I left the dining room and headed straight for my quarters. The layout of the Heisenberg estate was identical to the game¹, which was the only reason I managed to find my room without wandering aimlessly. I turned the key in the lock and collapsed onto the bed with a heavy thud.
"Seriously, is this actually happening?" I muttered.
This world was Ronzolkia², the ultra-popular multi-ending RPG. Produced by a massive Japanese conglomerate and a dream team of writers, it had been a global mega-hit. True to the tagline-"Everyone's a Protagonist! No NPCs!"-every single character had a dedicated route, leading to a near-infinite number of endings.
"Did the 'me' from the real world die? Or did my soul just get transported here while I was still alive?"
To be honest, it didn't really matter. I had no regrets about my old life. I'd lost my parents young and lived a solitary existence; to me, Ronzolkia was more "real" than reality had ever been. If anyone asked if I was happy, the answer was a resounding "Yes." I could feel a surge of pure hype bubbling up inside me-if I wasn't careful, I'd probably start dancing.
But then, the reality check hit.
"Why?! Why did it have to be Hollow, of all people?!"
Hollow von Heisenberg. He was a literal genius, blessed with talent in swordsmanship, magic, and academics. But his personality? Lazy and arrogant to the core. He drowned in his own ego, neglected his training, and was destined to be defeated by the protagonist. But it didn't stop there. Hollow died in every single route. He was a walking death flag, a character whose only purpose was to meet a ruinous end. And I had reincarnated as him.
"I'm going to be destroyed at this rate. I'll be murdered by the 'Scenario' of destiny...!"
If I didn't do something immediately, I'd hit a Bad End before I even reached puberty. I sat up and took a deep breath, forcing myself to accept the brutal reality.
(Priority One: Survival.)
The original Hollow was a man the world loved to hate. From here on out, the plot itself would be coming for my head.
(But I've got the ultimate walkthrough in my brain!)
I loved this game. I had poured my entire youth into it. I might not have cleared every single sub-route, but I'd finished almost all the main stories. I knew exactly how Hollow was supposed to die.
(I'll use my knowledge to shatter those death flags, dodge the Bad Ends, and actually enjoy this beautiful world!)
To do that, I had only one choice.
"I'll have to stay humble, stay focused, and work my ass off to get strong!"
Ronzolkia was a classic fantasy world of swords and magic. To survive, I needed overwhelming individual power-the kind of martial force that could just ignore the script. In that sense, the original Hollow actually had the highest potential in the game, making him the perfect vessel... if you ignored the fact that his laziness usually got him killed before he could bloom. I couldn't afford to follow in his footsteps. I had to be modest and diligent.
"First things first... Status," I whispered.
I tried to check my initial stats before starting the grind. But no matter how long I waited, no status window appeared.
"Then... Skills."
Naturally, no skill window popped up either.
"Right. So that's how it is," I said.
The lack of a UI meant the standard Ronzolkia growth system-killing enemies for XP, leveling up for stat boosts, and spending skill points on magic-wasn't going to work for me. I'd probably have to raise my proficiency the old-fashioned way. I'd figure out the mechanics once I started training.
"The real question is which build to go for," I mused.
There were over a hundred classes in the game: Knight, Thief, Priest, Ranger, Necromancer, and more. I could become a Tamer and command monsters, or a Merchant to run a company. But right now, I needed raw, simple power.
"It's gotta be Swordsman and Mage."
I'll master the basic Swordsman and Mage classes, then aim for the advanced 'Magic Swordsman' job. No fluff in this build. I'm going for a hardcore, meta-tier setup focused entirely on strength.
(The Baptism Ceremony³ happens when he's ten. I have a little over a year.)
I should start with the sword. Fortunately, the Heisenberg head butler, Olvin Dankert, was a grandmaster. His swordsmanship was top-tier even by the game's standards. If I could get him to mentor me, I could hit peak efficiency.
(It's 1:00 PM. At this time, he's usually... tending the trees in the garden?)
I started toward the door, but stopped when I saw the large mirror.
"Damn. It really is Hollow von Heisenberg."
Hollow, age eight. Medium red hair, tied back loosely. Standing about 4'5" (135cm) with a lean, athletic build. Crimson eyes like jewels, a sharp nose, and a well-defined mouth. He was wearing a chic navy jacket and simple black trousers.
(Hollow really was top-tier... on the outside. His personality was absolute trash, though.)
I fixed my hair, straightened my clothes, and headed out. After wandering the massive gardens, I finally found Olvin busy pruning the trees.
(Whoa, the real deal...!)
Chief Butler Olvin Dankert, age 63. He was 6'1" (185cm) with clean, short white hair. He had a rugged, deeply lined face with stern eyes and a manicured white beard. You could see the corded muscle even through his formal tailcoat.
"Olvin. You have a moment?" I called out.
I choked back the honorific. Calling a man the same age as my grandfather by his first name felt like a crime, but I had to commit to the bit.
"Young Master? How may I serve you?" asked Olvin.
"I have a request. It's sudden, but I want you to teach me the sword," I said.
"Wh-!?" Olvin gasped.
"What is it?"
"No... it's just... for Hollow-sama to 'request' something, rather than command it..."
Right. Hollow didn't "request" things. He looked down on everyone and barked orders.
"Ah... yeah. You're right. My mistake," I muttered.
"Gah-!?"
"Now what!?"
"For Hollow-sama to... to admit he was wrong...!" said Olvin.
I was at a loss for words. Was he really that much of a prick? Actually, yeah. He was the worst.
(Okay... for now, I need to keep playing the role. If I suddenly turn into a saint, people are going to get suspicious. No honorifics, no 'please,' and no more polite talk.)
Whenever I ask for anything, I make it a rule to use the imperative mood. I'll stick with this persona for a while, gradually softening my attitude as we go.
"Orvin, teach me the sword," I commanded.
"I certainly don't mind, but... to what do I owe this sudden change of heart?" asked Orvin.
"Nothing. Just a whim," I replied.
"I see," said Orvin.
Accepting an answer so typical of the original Hollow, Orvin was immediately satisfied. We moved to the training grounds and took up practice blades with the edges dulled down.
"I'd like to say we should start with the basics," Orvin said, "but knowing how impatient you are, Hollow-sama, I humbly suspect you'd prefer a real fight."
(Eh? Ah, right... naturally...)
The atmosphere definitely wasn't one where I could just admit I wanted to start with the basics. We took a distance of three meters and leveled our swords at one another.
"Well then... here I come!" Orvin shouted.
"Yeah. Come at me anytime."
And so, the mock battle began. Three minutes later, the result was clear.
"Hmph. I suppose that's that," I said.
"I-impossible...!" Orvin gasped.
I leisurely sheathed my sword while Orvin stared at the ground on all fours. The relative height of our heads said everything there was to say about victory and defeat.
(Even for me, this is seriously off the charts... Hollow von Heisenberg is even more of a monster than I imagined. Vast mana, overwhelming physical strength, and a demonic intellect - his base stats are a total cheat. In truth, Orvin was strong. In terms of pure swordsmanship, I didn't even come close to his level. However, the sheer violence of that massive mana multiplied by my innate physical power completely devoured his polished technique. To put it in perspective, it was like a gorilla fighting a squirrel. The difference in physical intensity was so vast that there was simply no room for a skill like swordsmanship to intervene.)
(But... even though I defeated a formidable foe like Orvin, it doesn't feel like I "leveled up." If my memory serves, the original Hollow's level at this point is around five. The experience points from defeating Orvin should have easily bumped me up ten levels... but I don't feel that sensation at all. Instead, the sword just feels... familiar. It fits my hand. Judging by the lack of a status window or any signs of a level-up, I can safely assume that the way to get stronger in this world is through "proficiency." It's a reality-based growth system where steady, honest work is what matters. Yeah, I like it. It's perfect for someone like me who champions being humble and steady.)
As I was lost in thought, words of bitter regret spilled from Orvin's lips. It was only natural. After all, he'd just been beaten by a beginner who'd barely touched a sword. But I couldn't let myself get the wrong idea. I only won because of my innate talent in strength and mana. In pure swordsmanship, I wasn't fit to lace Orvin's boots.
(I bet this kind of "accumulation of hollow victories" is exactly what fostered the arrogance and conceit that turned the original Hollow into such a tragic monster. The genius who doesn't work will eventually lose to the commoner who does. No matter how great the talent, it's a wasted treasure if you don't polish it. Conversely, a genius who actually puts in the work is literally "the strongest"! I'll cast aside every bit of pride and get stronger the honest way!)
For that, I need Orvin's help right now.
"-Orvin. That sword... how many years did you spend polishing it?" I asked.
The lines of the original Hollow came to my lips naturally.
"...My entire life. I have dedicated everything to it...!" Orvin answered, the words sounding like they were being squeezed out of him.
Born with almost no mana, he had relied on nothing but steady, honest training to reach the top tier of swordsmanship even in the original story. That stubborn, honest way of living was noble and beautiful. As someone striving to be humble and steady, he was the model I should follow. But in the original story, Hollow laughed at Orvin here.
(Pfft, khahahaha! A sword you staked your life on? That's a pretty pathetic life you've had then!)
He would have heaped insults and ridicule on the man, shattering the very path of the sword Orvin had walked. I, however, wasn't about to do something so wasteful.
"A sword you staked your life on, huh? No wonder it was so beautiful," I said.
"...What did you... just say?" Orvin asked, his face masked in shock.
"Did you not hear me? I said your sword was beautiful," I repeated.
"W-what are you saying...! My sword is a trivial, insignificant thing. Your sword, Hollow-sama, is far superior-"
"No. My sword is garbage. It's just me swinging my talent and mana around; it makes no logical sense at all," said Hollow.
"T-that's certainly not-"
"Stop the transparent flattery. If you had the same mana I do, would you be swinging a sword as ugly as mine?" I asked.
(It's true... Hollow-sama's swordsmanship is, to put it politely, unrefined. If I possessed the young master's massive mana, I would never fight in such a crude, heavy-handed way.)
Orvin went silent.
"Orvin. That sword you staked your life on - I will be the one to inherit it and lead it to the summit. Will you act as my guide to get me there?" I asked.
There was no answer.
(Wait, is this bad...? I'd stayed in character as Hollow and spoken from a pretty high-and-mighty place. Maybe I went too far.)
"A-ah... sorry. Maybe I put that a bit too roughly-" I began.
"-I cannot find the words to thank you for such graciousness...! I, Orvin Dankelt, shall serve as your lead with every fiber of my being!" Orvin shouted.
"Eh? Ah... yeah. Looking forward to it," said Hollow.
And so, I began my training under Orvin. He hammered everything into me, from the basics to the advanced techniques. We started with the grip - holding the hilt with the right hand like a handshake and supporting it with the left. He taught me the Seigan stance, focusing on the feeling of a thread pulling the top of my head toward the heavens. He taught me that the heart of a strike is the weight transfer, settling the hips to cut in one fluid motion.
A year passed in the blink of an eye, and finally, the moment arrived.
"Well then... shall we begin?" I asked.
"Yes," replied Orvin.
Orvin and I stood in the garden, our gazes meeting in the quiet air. Under the gentle sunlight and the sound of birdsong - as if by a silent agreement - we both lunged at the same time.
"Hah!"
"Nngh!"
Our practice blades clashed violently. This was a duel of pure swordsmanship, with no mana-enhanced strength allowed. One exchange, two, three - the sound of hard steel rang out and red sparks danced between us.
"Shi!"
Orvin stepped in deep, unleashing a sharp thrust. I caught it gently with the tip of my blade - sliding along the flat of his sword as I took a massive step forward, swinging in a diagonal kesa-giri slash.
"Hah!"
"Nuh!?"
Orvin's sword was still halfway through its recovery. With no way to block, he threw himself into a side-step, narrowly escaping disaster.
(My chance!)
His sword was back, but his posture was broken. Without a second's hesitation, I closed the gap and attacked with the ferocity of a wildfire.
"Hyaaaaaaa! (I'm breaking through...!)" I yelled.
"Nng, ooooooh...! (I'm... a step behind...!)" Orvin groaned.
At the end of a fierce flurry of blows, I saw it.
"There!" I cried.
"Dammit!?" said Orvin.
Orvin's ironclad defense finally showed a tiny crack. I brought my blade down in a massive overhead strike, reaching out for my first real victory. However, Orvin used his free left hand as a shield. Even if they were practice swords, they were made of iron.
Kr-ack.
The dull sound of bone snapping echoed, and his aged face twisted in agony. Yet, his movements didn't waver for a second. He stepped in with a fluid grace. That move - throwing away an arm just to seize a chance at victory - was so gritty, so desperate... it was beautiful.
"This is my win!" Orvin roared.
With a face more alive than I'd ever seen, Orvin unleashed a strike with everything he had. It was a blow that caught me completely off guard. Normally, no one could have reacted to it. But I knew. I knew Orvin was a sore loser to the point of obsession. I knew that when the chips were down, he'd sacrifice an arm to win.
"What incredible tenacity," I whispered.
"Wha-!?" Orvin gasped.
A horizontal flash. My blade cleared the air in a sweeping arc, and the heavy practice sword flew from his calloused hand. As it clattered to the ground, I pressed my tip against his wrinkled Adam's apple.
"-My victory, then," I said.
"-Yes. A magnificent performance," Orvin replied.
A victory won through pure technique, without a drop of mana. Unlike his first defeat, Orvin's face was glowing.
"To think I'd be overtaken in a single year... you are truly something else, young master," Orvin said.
"Hmph. Obviously," I snapped.
I snapped back, still playing the role of the original Hollow. But somehow, I think he understood. He knew it was thanks to his teaching. He felt my gratitude.
"Now then... I have one 'final job' left to attend to. I shall take my leave here," Orvin said.
Having given his all, he smiled with a sense of total closure and headed for the mansion's entrance.
(My role is done. The proof of my life - this sword - has been safely passed to Hollow-sama. I have no regrets. All that's left is to hand my resignation to the Master and move on.)
As we passed each other, I thought I heard him whisper something.
"-Goodbye, Hollow-sama."
The words were swallowed by a spring whirlwind and vanished.
(What does he mean, "final job"? I don't remember any events like that... but whatever. More importantly...)
"Hey. What time tomorrow?" I called out.
"...Eh...?" Orvin turned around slowly, looking completely dazed.
"Don't make me repeat myself. I asked what time we're training tomorrow," said Hollow.
The end of a session is a mock battle. When it's over, we set the time for the next day. That was the routine.
(Wait... is he in shock because he lost? Crap, I should have been more careful with his feelings.)
As I was cursing my own thoughtlessness, Orvin began to tremble. Large tears pooled in his eyes, and he suddenly dropped to his knees as if to hide them.
"S-sorry...! I wasn't thinking. Just go rest for today-" I started.
"-I have... firmly received Hollow-sama's consideration! I, Orvin Dankelt, shall serve you for the rest of my life!" Orvin cried.
"Eh? Ah... yeah. Glad to have you," I replied.
I didn't really know what happened, but Orvin's loyalty just broke through the charts.
Summary:
An orphan and Ronzolkia superfan reincarnates into the game's world as the doomed villain, Hollow von Heisenberg. Realizing he is destined for ruin in every game route, he resolves to use his meta-knowledge to survive. He discovers that the game's UI system doesn't exist in this reality, forcing him to seek traditional training from his grandfather-aged butler, Olvin.
After a year of intense practice, Hollow defeats Orvin in a pure skill duel. Misinterpreting Hollow's arrogance as profound respect, Orvin's loyalty reaches a fanatical peak.
Trivia:
- Hollow is currently 8 years old; his first scripted death occurs at 10.
- The game Ronzolkia had 'no mob characters,' meaning everyone Hollow meets is likely a major character or has a unique route.
- The protagonist has no attachment to his previous life because he was 'lonely and isolated.'
- Hollow's internal monologue uses 'boku' (soft/polite) while his public persona must use 'ore' (tough/arrogant).
- Standard RPG mechanics (XP/leveling) are visually absent, suggesting a 'realistic' world logic
- Hollow uses his 'villain' persona to mask his actual lack of skill.
- Orvin was planning to resign because he felt he had nothing left to teach.
- Levels and status windows are part of the world's logic, but Hollow grows through 'proficiency' instead.
- The 'Original Hollow' was a tragic monster who mocked the effort of others
Character Insight:
Hollow shows immediate adaptability but struggles with the 'villainous' social norms, nearly blowing his cover by being too polite to servants. His motive is purely survival-driven 'Grit.'
Behind the Scenes:
The title 'Heisenberg' often carries weight in fiction as a symbol of power or transformation, fitting for a 'Villainous Aristocrat' seeking to change his fate.
TL Notes:
1 ↩ Heisenberg Estate: The primary setting for the prologue and early game events in Ronzolkia.
2 ↩ Ronzolkia: A fictional mega-hit multi-ending RPG within the story's universe.
3 ↩ Baptism Ceremony: A coming-of-age ritual in this world occurring at age ten, often serving as a trigger for major plot points or power awakenings.
Notes:
• Heisenberg - Lord of the Heisenberg family. One of the Four Great Noble Houses. Noted for his immense wealth and territorial holdings.
• Hollow - Ten‑year‑old heir of the Heisenberg Duke house, 140 cm tall, red medium‑length hair tied in a ribbon‑ponytail, crimson eyes, lean build, navy jacket and black trousers. Holds Void (Origin Class) magic and all‑elemental aptitude, remembers the original Ronsolkia story, and is next head of the family, son of Daphnes and Leila.
• Olvin Dankert - Captain/Knight serving the Heisenberg family. Loyal attendant to Daphnes. Chief Butler of the Heisenberg family. A veteran swordsman who lacks magical talent and has served the house for 40 years. Highly loyal to the memory of Lady Leila. The Chief Butler of the Heisenberg family. Sixty-three years old. 185cm tall with short white hair and a white beard. Thickly muscled build visible through his tailcoat. A grandmaster of swordsmanship.
• Olvin - Hallow's swordsmanship instructor. Possesses a渋い (shibui/refined/gravelly) voice. Highly respectful of Hallow's status.