The questioner of justice

Chloe’s sudden appearance was like a drop of ink tainting clear water, clouding my meticulously crafted escape plan with a murky shade of grey.

Leaning against the cold stone pillar, my body felt subtly rigid.

Within the grand auditorium, the Academy Head’s protracted address resonated, amplified by magic.

These tired platitudes, which should have served as a perfect lullaby, now struck my ears as an infinitely magnified cacophony, stirring a profound sense of vexation.

‘She knows…’

‘She definitely knows…’

Chloe’s piercing purple eyes, which seemed capable of seeing through all pretenses, persistently haunted my thoughts.

Not only was she aware of my unusual actions in the corridor, but she had even described them with the chillingly precise phrase, ‘rewriting the script.’

This transcended mere keen observation.

She appeared to be a director holding the very script of this world, and I, the errant actor attempting to improvise, had been caught squarely in her gaze.

What was more disconcerting, however, was her apparent lack of intention to expose me. Instead, she seemed to harbor a subtle, almost anticipatory, expectation for my next performance.

I had inexplicably transformed from a player fighting for survival into a jester, compelled to entertain.

‘This is even worse than having a destruction flag directly planted on me…’

The unknown threat, after all, is far more terrifying than any known danger.

‘Hmph…’

I drew a deep breath, forcing my focus back to the ongoing ceremony.

Prince Alexis was still engaged in hushed conversation with Ella, the heroine, his expression undeniably gentle.

Kaiden Eisenhart, meanwhile, stood like a silent guardian deity beside them.

Everything, it seemed, was still proceeding as it should.

My unusual intervention had not, apparently, triggered any immediate catastrophic repercussions.

‘Perhaps… perhaps Chloe was merely testing me?’

‘Or perhaps, she was simply a peculiar girl who enjoyed speaking in riddles?’

I strove to reassure myself, yet the pervasive sensation of being observed clung to my heart like an insidious vine.

“…And with that, I declare the Royal Solfege Academy of Magic’s new academic year inauguration ceremony officially concluded!”

As the Academy Head’s booming voice concluded, a thunderous applause erupted throughout the auditorium.

It was over.

Students began to depart in small groups, preparing to return to their respective classes.

For me, this presented the second opportune moment for escape.

I waited until the majority of students began to surge towards the main entrance before quietly slipping out from my secluded corner.

My intention was to retrace my steps along the secluded path I had taken earlier, first to confirm my assigned class, and then to immediately sequester myself within Lilliana’s opulent single dormitory, not venturing out again for the rest of the day.

However, fate, it seemed, was determined to conspire against me.

Just as I was traversing a rose garden that linked the auditorium to the academic wing, a voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the air from directly behind me.

“Stop right there, Lilliana von Eckhart.”

The voice carried not a single honorific, instead brimming with cold, accusatory inquiry.

My steps faltered.

‘This voice… I recall it.’

‘In the game’s memories, this was…’

I slowly turned around.

Bathed in the sunlight, a young woman clad in a pristine white knight’s uniform stood a short distance away.

Her sleek silver short hair swayed gently in the breeze, while a pair of golden eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, were fixed intently upon me.

Tall and ramrod straight, she possessed an imposing presence, further accentuated by the prominent scar on the back of her left hand, which lent her an air of formidable intensity.

Beatrix Eisen.

A rising knight star of commoner birth, a member of the Academy’s Disciplinary Committee, and a fanatic who had etched the word “justice” deep into her very bones.

She was also one of the heroine’s closest friends in the original story, the one who most disdained Lilliana and frequently clashed with her, a true nemesis.

‘Another one…’

‘Today’s troubles are definitely exceeding the limit!’

Though my heart cried out in despair, my face was forced to maintain the aloof and detached expression befitting a duke’s daughter.

“What do you want?”

I inquired succinctly.

Beatrix advanced towards me, her leather boots striking the flagstones with crisp, imposing clicks.

She halted three paces before me, her keen golden eyes unreservedly scrutinizing me, as though intent on piercing through my very soul.

“Before the inauguration ceremony, in the central corridor, what did you do to the new student, Ella Smith?”

She demanded, cutting straight to the chase, her tone unyielding.

“I did nothing.”

I replied.

It was the truth.

“Nothing?”

Beatrix’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening considerably.

“I saw it. With the help of your gust of wind, she didn’t fall, and not a single book dropped. Don’t tell me that was a coincidence.”

‘So, I was seen after all…’

My heart sank.

Not only had Chloe been present, but also this disciplinary committee member, brimming with an overwhelming sense of justice.

“What of it?”

I retorted, attempting to cloak my inner turmoil with Lilliana’s characteristic arrogance.

“Did you perhaps wish for me to stand idly by as she stumbled and fell head over heels before me, only to then seize the opportunity to publicly humiliate her?”

“Perhaps that’s a script you’re more familiar with?”

The words were barely out of my mouth before I regretted them.

‘That sounded far too much like a provocation.’

Predictably, Beatrix’s expression darkened considerably, and the knuckles of her hand, gripping the hilt of her sword, blanched from the sheer force of her grip.

“Drop your aristocratic charades, Lilliana. I simply want to know why you did it. What new scheme are you concocting to toy with that innocent girl?”

Her barrage of questions struck me like a series of heavy hammer blows, leaving me momentarily breathless.

‘Schemes?’

‘Concocting?’

‘I just…’

‘…didn’t want her to fall.’

Gazing into her eyes, which brimmed with both wariness and hostility, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me.

‘How could I possibly explain?’

‘Should I tell her I’m a different person?’

‘Tell her I’m just an ordinary person who wants to live a peaceful life?’

‘No, that would only lead to me being branded a lunatic, or worse, a cunning imposter.’

In the ensuing silence, even the fragrant scent of roses in the courtyard seemed to grow heavy.

Ultimately, I abandoned any attempt at explanation. Instead, with a hint of weariness I hadn’t even realized I possessed, I simply uttered the unvarnished truth.

“…Because it’s less troublesome that way.”

“What?”

Beatrix had clearly not anticipated such a response.

“If she had collided with me, my dress would have been soiled, her books would have scattered across the floor, and it would have drawn an even larger crowd of onlookers.”

I met her gaze, calmly articulating the most straightforward logic of a weary office worker.

“Dealing with all those repercussions would be highly bothersome and a considerable waste of time. Ensuring she remained upright, allowing us to go our separate ways, was the most efficient and straightforward solution. Nothing more.”

No schemes, no calculations.

Simply because I found it too much trouble.

I finished speaking, and the courtyard once again fell into silence.

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty appeared within Beatrix’s golden eyes.

Her expression, previously as unyielding as steel, now fractured, revealing a profound sense of bewilderment and incomprehension.

‘She had anticipated countless possibilities…’

‘Malicious plots, hypocritical traps, arrogant displays…’

‘But this particular answer, she had never foreseen.’

‘An answer so mundane, so simple, and even…’

‘…an answer utterly devoid of malice.’

This entirely shattered her preconceived notions of Lilliana, the quintessential villainess.

“…You…”

She parted her lips, only to discover that she was utterly at a loss for words.

The well-rehearsed rhetoric concerning justice and evil now seemed utterly hollow and impotent in the face of such a prosaic reason as “too much trouble.”

After a prolonged silence, she finally squeezed a sentence through gritted teeth:

“I will be watching you, Lilliana von Eckhart. No scheme or trick of yours will escape my sight.”

With that, she offered no further opportunity for me to speak, turning sharply and departing with stiff, hurried strides.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, her retreating figure seemed to carry a hint of hurried discomfiture.

I stood alone amidst the rose bushes, watching her figure recede into the distance.

Finally unable to maintain my composure, I leaned back against the wall behind me, utterly exhausted.

‘This world…’

It seemed that this world, once so familiar from the game I knew, was now hurtling headlong in a direction utterly beyond my comprehension.