After surrendering to Edward and leaving behind words that he was relying on him, Sasha exited the novel—and after that, he had to go through a truly miserable, bungled process.
Even after Edward’s decision, there were several occasions where his subordinates spoke in unison about how Sasha had to be killed, making Sasha’s heart lurch. And after Edward’s unshakable insistence forced through the decision that they truly would not kill Sasha, people went back and forth endlessly about what his punishment should be.
How much to take from him, and who would get what they took, was a more complicated problem than deciding whether Sasha would live or die.
Sasha watched quietly as his power was torn to pieces—ending up in this noble’s hands, snatched away by that noble’s hands—then broken down even smaller and parceled out into the hands of even more nobles.
By the time that boring series of procedures finally ended, Edward’s coronation was right in front of them.
Maybe because something good was coming, they wanted to hurry and deal with anything filthy and dirty. For Sasha, who had already been sick of it to the point of nausea, it was a fortunate thing.
Once a conclusion was reached, the people on Edward’s side hurriedly drove Sasha out of the capital. If it had already been delayed this much, Sasha wanted to watch Edward’s coronation, but he wasn’t allowed even that.
The carriage provided to Sasha, who had to travel a long distance, was fairly decent. He’d felt it before, but Edward wasn’t petty.
He couldn’t see Edward, the protagonist, on the way out—but he could see Rio Grenville. In fact, after being detained in the Imperial Palace, Sasha hadn’t seen Edward even once.
‘He’s busy, I guess.’
Rio was busy too, but this one still had resentment left toward Sasha.
For example, something to do with his younger brother.
“Live quietly.”
That was it? Sasha, who’d even braced himself to take a punch, looked up at Rio with a blank face, despite his startled inner thoughts.
Green eyes under a brow.
Coppery skin with a healthy sheen from the sun, and the solid, large build unique to a knight—yet because of his gentle impression and an overall boyish look, he wasn’t the type that felt oppressive.
But to Sasha, he had always shown a glare that burned.
When the people on Edward’s side had sat there in front of Sasha, running their mouths about killing him or not killing him, Sasha had thought it was oddly quiet—but seeing him today, it was clear: his gaze was too tame.
‘What’s with him?’
As Sasha frowned in confusion, a question came back from Rio, as if whispered.
“That thing you said then… was it sincere?”
There was no proper explanation, but Sasha realized at once that Rio was talking about what happened in the audience chamber. But Rio, as if he’d never intended to hear an answer in the first place, shut the door the moment their eyes met—and the carriage departed.
He was flustered, but once the carriage began to rock, he had no room for stray thoughts. No matter how high-class the carriage was, the journey was long, and his body was tired.
Dragging that exhausted body along, Sasha arrived at the Ambrose territory—and was met by a butler and servants at the estate who welcomed him more excessively than he’d expected.
“Young Mas—no, my lord!”
“I’m not a Marquess anymore.”
“Yes. We heard. They said you became a Viscount.”
Originally, his title should have been stripped entirely and he should have become a commoner, but because House Ambrose had been granted immunity by the Empire’s founding Emperor, and because his deceased older sister had once been Empress, those circumstances were considered—so it ended with him being demoted to Viscount.
All the many territories and businesses and properties he’d held were taken, and only the title of Viscount and a single Ambrose territory remained—but even so, it was unmistakably a very lenient measure for what he’d done.
Because with the Ambrose territory alone, Sasha could live without poverty.
“My lord, how hard it must have been.”
Sasha had heard that he’d lived in the Ambrose territory until he was six—so was that why?
The servants, who had worked at the territory’s estate for at least ten years and at most over fifty, would know what Sasha had done, and yet they didn’t avoid him. Even though he told them they could quit if they wanted, no one quit.
“…Isn’t it for the young lady’s sake? All of us understand your choice, Young Master.”
Right—he’d heard that his older sister, who’d had a weak body, came to the territory to recuperate, and that Sasha, not long after he was born, came down with her.
So they knew well what kind of relationship Sasha and his older sister had. That was why they looked at Sasha like he was pitiful and admirable at the same time.
It seemed his wistful answer—saying it was for his older sister, when asked why he’d started a rebellion—had reached them too.
Thinking of his older sister’s diary and growing a little embarrassed, Sasha used being tired as an excuse and hurried to his room.
“How did you grow so thin….”
At the worry dripping with sorrow behind him, Sasha’s steps quickened even more.
Left alone in the neat, cozy room prepared for him, Sasha finally recognized it: the novel was truly over. He’d escaped the original that had bound him.
Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, Sasha let out a dry laugh.
“I really lived.”
The past ten years of effort hadn’t been for nothing.
No—something far better than what he’d expected had spread out in front of him.
He’d been prepared to become a commoner and be expelled from the Empire, but he was still a noble, and he still had a small but solid territory.
“Did I move money for nothing?”
No. The more money, the better. With how hard he’d worked all this time, he could take that much.
“From now on, I really have to live quiet and harmless.”
He had a title, but he wasn’t going to do politics, and he wasn’t going to grow the house—so he would just do some light pastimes and live peacefully.
So that Edward and his subordinates would forget him completely.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll even make friends, and get married.”
It felt strange, imagining a future he couldn’t dream of because of the fixed original.
It felt like he might cry, and yet he laughed; he wanted to shout with joy, and yet he also wanted to close his eyes quietly and savor his emotions calmly.
“…I’m sleepy.”
After surrendering—no, after starting the rebellion—Sasha hadn’t spent a single day at ease.
Lying on the bed, his eyes fluttered closed.
“Let’s sleep just a little.”
He could rest now, finally.
⌎Edward is like a saint
⌎Shouldn’t he just kill him? He’s way too dangerous. If he regathers power with that faceㅠ
⌎Did Sasha really live??
Something strange seemed to appear beyond his blinking vision, but when he forced his eyes open, all he saw was an ordinary ceiling.
“What is it….”
With that small mutter, Sasha fell into a very deep sleep for the first time in a long while.
*****
“Viscount! Please try some of this. You used to like peach compote so much, didn’t you?”
It seemed Sasha had exactly the same tastes as he had.
The moment he smelled the sweet peach scent, saliva flooded his mouth.
“Alright. Leave it.”
“There’s more, so please eat a lot. You’re far too thin right now.”
The middle-aged maid scolded him with affection, saying his cheeks should be plump again like they used to be, and only after handing him black tea loaded with honey did she finally leave.
Unlike in the capital, where he hadn’t even touched sweets because he was managing his image, here in the Ambrose territory, even without Sasha saying anything, they served what he liked. Every time he turned his head, things Sasha liked kept coming into view.
Well, everyone likes sweets when they’re little. The servants here clearly still thought Sasha was a five-year-old child. It was nice to be able to eat what he liked freely, but—
“…Sweet.”
Sitting by the window, feeling the refreshing breeze, reading a book with something sweet in his mouth—he felt so peaceful and happy he almost wondered if this was allowed.
“A life where you don’t work and just eat and laze around.”
How could it be this good?
It was so good he hummed under his breath.
Of course, it wasn’t like there was nothing to worry about.
He’d survived, but reality—no longer the fixed original—could change at any time.
Meaning: he had no idea when the nobles in the capital might try to kill Sasha again. What if, even now, they tried to shake that steadfast Edward and kept pushing to kill Sasha?
“…I shouldn’t let my guard down too much, right?”
He needed to keep himself mentally prepared to run at any moment. In fact, physical preparations had already been finished long ago.
For the past ten years, in case he was expelled from the Empire, Sasha had painstakingly created false identities and assets in every country outside the Empire.
Because it was a matter of his life, he checked everything so meticulously it was almost grotesque, and because of that, it was a spotless identity—one that didn’t leave even a speck, not even an ant’s eye crust of a trace, that Sasha Ambrose was connected to it.
Sasha only had to watch the situation in the capital closely, and if he sensed any sign that they were going to send knights or troops from the capital to the Ambrose territory, he could run immediately.
This wasn’t the estate in the capital that had been so close to the Imperial Palace you could topple over and your nose would touch it. Being in a territory this far from the capital, he had plenty of leeway to escape.
The problem was that with Sasha’s hands and feet cut off, he didn’t have an information network to watch the capital right now.
“But it’s not like I don’t have money.”
That too would be solved quickly if he spent time and money.
Anyway, Edward and his subordinates would be too overwhelmed adapting to the new Empire to think straight, so for a while, he’d be safe.
“So it’s fine if I enjoy this ease for just a little while.”
Sasha soothed himself, as if scolding a version of himself who worried on purpose.
But should he not have?
Three months after coming down to the territory—right around when he was soaking in peace and gradually forgetting Edward and the original—
Sasha had a very strange dream.
Wearing the pajamas he’d put on before sleeping, Sasha floated in a pure white space, and in front of him, a screen that felt bizarrely familiar popped up.
“Huh?”
This was the original’s official fan café—the place his friend used to frequent, and the place Sasha himself had gone in and out of often after reading the novel.
“Wow. It’s been a while.”
He knew it was a dream, but seeing a trace of his original world for the first time since the possession made warmth surge through him.
But only for a moment.
Even as he smiled bright with excitement, Sasha found a post with hundreds of comments.
[Isn’t Sasha the true loyal subject?] (327)
What kind of ridiculous nonsense was this?