I couldn't immediately understand what Martha was saying.

  An engagement? Between me and Erna Griebel?

  "...Wait a minute. Me and Erna Griebel are engaged?"

  "Well, to be precise, you're listed as a candidate."

  Martha made the correction as if it were obvious.

  "...This is the first I'm hearing of it."

  "Pardon?"

  Martha tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. Her expression seemed to say "Surely you jest."

  "No, that's what I mean about the engagement. I'm hearing about it for the first time right now."

  I appealed to Martha from the bottom of my heart.

  "But you said you were aware of it earlier."

  "...What are you talking about?"

  To me, who could only feel confused, Martha also answered with a troubled expression.

  "When you mentioned Lady Erna's 'marriage prospects' in the hallway, you said you'd heard about it from Master Oscar..."

  "Ah..."

  Only then did I realize that a fatal misunderstanding had occurred between Martha and me. I'd been talking about Erna's marriage hunting activities, but apparently Martha had been talking about an engagement between Erna and me.

  "So that's it... Martha, that earlier conversation was my misunderstanding. I truly didn't know about any marriage arrangement."

  Martha blinked repeatedly for several seconds. Finally seeming to grasp the situation, she hurriedly bowed deeply.

  "M-my apologies, Master Dylan! I jumped to conclusions."

  "No, don't worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for. ...More importantly, can you tell me the details? When did this arrangement start?"

  I desperately calmed my turbulent heart and sank deeply into a chair. What on earth had led to this situation? Martha raised her face, her gaze wandering slightly as if searching her memory.

  "I heard about it roughly three months after you began your mountain training, Master Dylan. An alliance between House Belmond and House Griebel, whose influence at court has been growing, would bring great benefit to both sides... Apparently it's primarily being advanced by the heads of both households."

  "Father..."

  The realization hit me like a physical blow. In noble society, a "consideration" between heads of houses wasn't a suggestion. It was a pre-signed contract waiting for a date. I hadn't just walked into a minefield; I'd been building a house on top of one for five years.

  Alfred Belmond. My father, the head of House Belmond, gave the impression of being strict yet reasonably understanding. When I regained my memories at age ten and suddenly threw myself into sword practice and studies, my father said nothing in particular. He ultimately granted permission even for the unseemly sweat-drenched training unbefitting a noble, and the six months of mountain seclusion.

  But that was largely because I was the second son.

  The expectations placed on my older brother Claudio Belmond were incomparable to those directed at me.

  As the heir, he bore the expectations and responsibilities of upholding the family honor in his every word and deed. His swordsmanship, his studies, even his social conduct—everything was measured by the standard of "whether it befits the next marquis."

  Compared to that, I, as the second son, had been allowed relatively more freedom. ...No, I hadn't been free. It was simply that the form of responsibility imposed on me differed from my brother's.

  If my brother's role was to inherit the house and continue the bloodline, then I was a piece to enhance the family's value. A political marriage was the epitome of that.

  "...Still, why me?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  My true feelings slipped out. In the original story, there had been absolutely no mention of Dylan having a fiancée.

  Of course, that was only natural. The original Dylan had been in such a state that he could be called House Belmond's shame, unable to be used as a tool for political marriage.

  "...Master Dylan, I believe you underestimate yourself somewhat."

  "In noble households, ability often matters more than intent," she added quietly.

  "Perhaps you're right."

  While Martha's words reached me as encouragement, I simultaneously arrived at an ironic conclusion.

  I am no longer the Dylan from the original story.

  The desperate efforts I'd accumulated over these five years to avoid my destruction flags—my sword skills, my magical knowledge, my deportment as a noble—all of it had transformed me into "an existence with value as a piece in a political marriage."

  Therefore, an engagement proposal had arisen between me, who was growing as an influential figure, and Erna.

  "So that's how it is..."

  I muttered without thinking. Lines of fate I'd thought would never intersect. Could they really connect so easily with just my efforts alone? Even Dylan, a minor villain, had been one of the gears moving the great story of the world.

  As a result of my actions to avoid my own destruction, the other gears that should have meshed properly had gone awry, and the entire story had begun to collapse with a grinding screech.

  "...Incidentally, how far has this progressed?"

  I asked Martha with faint hope.

  "Unfortunately, I haven't been informed of the details, but it apparently hasn't been formally decided yet."

  "I see..."

  At Martha's words, I let out a slight sigh of relief, followed by an even deeper sigh. Too feeble to call a ray of hope. Not a single fundamental problem had been resolved.

  The hero, the saint, and the sage—all three were indispensable personnel for confronting the coming calamity. Yet they'd been ruined by a single petty villain's self-preservation plan. I didn't want to believe it, but that was the reality before my eyes.

  Should I just go back to being a villain...?

  Just imagining it made my breath catch.

  It might seem like an absurd idea at first glance, but it wasn't necessarily a terrible move. What if I returned to being the arrogant, thoughtless, hopeless wastrel noble from the original? Father wouldn't want to entrust a valuable engagement to the renowned court magician Erna to someone like me, a family disgrace.

  Moreover, if I committed evil deeds, the original conflict with Saint Alicia would arise, and that situation might ignite the sense of justice in the shut-in hero Leon, becoming the catalyst to make him stand up again.

  Yes, that was how Eternal Quest was supposed to be. Only with me as the villain could the heroes' story be properly woven.

  But that was far too dangerous a gamble. It would be like throwing myself right into the center of the destruction flags I'd desperately fled from for five years, sweating blood.

  ...I really don't want to do that.

  Furthermore, even if I played the villain now, there was no guarantee the gears that had gone awry would return to their original positions. The hero's spirit might already be broken beyond repair. The saint might now be such a shrewd merchant that she'd simply solve my harassment with money and connections.

  A future where everything ended in futility and only I was destroyed. That, at least, I absolutely had to avoid.

  "...Haa."

  An involuntary deep sigh escaped.

  "Master Dylan...?"

  Martha was watching me with concern.

  "No, it's nothing."

  I stood up while feigning composure and turned my gaze to the night scenery spreading outside the window.

  Now that I understood my actions were one source of the original's destruction, perhaps I should avoid moving recklessly.

  What I should do remained as vague as ever. But what I needed to decide had become clearer.

  Should I continue forward ignoring the original, or should I maneuver to force things back to the original?

  No one in this world could know which was correct. The rest was a matter of resolve.

  "I'm going to sleep now."

  "Good night, Master Dylan."

  Saying that, I lay down in bed while harboring my troubled feelings.

  The next morning, I woke up having barely slept. The engagement talk with Erna, and the fact that I myself might be the source of this world's scenario collapse—these two weights pressed down on my head, and because I'd been turning thoughts over all night, my thinking was dull and my body heavy as lead.

  "...Well, breakfast first."

  The face reflected in the mirror was terrible even by my own standards, but I couldn't stay shut up in my room forever. I headed to the dining hall with heavy steps.

  The moment I stepped into the dining hall, I noticed the atmosphere was different from usual. I felt more stares than normal. Several students were glancing at me while whispering something to each other. Those gazes seemed mixed with curiosity and somehow a hint of pity.

  What's going on...?

  I could only think of one possibility. Yesterday's lecture with Professor Maxwell, where I'd achieved reasonable results. But even so, the color of those gazes felt strange.

  "Yo, Dylan."

  Oscar, recognizing me, raised one hand while chewing bread. His mouth was grinning unusually wide.

  "Morning, Oscar. ...What's with you, you're in a good mood this morning."

  "Well, yeah. I heard something interesting."

  Oscar pointed at me with his butter knife while speaking cheerfully. I had a bad feeling.

  "Something interesting?"

  "Don't play dumb. It's about you."

  "About me?"

  I grew even more confused and furrowed my brow.

  "Is it about yesterday's Arcane Arts Society? Professor Maxwell invited me."

  When I said that, Oscar shrugged exaggeratedly.

  "Yeah, that's it! Man, you really did something bold. I totally thought you were the kind of blockhead who had no interest in romance."

  "...Huh? Romance?"

  Not understanding the term, I parroted it back. Perhaps finding my reaction amusing, Oscar burst out laughing as if unable to contain himself.

  "Still playing innocent? The whole academy's buzzing about it."

  Oscar lowered his voice and continued in a teasing manner.

  "—About how you made a passionate confession to Lady Erna Griebel herself, and got spectacularly shot down."

  My fork dropped from my hand. It clattered loudly against the plate, echoing in the suddenly silent dining hall.

  ".....................What?"