probably the whole country’s talking about it today. His Majesty letting a Pleroma into the Imperial Court?”

The bespectacled Old Human nodded vaguely, then tossed out a new angle.

“But doesn’t it seem odd?”

“What?”

“It’s bound to cause misunderstanding, so why let Lucas Askanian into the Imperial Court?”

“…….”

His companion tilted his head slightly.

“The real question is why they put him in, knowing it’d spark this talk.”

“Exactly, that’s the curious part. The Imperial Court didn’t think it through, did they?”

“The Imperial Court, thoughtless? That’s almost an insult to them.”

The mood-shifting comment briefly silenced nearby tables. The two Old Humans glanced around, startled, as the pub slowly regained its chatter.

But even as they resumed talking, the pub’s attention subtly lingered on the two young intellectuals.

“From the Imperial Court’s perspective, maybe they *had* to include Askanian? I think there’s something we don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Last year, that student changed completely, like he was reborn. Doesn’t that seem suspicious? It’s hard to see him as the same person. And now the Imperial Court… Maybe there was a deal between His Majesty and Anhalt.”

“What kind?”

The young man lowered his voice, as if it was too sensitive to say aloud. His companion shook his head, stunned.

“No way. Haha, even if that’s true, why give him first place? That’s a key you don’t reveal lightly.”

“That’s the point. Maybe the higher-ups wanted this reaction? We’ll criticize him anyway, so no issue. Separately, it’s time to use him, so they acknowledge his ability. Keeping him hidden means you can’t utilize him.”

Even without knowing the exact details, the pub’s focus was glued to them.

“If not for this, how could a Pleroma enter the Imperial Court? There’s definitely something only the nobles know. We all know they don’t share info with us.”

The man, deep in thought, lowered his voice.

“…That thing you mentioned—it’s not just your theory, is it? Where’d you hear it?”

“…….”

The young man scanned the room and gestured. His companion leaned in.

Though their whispers were inaudible, the pub’s noise gradually quieted. Except for those too far to care, people near them exchanged meaningless chatter while sneaking glances.

“…Huh?”

The listener’s face changed completely.

He shook his head slightly, as if he’d heard something unbelievable, then cleared his throat, exchanging looks with the young man like nothing happened.

“…….”

Seeing the odd reaction, the Old Humans secretly watching them exchanged glances.

They couldn’t make out the words, but they knew the two were sharing undisclosed information.

One Old Human signaled his tablemates, reaching the same conclusion, and called out.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Tell us more. What’s that about?”

At the same time, a similar scene unfolded far from that pub.

In a rundown diner in a slum, loud shouting rang out.

“They’re insane! The Imperial Second Academy professors have lost their minds.”

“Hahaha, they’re not even 100? You’re 60 and not a mage—*you’re* the one who should be senile.”

A man laughed, stabbing his meat. The clink of his fork was drowned by the shouting.

“If they’re not 100, they should act sane. Who’s protecting who? Letting a Pleroma roam Berlin? If they’re not senile, they’ve got holes in their heads.”

“Hm, I think he’s worth watching, but this guy keeps…”

“No! You haven’t heard. Word is the Imperial Court lured him in to catch proof he’s Pleroma.”

“What?”

A middle-aged man at the back table turned. He stood out, dressed in an expensive suit.

The Old Humans, deep in Askanian talk, already tipsy from drinks, shouted louder.

“It’s to lower his guard! Catch proof he’s Pleroma, then kill him. Why else would the Imperial Court take in a Pleroma? Right?”

“Whoa… If that’s true, His Majesty’s got deep plans.”

“That Askanian’s slippery. The Magic Ministry’s deputy’s been covering for him, so they haven’t caught anything. That guy’s not right either. If he wants to climb, kill his brother. Why keep him alive? Now he’s grown, untouchable. Forced the Imperial Court’s hand!”

“…But where’d you hear that?”

“Yeah, where? Is it legit?”

Emboldened by the intrigued reactions, the Old Human raised his voice.

“It’s legit. Wanna bet? I say that kid’s causing Pleroma trouble within a month…”

“Different from what I heard.”

The Old Humans turned at the sudden voice.

A middle-aged man, unfamiliar in the area, with an odd New Human vibe—Old Human but wearing a wand like a New Human—sat there.

The Old Humans frowned slightly.

The man at the back table laughed, shaking his head.

“His Majesty didn’t know this talk would spread? If you were the Emperor, what would you do?”

“What’s that? Butt out…”

“I said it’s different from what I heard. You don’t think there’s a reason they took him in, despite the backlash? This is His Majesty’s choice. You don’t think he’d put a Pleroma in that position, do you?”

“…….”

What I heard?

The Old Humans’ faces soured.

“His Majesty’s determined to eliminate Pleroma. Never thought, ‘The higher-ups know something we don’t,’ huh?”

“Then what do *you* know…”

“You said let’s bet. Hey!”

At that, the owner emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands, holding a thick ledger.

Already a gambling hub, he was used to this.

Without specific requests, he asked smoothly.

“Yes. The subject?”

“Simple binary. Will Lucas Askanian cause trouble within a month or not?”

“Haha… There’s already a similar bet. Want to join that?”

“Pot size?”

“Ten players, 100,000. All betting Pleroma, so we need the other side. Join if you’re in.”

“Ten players, 100,000? Move it to my table.”

“Pardon?”

At the owner’s question, the man pulled bills from his wallet.

“700,000. I bet he’s not Pleroma. Enough to lure the slippery ones?”

The pub fell silent as an amount enough to cover rent for over a year was wagered.

A single pel was illegal, so 1,000 or 10,000 made no difference—you’d get caught. Thus, the pub didn’t cap bets.

Given the area’s low income, such a sum was rare from the start.

The owner, eyes wide, let out a hollow laugh and approached.

“You new here? 100,000 is a high bet around here. Losing half a year’s pay—what about your family? Though maybe that’s not half a year for you…”

“Take it!”

“Don’t stop him!”

People across the pub pulled out wallets, shouting.

As the owner turned, the middle-aged man snapped his fingers to refocus him.

“So, the kid’ll cause trouble in a month? I’m confident. With guys like you, I’ll be rich soon.”

“I’m just saying you might not enjoy the outcome.”

“No good.”

The man gestured for the owner to lean in.

After whispering, the man pulled back.

Unlike before, the owner’s expression flipped. Despite trying to show disbelief, he couldn’t hide his half-convinced doubt.

“…….”

“Now you can round up some bettors.”

“…Haha…”

“You know which side to take. With so many thinking he’ll mess up, how could I lose?”

The man looked past the owner at the customers.

Those ready to bet began exchanging glances.

He’d said he “heard something.” His commanding presence, casually tossing half a year’s pay.

That was fine, but the owner’s reaction was off.

Lucas Askanian’s Pleroma, and now in the Imperial Court, he’ll show his true colors—obviously the right bet. Yet this man insists on the opposite.

Even the owner’s face says so.

People’s expressions hardened.

A hesitant atmosphere spread.

***

At 7 p.m.

After dinner at the Imperial Court, as Team 1 headed to Elias’s room to rest, a servant approached.

“A letter from the school.”

Elias tore open the Imperial Second Academy envelope and checked the contents.

His lips curled up.

“…Does this professor only do food tours? He’s not a magic swordsmanship prof—he’s a Berlin PhD.”

I took the paper Elias handed me.

A Berlin map marked with colored X’s in ink.

Roughly twenty spots.

I let out a light laugh.

‘He found them well.’

He worked hard collecting this in four hours from 2 p.m.

Earlier, I’d told Traut to identify places in Berlin where different social classes gather, disperse, and produce gossip and rumors.

Bourgeois, workers, above-average, and the poor—each requires a different approach.

Traut’s lived in Berlin long, with most of his network here.

I could’ve asked students to find similar spots, but…

‘Why would I?’

Delegate when you can.

It prevents burnout.

Plus, a simple request wouldn’t yield results this fast.

Blackmail made it possible.

He’s desperate to keep the story of “interfering with Askanian’s second son by binding Beck’s arteries” from reaching the family.

Standing and heading to the hallway, Elias slung an arm around my shoulders.

“Making a professor draw a Berlin foodie map— you’re something else, Lucas.”

“Not a foodie map.”

“So~ What’s next? Spread rumors?”

I nodded.

As Elias said before, information is the core of battle.

Making lies seem true and truth seem false—that’s the path to victory.

People consume my criticism for sensational stories?

Then a different sensational story changes the game.

If both are lies, better to spread one that benefits me.

“Elias. Can you warp me to the mansion now?”

“Huh? Of course~”

Elias, about to head to his room, stopped, gripped my shoulder tightly, and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the scene shifted to the mansion’s entrance.

Warping freely in the Imperial Court isn’t ideal, but as students with school-verified identities, we’re permitted.

‘No reason to deny us when we’re stuck in the annex.’

With that thought, I entered and climbed the stairs.

Elias whispered.

“I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

He would. It’s Elias.

The biggest issue with my plan is that using Traut’s network to spread rumors among Old Humans could backfire.

The connections Traut used to suppress my articles are my brother’s loyal vassals.

I considered asking our class professor, but ironically, as a Berlin native, his network isn’t as strong as Traut’s. He’s also uninvolved in politics.

Traut, an Anhalt native in Berlin and an Adrian Askanian supporter, has deeper ties with like-minded people.

Naturally, overusing that network…

‘Gives my brother’s supporters ammo to say I manipulated public opinion unfairly.’

Burning the house to catch a flea. Even for 30 points, I can’t make such an obvious blunder.

Then why not use Divine Power to erase memories?

Good idea. I already mixed in subtle mind-control magic when ordering Traut to make the “foodie map.”

But using Divine Power on just Traut is one thing—tracking down his network and their intel agents to do the same is impossible.

I have a more efficient method, don’t I?

I elaborated to Elias, who kept nodding vigorously.

“You’re probably right. I’m here to ask a favor of an Old Human I know.”

“Oh~ As expected.”

I came to send a letter to Marianne Baum.

That’s why I had Traut make the map. The person I’m asking is ideal for this but lacks some intel.

‘It’s a tough ask for her.’

In the novel and here, someone who’s always operated in Bavaria—how would she know Berlin’s layout?

Asking her to mobilize Berlin’s Catacombs Old Humans would be an overstep, like demanding Traut block articles.

So, I need to be polite. Prepare what I can and persuade her.

“You’ve arrived.”

Crossing the navy-blue hallway to my room, another servant greeted me.

I smiled, returned the greeting, and entered.

“Hm?”

A new sight in this mansion.

A letter sat on the desk.

Flipping it casually, I saw unfamiliar text.

[To D.G.]

“This…”

Misdirected.

As I pushed it aside, Elias shook his head.

“Nope, it’s yours. You’re one step behind, Lucas.”

“…….”

One step behind?

At Elias’s words, I opened the envelope.

“…!”

Seeing the name, I let out a small laugh.

A letter for me, addressed to Dietrich Granach.

“…Yeah, Eli, you’re right. One step behind.”

I replied, fixing my eyes on the letter.

He’d executed my plan perfectly.

Without me asking, he gathered Prussia’s Catacombs Old Humans and deployed them to known gathering spots. Not individually—by teams.

[…It’s been over two weeks since I told you to visit the Catacombs. How haven’t you shown your face? Come in February.]

A playful note ended the letter.

When Marianne Baum first invited me to the Catacombs, I worried they’d shun me.

He’s essentially saying again that they don’t.

Makes sense. Reading his plan for me confirms it.

The Prussia Catacombs people deployed now wouldn’t do this for me unless it was their choice.

‘…Who knew that would come back like this.’

Even seeing it, I could hardly believe what I was looking at.

Every day here feels like my first. I’m so used to grabbing everything myself that I never considered someone would act for me without coercion.

“His timing’s unreal. Insight user or what?”

“It’s past time for my image to hit rock bottom.”

The system’s +10,000 proposal was perfectly timed. Now’s ideal for flipping my image.

Whatever the Imperial Court’s scheme, since Friday, I’m an officially safe mage.

So, I should milk that benefit, right? Marianne Baum likely thinks now’s the time too.

‘Still, I’d like to hear how he knew to help.’

But not now.

If things are moving this fast, I need to act quickly too.

The info from Traut pinpoints where political and media elites plant their sources.

Berlin’s Catacombs people know the city’s layout but are mostly smallfolk.

Using political intel to find the intersection of these events should streamline things.

I slipped Traut’s map into a warp-mail envelope and wrote a brief thank-you letter.

***

A decent weekend passed.

I wondered when I’d have such calm days again.

It wasn’t enough time to build team unity or affection, so it felt like normal school days, which made it oddly relaxing.

‘Not relaxed now, though.’

An hour before the inauguration.

The Imperial stylist had been fussing with my hair for an hour.

While he stepped away, I whispered to my friends.

“You guys live like this all the time?”

I’m suddenly missing my original body…

Here, I just wash my face and bolt to class, so this feels like a hassle.

Tsheringen laughed.

“You’re about to take the stage, Lucas—think of it as prep.”

Damn royals…

I don’t know much about noble life, but ruling-family types—royals—are obsessed with appearances. Waxing their hair to stone and dripping in jewels—it’s different.

‘Well… a royal can’t show up to a formal event looking like they’re hitting the neighborhood.’

Appearing with a status-appropriate impression boosts favorability, so it’s worth doing. Someone else is handling it—why refuse the advantage?

Then I realized something was off.

‘No…’

*Thud—!*

I naturally said “favorability” when no one else can see the window.

I banged my head on the wall to snap out of it, and Elias asked, alarmed.

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Just… something.”

To shift gears, I opened the proposal window. It’s what caused this mess, but I had no other option.

Finish it fast and move on.

Proposal 2: Gain +10,000 Favorability within the deadline (552/10,000) (111 hours, 59 minutes, 52 seconds)

0.0552% complete.

‘Impressive for natural growth.’

It’s on an upswing.

10,000 seems daunting, making it look small. These points likely came from people at school and the Imperial Court, but compared to past missions, it’s risen fast.

Here’s why.

Lucas Rene Askanian

Title: Sir Nicolaus

Health: +4.0 [+7.0]

Mental Strength: +4.3

Magic Power: ?

Skills: +5.1 [+8.1]

Impression: -4.1 (+1.7) [+3] [+8.126]

Luck: +5.0

Traits: Dawn777, Divine Power, Charm (Lv.5), Retry (Lv.3)

The Impression, up 1.2 in two weeks, jumped 1.7 in 48 hours.

The media tying me to positive keywords—like mage potential—helped.

And the Catacombs’ work definitely played a part.

I opened today’s Dasrothe paper.

[The Imperial Court’s Plan?]

— Secret Imperial-Anhalt collaboration… Student A, identified with Pleroma traits, actually the Imperial Court’s bold anti-Pleroma strategy?

‘“A” my ass.’

It’s obviously me.

Thanks to Dasrothe tanking my Impression before, I know how much this tabloid sways the masses.

Definitely a win.

‘…If one doesn’t believe in Pleroma’s ideology, even with Pleroma traits, they can stand with our citizens. Some speculate the Imperial Court accepted Student A’s exam results to study ways to counter Pleroma, integrating them into the Imperial Mage Union.’

These bastards just printed capital gossip verbatim. Typical for them, and since it’s what the Catacombs wanted, I’m grateful.

Reading casually, Elias’s stiff voice made me look up.

“Took them long enough to bring the clothes. Giving us outfits 30 minutes before—what’s that about?”

Servants brought in our formal attire, then backed away at Elias’s expression.

I closed the book, eyeing the now-chilly waiting room.

“Ahem… Guys. Anyone wanna explain why the vibe’s so bad?”

Ulrike asked, glancing at the team.

As usual, Heike and Ulrike, the Prussian Junker, seemed oblivious, but Elias, Leo, and Yulia looked slightly uneasy.

‘They’ve got reason to.’

All-black long coats, red ties.

Shirts are usually white, but these three colors carry clear political weight.

Black-white-red, the colors of the German Second Empire’s flag.

The opposite vibe of our white-and-blue school uniforms.

“Look at this outfit.”

Elias clicked his tongue, smirking coldly.

Leo answered calmly.

“Better than Prussian Blue.”

The Imperial Court probably wanted that. Prussian Blue, used for Prussia’s military uniforms, was once worn by many Imperial mage teams.

But with three non-Prussian ruling-family students, they opted for the Imperial federal flag’s colors.

Giving us uniforms evoking Prussia’s “military” instead of the Empire’s was too transparent, so they stepped back.

Since this transfer post-selection wasn’t negotiated, blatantly making us Prussian vassals could spark protests from Baden and Bavaria.

In this nominally democratic nation, loyalty to the Empire is loyalty to the Emperor. The black-white-red of the federal flag is also Prussia’s, and the Hohenzollern royal flag.

It’s just covering one’s eyes, so Elias’s reaction is natural.

They gave us these at the last minute because…

Why else? They won’t hear our protests. Even minor issues could spark diplomatic problems, but their stubbornness is something else.

Elias doesn’t seem inclined to rebel here. He glanced at us, sighed deeply, and gestured.

The servants approached him.

After that, I sank into thought as the inauguration neared.

I prepared all weekend for today—it’s gotta pay off.

If I don’t wrap this proposal up at the inauguration, the 30 points are gone.

‘People within my perceivable range.’

That was the last favorability criteria.

What’s my perceivable range? People in my daily life, whom I can see and interact with.

That’s what I’ve learned empirically.

‘Then the 552 points aren’t all of it. So…’

The protocol staff entered the waiting room.

The noisy friends quieted as it was time to move.

We walked through a sunlit corridor. A massive dark brown door loomed ahead.

The drumbeat from the band, audible all along, grew louder.

The door began to open.

Countless people in the palace and guards lined up on both sides came into view, faintly in the distance.

‘The points I haven’t earned yet—I can get them now.’

“…Waaaaah—!”

*Ding—!*

Favorability 1,000 achieved (1,000/10,000)

From that window, countless others overlapped. The notification sounds drowned out the crowd’s cheers.

The achievement windows updated so fast I couldn’t read them, and in my panic, the final notification rang.

*Ding—!*

Favorability 10,000 achieved (10,000/10,000)

Congratulations!

‘Proposal 2: Gain +10,000 Favorability within the deadline (10,000/10,000)’ succeeded!

‘Route 1 — 〈 Proposal 3 〉’ confirmed.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep