WORLD 01.5: The Unlucky Start

The carriage finally rolled to a stop before the imposing gates of the Royal Academy. It was a breathtaking sight, a sprawling complex of towering buildings, each one crafted from gleaming marble and adorned with intricate carvings. A sense of awe mingled with my apprehension as I stepped out of the carriage, the scent of fresh-cut roses and honeysuckle filling my senses.

A group of students dressed in the academy's distinctive crimson robes stood near the entrance, their faces a mixture of curiosity and amusement as they watched me approach. They were the elite, the cream of the crop, the future leaders of the kingdom. And here I was, a stranger in their midst, a nobody thrust into a world that was a million miles away from my own.

As I walked towards the entrance, I felt a chill run down my spine. The system's warnings about the Crown Prince and the other male leads echoed in my mind, their words a constant whisper of danger. "Be careful around the Crown Prince, Kjizei. He is not what he seems. The consequences of your actions could be unpleasant. And be careful around other male leads as well. They may go to great lengths to protect the male lead, even if it means putting you in danger," the system's voice had warned.

The air thrummed with an unseen energy, a subtle current of power that pulsed through the academy's walls. It was a place of ambition, of dreams, of hidden agendas. And I, a pawn in this intricate game, was about to become a part of it.

My thoughts were interrupted as I bumped into someone, stumbling back in surprise. A gasp escaped my lips as I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. Standing before me was Elian Valdeavila, the main character, the object of the Crown Prince's affection. His light brown eyes, flecked with warmth, met mine. His face, sprinkled with a dusting of freckles, seemed to glow with an innocent charm. He looked cute, with his brown hair falling softly over his forehead.

But then, a single tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and another, until his face was a mask of despair. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and his eyes, once bright, now held an ache that seemed to pierce the heart.

A hush fell over the courtyard. The students, who moments before had been buzzing with conversation, now stood frozen, their eyes glued to the spectacle unfolding before them. Elian, usually the epitome of carefree charm, now seemed a fragile bird, his wings clipped, his spirit broken.

Panic seized me. The system's warning about the other male leads flashed through my mind. They might go to great lengths to protect the male lead, even if it means putting me in danger. Elian's sudden display of vulnerability, of raw emotion, felt… orchestrated. This wasn't natural. It was a calculated move, designed to draw attention, to evoke sympathy. And I, Quincy, caught in the middle of this carefully crafted drama, was suddenly aware of the danger I was in.

Before I could react, a figure emerged from the crowd, his face contorted with rage. It was Indraneel Rohan Atharia, the Crown Prince, the small sun of the kingdom of Atharia, his eyes burning with a fury that threatened to engulf the entire courtyard. "You!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the silent space. "You're bullying him again, aren't you?"

He pointed an accusing finger at me, his gaze filled with a venom that sent a shiver down my spine. I stared back at him, my own heart filled with a mixture of fear and anger. He was accusing me of something I hadn't done, but his words, his tone, held a power that seemed to twist the truth. He was the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne, and his word was law.

Elian, still sobbing, looked up at the prince, his eyes pleading for protection. "He… he just bumped into me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Don't lie," the prince roared. "I know what you do to him. You're always tormenting him, always making him feel small."

The pain that washed over me was unbearable. It wasn't a longing for his approval, not really. It was the raw, agonizing sting of being judged unfairly by someone whose opinion mattered so much to me, Quincey. The injustice of it all, coupled with the utter futility of trying to defend myself, created a suffocating pressure in my chest. Indraneel, blinded by his love for Elian, wouldn't believe a word I said. He had already made up his mind, and it felt like a physical force was crushing me, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

My gaze drifted back to Elian, still sobbing, his face a picture of heartbreaking misery. Even though I knew this was a calculated performance, the sight of him so vulnerable, so broken, tore at something inside me. It was a feeling I couldn't quite explain, a mixture of pity, frustration, and a kind of helpless yearning for him to be okay.

A lump formed in my throat, and I instinctively bit my lip, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. I hated crying in front of people. I hated showing weakness, especially to someone like Indraneel.

The students around us watched with a morbid fascination, their whispers a constant reminder of the spectacle I was caught in. Indraneel, with his fiery eyes fixed on me, was already weaving a narrative, a story where I was the villain, the tormentor, the one responsible for Elian's distress.

And it was true, in a way. I was the one who was, who had arrived at the Royal Academy, the one who had disrupted the carefully constructed world that Indraneel and Elian inhabited. I was the unwelcome intruder, the catalyst for this emotional storm.

Suddenly, whispers began to ripple through the crowd. "Did you see how he was bullying Elian?" "Poor Elian, he's so sweet." The words buzzed around me like angry wasps, each one stinging my heart. A cold dread sank into my gut, a feeling that was all too familiar.

A memory flickered in my mind, a scene from a previous life. It was a time when whispers had turned into accusations, accusations that had spiraled into something far more sinister. It was a time when I, Kjizei, was a geek, a nobody, bullied for being different, for being gay. The sting of rejection from my first love, a boy who was so quick to judge, so easy to turn his back on me, was a pain that still lingered in my heart.

I wanted to shout, to scream, "I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything!" but the words stuck in my throat. My voice, usually a shaky mumble, was now completely lost, swallowed by the fear that was rising within me. "I didn't... I didn't..." I repeated silently, the words echoing in my mind. "I didn't... I didn't... "

My body began to tremble. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I felt a chill despite the warmth of the afternoon sun. My fingers clutched at my robes, trying to anchor myself to reality, but the fear that was rising within me was too powerful. My face, I knew, was pale, my eyes wide and frantic. A part of me hoped that Indraneel, seeing my distress, would feel a flicker of pity, a moment of doubt about his accusations. But it was a vain hope.

Indraneel's words, "What's wrong with you?" and "Are you afraid of being caught?" felt like icy claws digging into my chest. It was a pain so real, so visceral, that it felt like my entire being was being torn apart from the inside out. The image of Indraneel so distant, so angry with me, sent a fresh wave of despair washing over me. It was the same feeling I had all those years ago, all those years in my original world, the crushing weight of rejection, the sting of being seen as less than. And now, here I was, standing before Indraneel, the very embodiment of that pain, and I couldn't help but wonder, what if I was in Elian's place? What if it was me being held by Indraneel, comforted by him? Would it feel better? Would it make the pain somehow easier to bear?

I just stood there, trembling, my gaze fixed on Elian, his tear-stained face a symbol of the turmoil that raged within me. There was something wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

A notification blinked on the edge of my vision: "Painmeter: 37%."

It was tiring, this pain, this constant ache in my chest. It felt like my heart was being slowly crushed, and I wished, I wished that I could just stop feeling it.

Suddenly, a hand reached out, a strong, warm hand that grasped my arm. I looked up, startled, to see a young man, his face a mixture of concern and apprehension. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle and reassuring. He was dressed in the academy's crimson robes, but unlike the others who watched me with cold indifference, he saw me, the real me, trembling and on the verge of collapsing.

I met his gaze, drawn in by the intensity of his golden eyes, a color like molten gold in the firelight. His hair was a fiery crimson, a vibrant red that defied gravity and framed a face that was both kind and resolute. His features, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, the delicate sculpt of his nose, were all remarkably similar to Indraneel's, the Crown Prince himself. It was a startling realization that brought a new wave of fear to my chest. What was he doing here? He had a gentle, almost ethereal quality about him, a serenity that seemed to radiate from him, as if he were a beacon of calm in the middle of a storm.

His attire was a stark contrast to the formal robes worn by the other students. He wore simple, yet elegant, adult clothing: a black tunic that flowed smoothly over his frame, a dark leather belt cinched at his waist, and breeches that showcased his strong legs. It was a look that screamed of both authority and confidence, a subtle reminder of his unique position within the academy. Could he be one of those who is chasing after Elian, ready to die for Elian and do anything for Elian?

The thought sent a tremor through me. It wasn't just his features that reminded me of the Crown Prince, but also the way he carried himself, the air of quiet power that emanated from him. The whispers in the crowd began to sound like a distant hum, fading into the background as I focused solely on this enigmatic figure before me. This could be a turning point, a chance for salvation, a way to escape the suffocating grip of fear that held me captive. I had to find out.

Suddenly, a voice sliced through the air, sharp and cold. "Adrien Régis François, what are you doing?" It was Indraneel, his voice laced with disdain as his eyes narrowed. "Why are you helping someone so rotten? Oh, he was just like acting, trying to gain someone's empathy, maybe to attract someone's attention by having them pity him. How pathetic." Indraneel's gaze shifted to me, his eyes cold and accusing.

In a searing heat, it spread through my chest. It wasn't just shame, but a visceral, burning sensation of vulnerability, as if Indraneel's words had pierced through my skin, stripping me bare before the entire academy. I wanted to shrink into myself, disappear into the crowd, but I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. Indraneel's words were a tangible weight, pressing down on me, suffocating me with their scorn.

"Don't you see?" Adrien spoke, his voice firm but laced with a hint of weariness. "He's trembling, Indraneel. Look at him, he's pale. He's not acting. He's terrified."

His words hung in the air, a challenge against Indraneel's scorn. The whispers in the crowd died down, replaced by an uneasy silence. Indraneel's gaze flickered to me, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt appeared in his eyes.

But the doubt was quickly replaced by a renewed wave of disdain. "Adrien," he sneered, "You know very well that he's a liar. He's always been a liar. He's just trying to manipulate you, to get you on his side. Don't be so naive."

His words were a blow, a cruel reminder of the power dynamics at play. I felt myself shrink back, my body trembling, my breath catching in my throat. The echoes of a past life, where I was bullied and ostracized, were resurfacing in this unfamiliar world. The pain of those memories, the fear of being judged and misunderstood, threatened to overwhelm me. It felt like this academy, this place that was supposed to be a sanctuary, was becoming another battlefield, and I was once again, a vulnerable target.

Adrien's gaze remained steady, his eyes meeting Indraneel's with unwavering intensity. He didn't speak, but his silence was a testament to his unwavering belief in my innocence. I felt a surge of gratitude, a wave of warmth spreading through me. For the first time since Indraneel's arrival, a flicker of hope ignited within my heart.

But Indraneel's disdainful gaze remained fixed on me, the intensity of his scrutiny making my heart pound in my chest. It was a look that stripped me bare, exposing my deepest insecurities, reminding me of the vulnerability that I had fought so hard to conceal. His words echoed in my mind, a cruel taunt that pierced my carefully constructed defenses. "He's always been a liar," he'd said, and the truth was, I had never been able to shake the feeling that there was a part of me that deserved that label.

"Don't be so naive, Adrien," he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He's playing the victim, trying to get your sympathy. You're falling for it, just like everyone else."

His words were a dagger, twisting in my gut. I knew I was no longer just the target of Indraneel's disdain, but also Adrien's. I had to do something, anything, to break this spell, to break the silence that threatened to swallow me whole.

"I'm not playing the victim," I said, my voice trembling. The words were a whisper, barely audible over the buzz of the crowd, but they were my truth, my defiance.

Indraneel scoffed, his eyes narrowed. "You think we're fools? You think you can manipulate us with your pathetic charade? You're nothing but a liar." He turned his back on me, his disdain palpable in the air. "Adrien, let's go."

"No," Adrien said, his voice firm and unwavering. "I'm staying here." His eyes met mine, sending a silent message of support and understanding.

"Would you mind assisting me to the infirmary?" I asked Adrien, my voice barely a whisper. The fear that was gripping my heart threatened to choke me. I didn't want to be alone, not with Indraneel's accusatory gaze burning into me.

"Of course," Adrien said, his voice gentle. "Let's go."

As we walked through the courtyard, towards the clinic, the whispers of the crowd followed us, a relentless barrage of suspicion and judgment. I felt a wave of shame wash over me, a feeling that was amplified by Indraneel's piercing stare, which never left me.