episode_0116

“Then let me get straight to the point here.”

“Yes. I’m listening.”

“This newspaper you spearheaded—have you considered distributing it across the entire Empire? Of course, I’ll cover the costs and manpower required.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm, an excellent choice.”

Unlike the flustered Dave, Cheryl nodded approvingly.

“If we have the funds, distributing it nationwide is entirely possible. But if you’re expecting us to act as megaphones, our strength alone won’t be enough.”

“I know. Rumors fade unpredictably, and a newspaper alone would fall short in many ways.”

“Then what do you mean by nationwide distribution?”

“I’m not talking about founding a printing house. But at the very least, it should be possible to circulate it beyond just academy students—to the nobility outside as well.”

“How would you handle sales? Even if we print the newspapers, we’d need a place to store and sell them. Unless you plan to give them away for free—”

“Even I wouldn’t waste money like that. We’ll charge for them—though far cheaper than regular newspapers. As for sales, I already have something in mind.”

No matter how well-made the newspaper is, it’s useless if no one reads it. Moreover, being a student publication, it can’t compete in quality or quantity with the professionally printed newspapers circulating across the Empire and other nations.

Even if I fund distribution, it’ll only amount to a one-off event outside the academy.

That’s why I recalled the street newspapers from my original world—a project that hired the homeless to sell papers, aiding their reintegration into society while generating sales. When filled with exclusive interviews of notable figures, it became a compelling read.

By replicating something similar and leveraging my ducal status, I could secure at least one or two high-profile interviews.

Of course, budget constraints mean this will remain a limited event, but it should still generate enough buzz. The added bonus? Promoting my return to sanity.

I summarized the plan briefly for the two of them.

“—That’s the idea. Realistically, we can’t support all the impoverished, so I’ll prioritize recruiting those willing to work but currently lacking opportunities under the Empire’s neglect.”

“Right away? But that would just—”

“Yes. It’s barely enough to put out an immediate fire. It’s almost embarrassing to call it philanthropy.”

My intentions are neither purely benevolent nor do they promise transformative results.

“But even so, these people need money for the bread in front of them right now. Those who can’t afford even that will eventually succumb to temptation, staining their hands. So even if this is just self-congratulatory blindness, it’s still better than nothing.”

“……”

“……”

Both silently stared at me. Did I come off as too selfish?

“W-Well, I don’t intend to stop at just this one attempt. If things go well with Chris, I’ll propose extending this into a long-term project through meetings with Ellia or other imperial candidates. And also—”

“Brilliant!”

“So, please lend us your—wait, what?”

“Brilliant, Young Lord Grave! I never imagined you’d care so deeply for the Empire’s marginalized! It seems even our newspaper got you wrong. If you’ve truly regained your sanity—no, you must’ve been sane all along!”

“Being a duke and thinking this far is impressive. Most nobles only care about grand schemes, not their own people. In that sense… yeah, truly remarkable.”

“N-No, I don’t deserve such praise…”

“You should be proud, Young Lord Grave! At least within this academy, your thinking is unparalleled!”

“Uh, well.”

I don’t entirely understand why they’re so excited, but whatever—good for me.

Seizing the momentum, I decided to push further.

“Additionally, I’ll host an academy ball. Of course, you two will receive priority invitations. With luck, we might attract more collaborators for the earlier plan.”

“Good idea. A Grave ducal ball would draw provincial nobles hoping for favors. But… does Eric even have the authority for that?”

“Ghk…”

Cheryl struck right where it hurt.

“The legitimate heir to House Grave is Christine. It’s hard to imagine Eric unilaterally organizing something like a ball without her permission.”

“Now that you mention it…”

Even Dave, who had been gazing at me like an idol, regained some rationality, his starry-eyed expression dimming.

“Moreover,” Cheryl pressed on, delivering another blow,

“the funds for the ball would still belong to House Grave—meaning Christine holds the purse strings. If we recklessly spend and get dragged in for questioning, no thanks.”

“…Fair enough. My current spending capacity is limited.”

I conceded without resistance. Not that I blame or resent Chris, but her overwhelming authority is a hindrance. Still, there are plenty of ways to fund this without her help—like protagonists in other novels do.

Buy promising materials or medicinal herbs with future knowledge, manipulate market trends for profit, or reveal pandemic cures ahead of time.

“……”

I shook my head mentally.

But none of that is feasible now. I lack both the time and seed money. If I were just some rural or fallen noble, it might’ve worked.

No one scrutinizes a provincial noble’s allowance, but as the son of an imperial duke, every move I make draws attention. And I’m not talented enough to evade all surveillance.

Besides, my goal is ensuring the hero quartet follows the same path as before—just slightly bolstered. Major events must proceed unchanged.

Lucilla must claim the holy sword, Ellia must ascend the throne, Cecillia must become the saint, and Chris must inherit the Grave duchy. If I suddenly hoard wealth or solve crises single-handedly? The consequences are unthinkable.

I’m content being a competent second fiddle—not the protagonist.

Cheryl dragged me back to reality.

“If your funds are limited, what’s the actual budget?”

“Virtually none… I’m ashamed to admit I never saw the need to earn my own coin.”

“Understood.”

“Then could you secure approval from—”

“No. I’ll obtain Chris’s consent myself. That much, I can assure you.”

“How? Even if Eric asks us, we won’t cross swords with Christine or other pro-Grave students. We like her too.”

“I can’t disclose the method. But I do need your help.”

The vagueness was frustrating, but laying all my secrets bare would be suicidal.

To smooth my academy life and ensure the hero party’s growth, I must erase doubts and befriend everyone. Dave and Cheryl, respected among students, can bridge that gap—acting as megaphones.

Their earlier, overtly biased coverage of me still didn’t alienate them—proof enough.

“I won’t ask for your help for free. If there’s anything you want or need, I’ll do my utmost to—”

“Unnecessary. I’m satisfied with things as they are.”

“Same here, Young Lord Grave.”

Both looked unimpressed, faintly apologetic but unmoved.

I needed a better carrot. Ordinary temptations won’t sway them.

Nothing’s harder than stoking desire in the content.

And Cheryl’s right—I can’t guarantee I’ll convince Chris. My only option is humanity’s oldest persuasion tool: emotional appeal.