episode_0010

A week had passed since the academy’s opening.

Aside from the unexpectedly weak swordsmanship of the Small Sword Saint—an issue beyond imagination—most things aligned with the Intelligence Division’s predictions.

Except for one thing: the flower-arranging club.

Officially known as the Floral Arts Club.

“Prince Acid joined a flower-arranging club?”

“What kind of club is that? Like, actual flower arranging? The one I’m thinking of?”

“How could that be? If it were just the prince joining on a whim, fine. But the other members aren’t ordinary either.”

“Exactly. Alongside the prince, there’s the crown prince of Leon and the prince of Dale—both from major powers. And the rest of the members…”

“In short, it’s a secret gathering of the most influential first-years.”

Sitting quietly, chewing on a sandwich while eavesdropping, I collected the rumors circulating among the students.

Please, let them keep thinking that.

As I listened to the gossip about the Floral Arts Club, I prayed the rumors would spread far and wide.

The truth—that the imperial prince and the princes of major nations had become rivals over the same girl within a week—was better known by as few people as possible.

Not that it mattered if someone did spill the truth.

Any sane person would dismiss them as a lunatic.

“Is this really a romance novel?”

The more I observed the Floral Arts Club from afar, the more this world felt like a romance novel.

Daisy was as pure as a romance novel’s heroine, the male leads were frustratingly dense, and yet, the club functioned perfectly.

So, I wished this world was a romance novel.

It was easier to believe everything followed a predetermined script than to accept that this madness had occurred naturally. Otherwise, this world’s genre would shift straight into cosmic horror.

“Please, let me never have to join that club.”

The division head and the Intelligence Division had urged me to join for strategic reasons, but I refused.

My excuse? That joining might disrupt the already precarious balance.

My real reason? I had no desire to get tangled in what was clearly a chaotic romance novel harem.

Unless, gods forbid, Daisy fell for me like some side character in a romance novel spin-off.

I’d become the man who stole the first love of my liege and other key figures, dragged into every mess the heroine faced.

Unless I’d fallen for Daisy at first sight like Prince Ellen, the sheer terror I felt upon seeing her confirmed one thing:

I was not romance novel male lead material.

“Is that even possible?”

In the end, whether out of pity or agreement with my reasoning, the kingdom postponed my club application.

But if an incident occurred, it was obvious who’d be deployed—the closest available agent: me.

“If I can just hold out until next year, reinforcements will come.”

Though a prince studying abroad, I had knights assigned as guards.

But while they could accompany me outside, they had no pretext to interfere in club activities like the Floral Arts Club.

So, until next year—when the Intelligence Division could plant undercover students—I was on my own.

Could I last that long without incident?

“Should I just submit it now?”

I’d left behind a resignation letter no one would accept due to my imperial assignment.

Now, that empty slot might be filled with a club application instead.

“Betrayed like this…”

I’d thought academy life would be a break.

My plan to dump work on the Sword Saint or Small Sword Saint and enjoy my youth had backfired—because Prince Ellen was busy enjoying his youth.

Now, I was using my espionage training to film a spy drama in the academy.

Before enrollment, I’d grumbled about learning skills with no practical use. Now, they were indispensable.

“At least the academy itself is normal.”

With the Sword Saint and the Tower Lord’s recruitment, students from across the continent had gathered.

Even freshmen were unusually studious, but that was expected.

If anything, the Floral Arts Club—which had spawned an absurdly convoluted love triangle in just a week—was the anomaly. What fault was there in students studying at an academy?

“Speaking of which, that club president is way too suspicious.”

First, he had narrow eyes.

That alone raised his likelihood of being a key character by 50%.

A narrow-eyed character in an academy romance novel?

Best-case scenario: a retired hero or an ally with a tragic backstory.

Worst-case: a mid-boss plotting an academy terror attack—or the final boss who betrays the protagonists.

The fact that his hair was brown made me hesitate. Had it been pink, I’d have ambushed him on sight.

“I couldn’t find concrete evidence, though.”

So far, Bellian Eric seemed like a textbook minor noble.

His picture-perfect act almost fooled me.

But it was too perfect—which only deepened my suspicion.

Upon closer inspection, oddities piled up.

He’d already earned enough credits to graduate last year, yet he’d packed his schedule again?

No sane person would do that.

He had to be running some special operation here.

Most students barely scraped by their fourth year, some even repeating grades. Yet he’d taken enough classes to graduate as a third-year.

And despite that, no one remembered him having close friends?

Even the most introverted person wouldn’t leave that little trace.

This had to be Intelligence Division-level cover-up work.

Then, the clincher:

“Is this how you do it?”

“Not bad, but it’s too flashy. For this, you’d want subtler flowers to highlight the main piece.”

“Wow!”

I wasn’t watching the club directly, but wiretapping alone confirmed it:

This bastard was serious about flower arranging.

Gender stereotypes aside, in a medieval fantasy world, a nobleman enrolled in an academy being this into floral arts?

It was more believable that he was pretending to be a passionate club president.

“Alright, let’s wrap up for today.”

As the club adjourned, I cut the wiretap and headed to the training grounds.

Using “personal training” as an excuse to avoid joining the Floral Arts Club meant I had to train—or Prince Ellen might drag me in.

“Wait, it’s not even an excuse.”

I wanted to train.

Prince Ellen’s first love was just getting in the way.

That bastard. Already hard enough to catch up to him, and now he’s sabotaging my efforts.

“Adam!”

Just then, Prince Ellen—face oddly flushed—ran toward me.

Even knowing this wasn’t a BL novel, seeing a guy like that made me scowl reflexively.

“Did Daisy confess to you?”

“N-No, not that!”

Flustered, he carefully pulled something out.

“Ah, did someone else confess to you?”

I tilted my head at the letter in his hand.

Already? A male lead getting confessed to to trigger the heroine’s jealousy?

Our prince hadn’t even made progress with Daisy yet.

Not that it was surprising, given his looks. But this world seeming like a romance novel had warped my perception.

“This isn’t mine. It’s yours, Adam.”

I nearly swung my sword mid-training at the sudden BL drift.

“Violet asked me to pass it to you.”

Violet.

Daisy’s childhood friend—the purple-haired girl who’d been with her when the Floral Arts Club first formed.

“I see.”

So, I was certain.

“This… is a duel challenge.”

“Huh? It’s clearly a love letter!”

Prince Ellen stared at me like I was spouting nonsense, but I stood firm.

“It’s definitely a duel challenge.”

My face wasn’t ugly, but standing next to Prince Ellen?

And the letter’s sender was surrounded by guys on his level—even if they only had eyes for her.

At that age, girls often chased the impossible.

And think about it:

What kind of men were around Daisy?

Even in a fantasy world where polyamory might be tolerated, the only one in the Floral Arts Club remotely approachable was the club president.

If Daisy chose one, wouldn’t the others turn elsewhere?

Wasn’t it natural to try for someone else in that scenario?

“Hmm.”

“Ah!”

As I unfolded the letter, Prince Ellen panicked and backed away—as if I wasn’t supposed to read it.

“She, uh, said to read it right away!”

“Right.”

The contents were brief:

Today, 7 PM.

Old building rooftop.

Seemed urgent—she wanted to meet today.

“It’s a duel challenge, right?”

“N-No way…?”

No way? Who writes a love letter with just a time and place?

This was a classic duel notice.

According to intel, Violet was a fairly skilled mage.

“Magic-spamming bitch.”

Clearly, she’d challenged me—the second-best in first-year swordsmanship.

Unbelievable.

Shouldn’t she start with the third-ranked Small Sword Saint?

Guess the Sword Saint’s grandson seemed like an easier target.

“M-Magic-spamming?!”

Calling her that was risky, but mentioning I’d learned the term from Princess Hestia made Prince Ellen blush and lower his head.

“Embarrassed by your princess?”

“…A little.”

“Tch.”

Well, I’d be embarrassed too if she were my sister.

Still.

“I’ll win.”

If I lost, Prince Ellen would be next.

I couldn’t let swordsmanship lose to magic.

The mage picking the location was suspicious, but a true swordsman could afford that handicap.

“Uh… Yeah. Come back safely.”

With Prince Ellen’s awkward send-off, I headed to the old building’s rooftop.

—

Creak.

Pushing open the iron door, I stepped onto the rooftop.

There she was—purple hair and all.

“You came.”

A trembling voice, uneasy gaze.

Her resolute expression—no, extremely determined—momentarily shook my confidence.

What the hell?

Was Prince Ellen right? A confession?

Stunned by the unexpected possibility, my thoughts froze—

Until a devastating strike from her mouth shattered my mind.

“D-Do you know… the flower blooming in barren land?”

What the hell?

This world had “Do you know” phrases too?

And “flower blooming in barren land”?

Sounds like a romance novel title.

“D-Do you know… kimchi?”

The follow-up “Do you know” left me utterly baffled.

Wait, seriously, what the—

This world had kimchi?

“Do you know Ko— Ugh. You’re Korean, aren’t you?”

At my dumbfounded expression, her half-certain look forced a nod out of me.