If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself while living in this world, it’s that I don’t particularly care about how others perceive me.
Well... aside from the character image I’ve carefully cultivated. I put effort into maintaining that because it defines my persona. But outside of that, especially when it comes to people beyond my immediate circle, I don’t think about their opinions as much as I might have imagined.
For instance, it wasn’t until recently that I found out a rumor labeling me a “murderer” had been circulating for months.
And even after hearing about it, I didn’t react much. Honestly, isn’t it true? Setting aside the assassination of Count Crowfield—still a secret for now—I’ve been on the battlefield and fired upon people before.
Not just one or two, either. I couldn’t even recall the exact number of people I’d killed. Not that it was in the dozens, but when bullets are flying from all directions, bombs are exploding, and the cacophony of machine gun fire and charging soldiers fills the air, there’s no time to keep count of the lives you take while rewinding time hundreds of times in a battle.
Frankly, I understand why this reputation arose.
Even if this academy doubles as a military academy and some graduates are destined for the army, most students here have never killed anyone. If they had, that would be the unusual case.
War, even in this world, is generally regarded as an adult matter.
The distinction between who is considered an adult and who is considered a child might be blurred, but the line is drawn nonetheless. And while the arbitrary nature of that line disgusted me at times, it was precisely because of it that I, a person who had crossed that line without hesitation, was being labeled a “murderer” by the students.
Looking at it objectively, they weren’t wrong. The only problem was that if you applied that label strictly, countless soldiers hailed as “heroes” in this nation would fit the description just as well.
I happened to overhear the rumor by sheer coincidence.
If I’d been alone when I heard it, I would have easily ignored it and moved on—but—
"What did you just say?"
The problem was, someone else had been standing beside me when I opened the door to the student council room.
And that person, physically superior to me in every way, was Alice.
I had clearly heard the words “murderer Sylvia” from just outside the door, so it wouldn’t have been surprising if Alice had caught the entire context.
"Repeat what you just said, right now."
Before I could even open the door fully, Alice slipped inside with swift, decisive movements, heading straight toward the source of the voice.
It seemed she had already identified the person behind the comment. Unlike me, who didn’t particularly care about the idle chatter of nobles, Alice had been actively engaging in social interactions since coming to the academy. Recognizing someone by their voice wouldn’t have been difficult for her.
The student council room had several tables. Instead of the massive, intimidating conference tables one might expect in a corporate boardroom, these tables were smaller, more suited to informal gatherings, with seating for four or five people each.
By regulation, anyone could make proposals or announcements in this space, typically by tapping a champagne glass with a spoon or raising their voice to gather attention. In essence, the student council operated in the style of a traditional noble social gathering.
Unsurprisingly, the room was often a social hub for council members rather than a formal meeting place, even during scheduled meetings.
"Ah, um, I didn’t mean..."
Even with the most charitable interpretation, the term “murderer” is never positive.
The girl who had attached that word to my name turned pale, her face almost as blue as her strikingly light sky-colored hair—an uncommon feature that wouldn’t be out of place on one of the protagonists in a story.
I stepped into the room, my loafers clicking sharply against the floor.
The eyes of the seven students in the room all turned to me at once.
Did they think I was about to explode in anger? Honestly, such words didn’t bother me enough to provoke that kind of reaction.
I knew the names and backgrounds of all the noble students here, but I had no intention of getting involved with those who weren’t part of the main storyline.
"Oh..."
Still, just because I didn’t intend to form close relationships with them didn’t mean I avoided them altogether.
We were, after all, part of the same student council.
I hadn’t planned to approach the girl in question, but since Alice had gone straight to her, I couldn’t ignore the situation entirely.
Conversations among nobles often followed a kind of mathematical formula, with official feelings and personal emotions kept separate.
Even if I personally didn’t feel offended, “showing anger” might be necessary to gain favor among the nobles. On the other hand, even if something enraged me, “not showing anger” might be expected depending on the situation.
Usually, the former applied to matters of personal or familial honor, while the latter applied to issues involving close family or spouses. The ability to navigate that fine line was what made a noble truly skilled.
"I-I’m sorry!"
The girl’s face turned even paler when our eyes met. She stood abruptly, bowing deeply in my direction.
So... she’s from an earl’s family, I think. Not someone insignificant, given her position in the student council, but certainly not a match for the Fangryphon imperial family.
Suppressing a sigh, I abandoned my plan to head for an empty seat and approached their table instead.
"Calling someone who fights and sacrifices their life for the Empire a ‘murderer’ casts doubt on your family’s loyalty to the Empire," Alice said sharply.
The already silent room grew even quieter, as though the pressure alone could crush someone.
"N-no, that’s not what I meant... I just..."
The girl frantically searched for an excuse, but nothing seemed to come to mind.
"If Sylvia is a ‘murderer,’ then doesn’t that make the Duke of Winterfield, headmaster of this academy, a murderer too?" Alice pressed, smiling faintly.
Her opponent remained silent, unable to respond.
A quick glance showed the student council president frozen mid-sip, his teacup suspended in midair.
"And how many others in this room agree with that sentiment?" Alice continued. "Before I arrived, the atmosphere here seemed cheerful enough. Do you all regularly hold such discussions in our absence? I would never have guessed that families I considered pillars of the Empire were actually parasitic freeloaders clinging to its name."
"Um, no, that’s not..."
The president, who had remained frozen until now, finally moved, his jaw trembling slightly.
"Those words were Lady Rassel’s personal remarks," he said slowly.
Lady Rassel turned her pleading gaze to the president, silently begging him not to abandon her.
For a moment, I thought I could see the calculations running through the president’s mind.
"The word ‘murderer’ and the name ‘Sylvia’ must have been joined accidentally during an unrelated conversation," he declared after what seemed like careful deliberation.
It seemed he had decided that being in debt to the Rassel family was the more advantageous choice.
"Continue," Alice said, fixing her gaze on Lady Rassel.
"The Imperial Princess Sylvia Fangryphon was on the battlefield at the time," the president explained slowly. "The enemy was a group of despicable warlords—murderers and rapists. The princess played a significant role in eliminating them."
He pieced together an explanation, neither fully convincing nor entirely weak. As the duke’s heir, his words carried weight, even if they weren’t definitive.
Lady Rassel nodded vigorously in agreement.
"I see."
This content is taken from fгeewebnovёl.com.
Finally, I spoke, breaking my silence.
"I appreciate the praise. As much as you support me personally, I trust the Rassel family will also contribute to the royal family’s future endeavors."
"For the esteemed Fangryphon imperial family, there is nothing we wouldn’t do. I will follow your words without fail."
Lady Rassel bowed her head deeply.