episode_0034

34. The Emperor of Losers

First, I served tea to the trembling Emperor, who was shaking like a cell phone.

It was steaming hot tea, but the Emperor gulped it down in one shot, clearly too nervous to notice.

Then, as if realizing how hot it was, they stuck out their tongue, panting heavily.

“…H-hot!”

Maybe they’re not just a loser—maybe they’re genuinely lacking in intelligence?

Though it felt blasphemous, I couldn’t help but seriously consider it.

Did they notice my gaze? Instead of getting angry, the so-called “Emperor of Losers” just hung their head even lower.

They fidgeted with the hem of their dress under the table, doing nothing else.

Unable to take any more of this awkwardness, I finally spoke up first, addressing Irene Pendleton.

“Um… I’d only heard you were coming. May I ask… what brings you here?”

This wasn’t something one should dare ask the Emperor.

No—before that, since when did a commoner like me have the right to speak before the Emperor did?

This was outright rudeness, punishable by immediate beheading at the hands of towering guards.

But if I didn’t say anything, this unbearable silence might have dragged on forever.

Hearing my question, Irene hiccupped in surprise.

Then, rolling her eyes back and forth as if checking her surroundings, she finally spoke.

“L-Laxia’s daughter told me to find you… She said you could help drive out the Five Emperors…”

The Emperor couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

At this point, I couldn’t help but doubt whether they were even capable of handling state affairs.

Another bout of silence followed.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, ready to explode, when Irene spoke again.

Tears welled up in her eyes, poised to spill at any moment.

*Sniff*… “I’m sowwy…”

“It’s fine…”

“The Five Emperors call me stupid every day, so I shrink back… I’m scared of every word I say, and it’s so hard to think for myself… *sob*…”

Finally, as if their psyche had shattered completely, the Emperor even shed tears while politely addressing a mere commoner.

A pang of pity surged within me. Just how badly had the Five Emperors tormented them?

A sense of justice I didn’t know I had flared up—I wanted to protect this pitiful sight.

But I hadn’t forgotten Erica’s warning.

‘Never pity the Emperor.

Delay answering any proposals and consult me first.

Keep your words heavy and your ears open.

Memorize every conversation and report it to me verbatim.’

Already, thanks to the Emperor’s unbearable behavior, my lips had loosened.

The girl stared up at me, tears falling like chicken droppings.

The sorrowful sight left ample room for sympathy.

And the tragic backstory—born as the Emperor, gaslit by the Five Emperors since childhood?

My heart was already swaying.

But I couldn’t let my guard down just because I assumed this was their true self. Cecilia’s case was proof enough of that.

I swallowed back the words, “I’ll help however I can,” before they could escape.

This time, I stayed silent, waiting for the Emperor to calm down and speak first.

After about five minutes of desperately wiping tears with their sleeves, Irene sniffled and finally spoke again.

*Sniff*… “I want you… to tell your lord…”

Only now did Irene speak honestly, dropping the formal tone.

Seeing them cry so pathetically had made me doubt myself, but now I grew cautious again.

She was trying to use me to drag Erica into the imperial court’s political struggles.

“I’m sorry. That’s beyond my authority.”

“……”

Her lips pressed tightly together, tears pooling once more.

This didn’t seem like acting anymore.

Another five minutes passed as she sniffled aimlessly.

Only fourteen years old.

By modern standards, a sixth-grader.

An age where kids would laugh at fallen leaves and debate what junk food to eat after school.

Maybe… this wasn’t entirely an act.

*Sniff*— Irene wiped her nose and spoke again.

“Then… you’ll only agree to what’s within your authority?”

“That’s not—”

“You literally said, ‘That’s beyond my authority.’ That implies you’ll agree to what IS within it, right? Surely you’re not lying to the Emperor?”

Wait—was she crying earlier, or just thinking?

Suddenly, the innocent, loser-like little girl began to look like an Emperor who had survived among politicians.

*Now* Erica’s warning about keeping my words heavy made sense…

I averted my gaze awkwardly, but Irene stared fixedly, applying silent pressure.

Still, she seemed to underestimate me.

I wasn’t a genius like Erica or Cecilia, but I was far from incompetent.

Summoning all my wit, I carefully replied:

“My loyalty lies strictly with Countess Erica Grace. My earlier words were a mistake borne of ignorance, but I must defer to her judgment.”

Internally, I applauded myself for the flawless deflection.

The classic “kick it upstairs” strategy paired with dumb humility.

A.K.A.: *”Oops, I messed up ’cause I’m an idiot lol. Take it up with my boss if you’re mad, k?”*

Irene blinked blankly at my perfect reply, then snorted.

More like a scoff—more *”Really? That’s it?”*

As if confirming my suspicion, Irene suddenly launched into practiced eloquence—now speaking like an Emperor.

“You are the subordinate of Erica Grace? Do you know who truly owns the land beneath your feet?”

“……”

“Irene Pendleton, the Son of Heaven, Sovereign of all under Heaven—your lord’s liege. Tell me, is there any matter more urgent than mine?”

“…”

My brain truly couldn’t be trusted.

A painfully average intellect, saved only by decent memory.

Politics had never been my concern, so I’d never learned to guard my words. Now, it screwed me over.

*I should beg Erica for training later…*

Lost in thought, I hesitated—until Irene, stern-faced despite her earlier crying, pressed for an answer.

“You dare let your mind wander in the Emperor’s presence?”

“N-no, I—”

“Speak at once!”

“Your words are… wise.”

Before I knew it, I’d blurted out an agreement without thinking.

Satisfied, Irene smirked.

Her imposing demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by the giggly brat from earlier.

“Then it is promised!”

“…Yes.”

Which version of her was real?!

Somehow, I felt like I’d lost to a child.

Then, as if offering comfort, Irene made another proposal.

“My request won’t be excessive—no demand for servitude or anything unreasonable.”

“Oh?”

“Grace has already heard of my arrival. She’ll have deduced my intentions for summoning you.”

So… Erica knew, and I walked right into this?

Annoyance flared, but—she’s the Emperor. What could I do?

Defeated, I slumped as Irene continued.

“A ball. For the next three nights, you shall sleep in my chambers.”

…What?

What kind of insanity was this?

Blankly stunned, Irene flushed and hastily corrected the misunderstanding.

“Do not misunderstand! I speak not of *that*—but of requesting a guard. The Five Emperors’ gazes grow ominous. I seek protection.”

“Ah… Understood. But I lack magical power. My size is just for show.”

Not that size didn’t matter here.

Magic wasn’t purely about combat strength—think *Dragon Ball’s* Kaioken or Super Saiyan.

It fortified the body like a coating over muscle, enhancing toughness.

Raw magical capacity counted, but so did physical baseline.

Balance was key.

But back to the point—my bulk alone didn’t make me strong.

Irene, however, already knew.

“Fear not. I’m aware you’re all bark—a meek fox behind that beastly façade.”

*A fox again?*

Strong-looking but weak-fighting, quick to flee—sounded about right.

Was this why Erica called me that?

As realization dawned, Irene added:

“Another will aid us. Should danger arise, Grace Count—er, *Earl* Grace will have cause to intervene.”

“Understood.”

So this ultimately benefited Erica.

Satisfied, Irene reverted to her loser persona.

“That’s all. You may leave.”

A dismissal.

Was her earlier regal act fake? Or was *this*? Giving up, I bowed and exited through the rear door.

Then—

*-Thud!*

“*Sniff*… *hic*…”

Had she tried leaving via the main door? The Emperor tripped and fell.

Tears pooled instantly.

One thing became clear:

*‘100% acting.’*

Did idiocy mean I’d fall for such sloppy theatrics?

Even a fool could see—there was *nothing* on the marble floor to trip over.

Snorting, I slipped out the back.

――――――――――――――――――――

After Cain left, Irene Pendleton rose.

Or rather, was helped up by a sharp-eared, golden-haired maid emerging from the shadows.

Once upright, Irene puffed her chest and eagerly sought validation.

“How was that? My flawless acting?!”

“…Impeccable, Your Majesty.”

The maid privately thought she behaved exactly as usual—but kept that to herself.

Instead, she cautiously asked:

“What does Your Majesty make of him?”

Half personal curiosity.

To the maid, he seemed like a bumbling amateur playing at politics.

None of the genius inventor aura rumored outside.

Yet Irene grinned.

“A heaven-sent talent.

Too politically inept to hide his thoughts.

Loyal beyond greed.

Too lowborn to cause trouble—yet skilled.

A fine s—subject, truly.”

“As you say.”

The maid, indebted since Irene’s days as princess, agreed unconditionally.

As the maid wiped tear streaks away with a damp cloth, Irene regained her dignity and inquired:

“Can Grace and Laxia truly overthrow the Five Emperors?”

“Likely. The Five Emperors’ power stems from the late Emperor’s excess. Now, wingless dragons against rising nobles.”

“Hmph. As long as they don’t assassinate me… victory is possible.”

The young Emperor smiled bitterly.

Clumsy, frequently tripping—but still an Emperor.

Raised among monsters seeking to exploit her, now a budding politician.

Survival sharpened her instincts.

She knew cornering the Five Emperors risked retaliation.

But yielding to Cecilia’s schemes would render her as pitiful as her father.

Replacing old tigers with young ones was risky.

Empowering nobles risked becoming their puppet.

A true deadlock.

The maid hesitated—until Irene spoke solemnly:

“An Emperor shares glory and bears blame.

If war is lost, the Emperor dies first.

My father’s failures are my burden.

Mourn not my death—it is as natural as meat on your plate.”

For Irene, raised under constant threat, death was routine.

Unlike her indolent father, she’d matured too soon.

The maid bowed—while secretly recalling the childhood klutz and envying the man who’d glimpsed that side.

――――――――――――――――――――

Meanwhile, at the nobles’ quarters.

Cain, post-audience, reported to Erica.

But—

“A ball? Sleeping in the Emperor’s chambers for three nig—”

“*What the FUCK?*”

Something inside Erica *snapped*.

Had Vivian and Adele not intervened, the entire building might’ve been bisected.

(*Why is she mad? Is it her time of the month?*)