The carriage ride to the Roswaal mansion took three days.
Three days of jostling wheels, endless forests, and the quiet, watchful presence of Emilia and her floating cat spirit.
Ayanokoji spent every moment in observation.
He studied the terrain, memorized landmarks, and cataloged the behavior of the small escort of soldiers that accompanied them.
But most importantly, he studied Emilia.
She was not what he had expected from a royal candidate.
She was kind, almost painfully so.
She asked after the soldiers’ families, shared her food with Puck, and spent long stretches of time staring out the window with a melancholic expression.
She carried a weight, a sadness that clung to her like a shadow.
It was a vulnerability, but also a source of strength.
People would follow her not out of fear, but out of genuine devotion.
Useful, Ayanokoji thought.
But dangerous.
Emotion-driven loyalty is powerful, but it can be manipulated.
And her enemies will target that kindness.
Puck, the spirit, was a different matter entirely.
The small cat was playful, mischievous, and seemed to genuinely adore Emilia.
But Ayanokoji sensed the terrifying power coiled within that tiny form.
Puck was not just a companion; he was a guardian.
A being of immense magical potential, likely capable of leveling cities if provoked.
He was the primary reason no one had simply assassinated Emilia.
Ayanokoji filed this away as critical intelligence.
“You’re very quiet,” Emilia observed on the second day.
“You haven’t asked me anything about the Selection, or the other candidates, or what I plan to do.”
“I prefer to gather information passively before asking direct questions,” Ayanokoji replied.
“People reveal more when they speak freely than when they are interrogated.
Besides, I assume you will tell me what is necessary when we arrive.”
Emilia tilted her head.
“You’re very…
patient.
Most people would be burning with curiosity.”
“Curiosity is an emotion.
Patience is a strategy.”
She smiled at that, a soft, genuine expression.
“You talk like a very old man sometimes, Ayanokoji.”
“I’ve been told I’m mature for my age,” he said, his tone perfectly flat.
Puck, floating lazily near the ceiling of the carriage, let out a chuckle.
“Lia, I think you found yourself a real weirdo.
I mean that as a compliment, of course.”
When they finally arrived at the Roswaal mansion, Ayanokoji’s first impression was one of calculated opulence.
The estate was vast, surrounded by manicured gardens and a deep forest that seemed to press in on all sides.
The mansion itself was a sprawling structure of stone and timber, with high towers and wide windows that reflected the dying light of the sun.
It was a fortress disguised as a home.
A line of servants awaited them at the entrance.
Two maids stood at the front, their postures perfect, their expressions carefully neutral.
One had pink hair and a stern face.
The other had blue hair and a distant, almost vacant look in her eyes.
Behind them stood an elderly butler with a kind face and a much younger man with sharp features and a butler’s uniform.
But it was the figure at the center of the line that drew Ayanokoji’s full attention.
He was tall, impossibly so, with long purple hair and a face painted in white and blue makeup.
His eyes were mismatched—one yellow, one blue—and they gleamed with a predatory intelligence that set Ayanokoji’s instincts on high alert.
He wore extravagant robes of deep purple and black, and his presence filled the entire courtyard like a physical force.
This was Roswaal L.
Mathers.
The Margrave.
The sponsor.
The most dangerous person Ayanokoji had met so far.
“Weeeellcome, Emilia-sama!” Roswaal’s voice was a sing-song drawl, stretching the words like taffy.
“And you must be the fascinating young man I’ve heard soooo much about.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji, was it?”
“Correct,” Ayanokoji said, bowing slightly.
It was a gesture of respect, not submission.
He kept his eyes on Roswaal the entire time.
Roswaal’s mismatched eyes sparkled with amusement.
“My, my.
Such a cold aura.
You’re not what I expected at all.
I do so love being surprised.”
He already knows about me, Ayanokoji thought.
Emilia must have sent word ahead.
Or he has his own intelligence network.
Either way, he’s already assessing me.
“I am grateful for your hospitality,” Ayanokoji said, his voice perfectly neutral.
“I will endeavor to be a useful asset to Emilia-sama.”
“Asset!” Roswaal laughed, a theatrical sound that echoed off the stone walls.
“How wonderfully mercenary!
I think we shall get along splendidly.
Rem, show our new guest to his room.
We’ll have a proper conversation after he’s settled in.”
The blue-haired maid stepped forward.
Her movements were fluid, almost mechanical.
“This way, please.”
Ayanokoji followed her into the mansion.
The interior was just as opulent as the exterior, with high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and corridors that seemed to stretch on forever.
As they walked, he studied the maid.
Her name was Rem, and she moved with a grace that spoke of extensive training.
Not just as a maid, but as a fighter.
Her footsteps were silent, her breathing controlled.
She was a weapon in a servant’s uniform.
“Have you served the Margrave long?” Ayanokoji asked, breaking the silence.
“Several years,” Rem replied, her voice soft and deferential.
“And you are close with the other maid?
The one with pink hair?”
“Ram is my sister.”
Sisters.
Both combat-capable.
The butlers are likely the same.
This mansion is a defensive structure, staffed by trained operatives.
Roswaal is not just a politician; he’s a warlord.
“Thank you for guiding me,” Ayanokoji said as they reached a door.
“I’ll be fine from here.”
Rem bowed.
“Dinner will be served in two hours.
Lady Emilia requested that you join her.”
“I’ll be there.”
The room was spacious and comfortable, with a large bed, a writing desk, and a window overlooking the garden.
Ayanokoji set down his meager possessions—the thug’s remaining coins, his dead phone, and the clothes on his back—and sat on the edge of the bed.
He processed everything he had learned.
Roswaal was the key.
He was the one with the resources, the connections, and the power to support Emilia’s candidacy.
But he was also clearly manipulative, the type of person who viewed others as pieces on a board.
Ayanokoji recognized the type because he was one himself.
He’ll try to use me.
To test me.
To see what I’m made of and whether I’m a threat or a tool.
I need to establish my value quickly, but without revealing too much of my own capabilities.
I need to be useful, but not dangerous to him.
The question was: what did Roswaal want?
What was his true goal in supporting Emilia?
It couldn’t simply be altruism.
People like Roswaal didn’t do things without a reason, and that reason was usually selfish.
The Royal Selection is a means to an end.
The question is what end.
I need more information.
Dinner was a formal affair.
Ayanokoji sat at the long table, dressed in fresh clothes provided by the staff—a simple but well-made tunic and trousers.
Emilia sat at the head of the table, with Roswaal to her right and Ayanokoji to her left.
The two maids, Rem and Ram, served the meal with practiced efficiency, while the butlers stood guard near the walls.
“So, Ayanokoji-kun,” Roswaal said, swirling a glass of wine.
“Emilia tells me you’re from another world.
How fascinating.
I’ve read about such phenomena, of course.
Legends of heroes summoned from beyond the great waterfall.
But never a simple student.”
“I’m not a hero,” Ayanokoji said, cutting into his steak.
“I’m just someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Or the right place at the right time,” Roswaal countered, his eyes glinting.
“You defeated several thugs with your bare hands.
You impressed Emilia-sama, which is no small feat.
You have a sharp mind and a sharper tongue.
You could be very useful to our cause.”
“I intend to be.”
Roswaal leaned forward, his smile widening.
“But useful how?
As a bodyguard?
An advisor?
A spy?” He waved a hand.
“I have plenty of all three.
What makes you different?”
Ayanokoji met his gaze without flinching.
“I don’t know yet.
I need to understand the board before I can play the game.
Once I understand the rules, I’ll be able to tell you exactly what I can offer.”
It was a bold answer, one that could have been seen as insolent.
But Roswaal laughed, a deep, rumbling sound.
“I do like you!
Most people try to impress me with boasts and flattery.
You just admit you don’t know anything yet.
Refreshing!”
Emilia, who had been watching the exchange with a small smile, spoke up.
“Roswaal, please don’t tease him.
He’s new to all of this.”
“Nonsense, Emilia-sama.
I’m simply getting to know our new friend.” Roswaal turned back to Ayanokoji.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have Puck give you a tour of the grounds.
You should understand your new home.
And I’ll arrange for a tutor to teach you our writing system.
A sharp mind is wasted if it can’t read.”
“That would be appreciated,” Ayanokoji said.
The rest of the dinner passed in polite conversation.
Roswaal dominated the discussion, speaking of politics, magic, and the history of the kingdom.
Ayanokoji listened, absorbing every word.
Emilia occasionally interjected with her own thoughts, and the two of them bickered like old friends.
But Ayanokoji noticed something.
Every so often, Roswaal’s gaze would flicker to him, and there was something in those mismatched eyes that wasn’t just amusement.
It was calculation.
Assessment.
And perhaps, just beneath the surface, a hint of something darker.
He’s not just evaluating me as a potential asset, Ayanokoji realized.
He’s evaluating me as a potential threat.
And he’s not sure which one I am yet.
That night, Ayanokoji lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The mansion was quiet, but he could feel the currents of power moving through its halls.
Roswaal’s presence was everywhere, a constant, oppressive weight.
Emilia’s was softer, but no less significant.
And there was something else, something at the edge of his perception.
A faint, almost imperceptible wrongness that he couldn’t quite identify.
This place has secrets, he thought.
Layers upon layers of hidden agendas and buried truths.
Roswaal is the spider at the center of the web, and Emilia is the fly he’s trying to protect and use at the same time.
He closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep.
Not really.
He slipped into a light rest state, his senses still alert.
He had learned long ago that sleep was a luxury, and that the moment you let your guard down was the moment your enemies struck.
Tomorrow, he would begin his education in earnest.
He would learn to read, to write, to understand the magic that permeated this world.
He would study the other candidates, the political landscape, and the mysterious Witch’s Cult that everyone seemed to fear.
And he would watch.
He would watch everyone, from Roswaal to the lowliest servant.
Because in a game this big, the smallest piece could tip the balance.
And Kiyotaka Ayanokoji intended to be the one holding the board.