"Good morning, Master Dylan. What will you do about today's classes?"

  The following morning, Martha said this while spreading out the timetable across my desk. The paper rustled softly—an ordinary sound that, lately, felt strangely precious.

  "...Let's see."

  Today featured practical subjects useful for high society—law, philosophy, sacred studies. Subjects meant to polish a noble's tongue and posture, not sharpen a blade. Under normal circumstances, choosing among them would have been nothing more than deciding what mask to wear.

  However, yesterday's Arcane Arts Society had made me realize something with uncomfortable clarity.

  It would take much more time to stand shoulder to shoulder with Erna—let alone surpass her.

  And even if I devoted myself to the same path she walked, what then?

  I would become a pale imitation of a genius who had already reached the summit.

  Perhaps it was self-deprecating, but I didn't need to face her head-on. After all, I was merely taking advantage of future knowledge—I was no genius. Studying everything equally wouldn't leave me enough time, and the time I didn't have was exactly what the world was demanding of me.

  If I tried to beat Erna at what she was already perfect at, I would only lose.

  So I needed a route she wouldn’t bother with. A field that wasn’t considered “elegant.” A place where my effort could matter more than my pedigree.

  "What about this one?"

  When I pointed to that subject on the timetable, Martha looked at me with slight surprise.

  "Monster Studies?"

  "Yeah. I think it's knowledge that will be necessary in the coming era."

  At my words, Martha furrowed her brow slightly.

  "Certainly it's essential knowledge for soldiers and adventurers, but... I've rarely heard of someone like you studying it, Master Dylan."

  Martha seemed genuinely bewildered by my choice. And no wonder—Monster Studies was far from noble refinement, a purely practical subject among practical subjects. Most students were commoners and lower nobles aspiring to become soldiers or adventurers; scions of great noble houses like myself rarely showed interest.

  But I judged it worth learning nonetheless.

  With the hero's party in disarray, someone had to prepare for that threat. Then I should start by knowing the enemy.

  And this connected to my path of avoiding the engagement. Becoming a leading authority in a field other nobles wouldn't touch—that should give me irreplaceable value. If I could not become “more suitable” than Erna, then I would become “too useful to trade away.”

  "Once in a while, something like this is good," I said, forcing a lightness into my voice. "Call it social studies."

  Martha’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer than usual. As if she wanted to object—but couldn’t find words that would fit. Then she nodded once.

  "As you wish, Master Dylan."

  Saying that with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes, I headed to the Monster Studies lecture hall with Martha.

  The Monster Studies lecture hall was a complete change from the magnificent magical studies auditorium—a plain, utilitarian room. The stone walls were bare in places, the windows narrow, and the air carried a faint, dry odor like old leather and dust.

  Various monster taxidermy specimens and skeletal displays decorated the walls: a horned skull mounted above the blackboard, a set of claws arranged like a fan, the rib cage of something that had been too large to fit through any normal doorway. The desks bore noticeable scratches and stains—marks left by knives, claws, or the careless impact of practice weapons. This was not a room meant for comfort.

  The students were mostly well-built individuals who looked like soldier candidates or commoner students with an adventurer air. Some wore cheap gloves even indoors. Some had calluses on their hands so thick they looked like armor. A few had old scars they didn’t bother to hide.

  And then there was me—academy uniform immaculate, posture drilled into me since childhood, the sort of person this room was not designed for.

  The moment I entered, curious and surprised gazes stabbed into me.

  "Hey, isn't that...?"

  "From House Belmond..."

  "Why's he in this class?"

  A broad-shouldered student paused mid-conversation, as if I had become part of the lecture. Another scoffed softly, not bothering to hide it. Someone else whispered my name like it was a curiosity, not a person.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The whispered conversations seemed to mix in yesterday's "Prince Rejection" rumors, making my stomach tighten.

  Well, within expectations...

  I feigned indifference to the surrounding gazes and sat down in an empty seat toward the back. The chair creaked under me. Martha stood behind my shoulder—silent, steady, and for the first time in days, reassuring simply by existing.

  Before long, the bell announcing the lecture's start rang. The sound was sharper here than in the other buildings, like metal striking stone.

  A stern-faced man entered the room.

  Perhaps in his fifties. A deep scar ran across his face, and his thick chest spoke of a battle-hardened warrior. His steps were unhurried, but the room seemed to adjust itself around him. This was Professor Gideon, in charge of this lecture—a man risen through the ranks with a background as a knight order squad leader.

  The scar wasn’t decorative. It told a story no one asked about.

  "Take your seats. We're beginning."

  At Professor Gideon's gruff voice echoing through the room, the noisy classroom fell silent instantly. Not because students respected rules—because something in his tone made them remember consequences.

  The professor stood at the podium, looked through the attendance roster, and raised one eyebrow slightly upon spotting me. For a heartbeat, I thought he might comment. Instead, he said nothing and began as if I were simply another name on a page.

  "First, I ask you all: What are monsters?"

  Professor Gideon threw this question at the students right from the start. At such a fundamental question, the students looked bewildered and exchanged glances, as if searching for a “correct” answer hidden in common sense.

  "Yes, you there."

  The professor called on a well-built student sitting in the front row.

  "Y-yes! Violent creatures that harm humans!"

  "Hmph. Then are bears and wolves that attack people monsters?"

  "N-no, those are beasts. Monsters are, well... born from magical power, more evil and..."

  The student's voice trailed off weakly, trapped by his own vague definition.

  "So gentle slimes and goblins that can befriend humans aren't monsters? Ridiculous. Next."

  Professor Gideon cut him off mercilessly.

  Several other students were called on afterward, but they only produced vague, conceptual answers like "the Demon King's minions" or "beings that deviate from nature's providence." Answers that sounded impressive until you tried to use them to decide whether something should be killed.

  "Pathetic."

  The professor spat out those words. Heavy silence flowed through the classroom.

  "Listen well. There is no biological boundary between monsters and beasts. What we call 'monsters' is simply a collective term for biological species that arise or mutate in response to stagnation in the world's magical power circulation and pose a danger of disrupting the ecosystem. That's all there is to it."

  That was a more realistic definition—slightly different from the game setting I knew. Or perhaps… this was what the game had simplified. Cleaned up. Made “safe” for players.

  This wasn’t in the game.

  Or rather, it had been hidden behind a menu screen and a bestiary entry, never spoken aloud with this kind of weight.

  "When the Demon King ran rampant in ages past, he deliberately created such stagnation and caused mass monster outbreaks across the land. Even now, with the Demon King sealed, remnants of that era exist throughout the world as 'demon realms,' continuing to spawn monsters. The knight orders' and adventurers' main job is to periodically cull monsters to prevent them from overflowing from those 'demon realms.'"

  I see, I nodded internally. The real circumstances of this world, never told in the game. Even without a Demon King, the threat of monsters continued to exist. A world that had learned to live with a slow poison.

  "However."

  Professor Gideon's tone dropped another level.

  "In recent months, phenomena that can't be explained by that conventional wisdom alone have been reported across various regions. Mass mutations of normally docile herbivores, sightings of new monster species in locations far from known 'demon realms.' And not just one or two instances."

  At those words, the classroom buzzed. Students shifted in their seats. Someone swallowed loudly in the sudden quiet that followed. Cold sweat ran down my spine as well.

  The story I'd heard from Oscar wasn't merely rumor after all.

  "No one yet knows the cause. But there's one thing that's certain."

  The professor's stern gaze pierced each student one by one. When his eyes passed over me, they didn’t soften. If anything, they sharpened—as if he were measuring whether I belonged in this room.

  "The peace we've grown accustomed to is heading toward its end—slowly, but surely."

  Those words contained not a trace of jest or exaggeration. Under the pressure emanating from this battle-hardened warrior of a professor, the classroom fell silent as a tomb. Everyone held their breath, sensing the shadow of a vague yet enormous threat beyond those words.

  The Demon King's resurrection...

  To everyone else, it was an unknown shadow. To me alone, it already had a name.

  "While the knight order has been strengthening its movements behind the scenes, manpower is always insufficient. In the coming era, what will truly be needed to protect yourself, your comrades, and the people isn't bloodline or pedigree. It's the actual ability to slay one more monster."

  The professor paused there and looked around at the students' faces—some pale, some burning with determination, some trying too hard to look fearless.

  "This class exists to drill that knowledge and experience into you. Not just classroom learning—we'll conduct practical exercises against live monsters later in the term."

  At the professor's words, the classroom's atmosphere tensed. A few students exchanged excited glances. Others looked as if they’d just been handed a death sentence with neat handwriting.

  "Of course, it's voluntary participation. Only those confident in their skills, those who want practical combat experience, should participate. Let me be clear—Don't expect to leave with just a scratch."

  At that extreme content, some students' faces paled, while others clenched their fists as if trembling with fighting spirit.

  I see, naturally nobles wouldn't participate with content like this. And under normal circumstances, neither would I. Not because of fear—but because it was beneath the role society wanted me to play.

  But my role had never been chosen by society. It had been forced on me by fate.

  Talk about perfect timing.

  Now that the footsteps of destruction had begun to sound, what I needed was precisely combat experience. Simply cramming knowledge through classroom study wouldn't make my body move when the time came.

  If I wanted to choose my own future—if I wanted to survive this world—then I needed more than talent. I needed proof.

  Proof that I could stand between people and the things that wanted to tear them apart.

  And if that proof raised my value, increased my voice, and made the engagement talks harder to push through?

  All the better.

  "Now then, enough preamble. Let's begin the lesson."

  And so Professor Gideon's monster lecture began, maintaining that unusual atmosphere—less like a class, and more like a warning spoken in advance.