Hi everyone! I've got a dilemma about publishing on Royal Road. To start: I'd like to publish my finished second draft, and this is where it gets complicated. I've read up a bit on the RR algorithm, and from what I've gathered, the most important thing is publishing regularly over the long haul. The thing is, I have a completed Volume 1 – 34 chapters.

My dream was to publish it physically in my home country (a small dream of mine), but unfortunately I have no way to test what actually works in the story and what doesn't – what puts readers off, what bores them, and what lands.

So my question is: will releasing 34 chapters over the course of a month let me reach some group of readers and answer at least part of these questions? Or is that simply too little to fit into these mythical algorithms?

The story itself is a light novel isekai about Yan – your typical lower-class kid who spent his original life hustling and doing petty crime, but after waking up in a new world, it turns out he's the heir to the throne of one of its kingdoms. It's not a LitRPG – more of an adventure story with comedy and drama elements.

Thanks in advance for any advice!

PS: I'm attaching a screenshot of just the title (I'm a bit paranoid about someone stealing my cover – I spent a fair amount on it with an illustrator xD)

https://preview.redd.it/r18ww8fm9ekh1.jpg?width=439&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=15431015d50e87744de87c062d7d13742209fece

Cześć. Poszukuję beta czytelnika który pomógłby mi ocenić fabułę, postacie i silnik z innej perspektywy.

Piszę isekai w stylu light novel (fajnie jakby osoba zainteresowana była zaznajomiona z tym gatunkiem).

Na ten moment tekst ma około 26 tysięcy słów.

W ramach przybliżenia historii wklejam prolog niżej.

Prolog

Spokojnie dzisiaj. Aż za spokojnie. Wodziłem wzrokiem po witrynie, neon z godzinami otwarcia mrugał mi prosto w twarz. Dookoła piękny szary beton. „Czego szukałem? Nie wiem, jakiejś mendy do skrojenia. Albo towarzystwa płci pięknej.” Po lewej wieżowiec popularnej sieci „Garver”. Stary tam kiedyś pracował, przynajmniej jak ostatni raz go widziałem. Po prawej? Moje miejsce pracy. Mój dom. Moja przestrzeń osobista. Park.

Dochodziła dziesiąta. Baba w oknie jak zwykle obcinała dzielnicę. „Menda, oby ziemia ci ciężką była za te donosy”.

Spojrzałem na zegarek. „Gdzie ten kasztan się podział? Za piętnaście minut zamkną. Szlugi same się nie wyniosą ze sklepu”. Splunąłem na beton.

Jest. Oczy same znalazły to, czego szukały. Kształty bogini. Jeansy tak ciasne, że zdejmować je musiała chirurgicznie. Co prawda Namada dalej się spóźnia, ale teraz czekało się przyjemniej. Stukot obcasów niósł się po chodniku, jakby sam się pod nią podkładał. „Szkoda, że nie jestem chodnikiem”.

Zrobiłem krok do przodu. „Chwila, jaką bluzę mam na sobie?” X-Rax z napisem „GOAT” na podszyciu kaptura. „Idealnie”. Bluza z kapturem na pewno się jej spodoba. Taka bluza to już połowa sukcesu. Drugi krok do przodu. Sygnalizacja świetlna świeciła na czerwono, ale to nie był żaden problem. Zwłaszcza w momencie, gdy potencjalna matka moich dzieci ma takie nogi. Czerwień odbijała się od okien sklepu. Spojrzałem w prawo, potem w lewo, pusto. „Ognia!”.

– Hej maleńka! – rzuciłem wystarczająco głośno, żeby mnie usłyszała.

Jej brązowe włosy pofalowały w powietrzu. Rozejrzała się dookoła. Ściągnąłem brwi. „Nie widziała mnie?”.

– Ej! Tutaj jestem! Twój przyszły mąż! – aż mnie coś w gardle chrupło.

Sygnalizacja w tle pisnęła. Zielone. Teraz to Namada będzie musiał chwilę poczekać. Minąłem wystawę sklepu. Z naprzeciwka w naszym kierunku szła grupka, chyba studenci. Ubrani jak… studenci. Jakaś koszula, jakiś krawat z takim śmiesznym czerwonym herbem. Telefony też pewnie mieli takie studenckie, czyli drogie. „Aj. Nie ma co się przed dziewczyną wygłupiać. Na powrocie ich skroję”. Wyciągnąłem telefon z kieszeni. „W sumie jest ich kilku”. Schowałem telefon. Nie ma co ryzykować.

Spojrzałem w górę, prowokować ich też nie ma co. Stara baba już prawie wypadła przez to swoje okienko. Nie byłem pewien, ale chyba trzymała w ręce telefon. Splunąłem pod nogi. Patrzyłem jej prosto w oczy. „Może chociaż raz się przydasz, ruro”.

Przejechałem jeszcze wzrokiem po ledwie doświetlanej lampami ulicy. Może Namadę coś zżarło. Jakiś smok czy inne gówno z tego anime, co ogląda. „Kasztan nad kasztanami. Od następnej klasy się z nim nie zadaję. Tylko niech dzisiaj jeszcze na czatach stanie”.

Wzrok wrócił do dziewczyny. I stanął.

Niestety, Namady nic nie zjadło. Żaden smok albo inne dziadostwo z tego „Anime” którym truł mi nad uchem. Przynajmniej nie w zasięgu mojego wzroku. Za to coś próbowało zeżreć tą piękność przede mną. A dokładniej te pijane studenciaki. Dwóch z nich przyparło ją do muru. Jeden pogładził ją po włosach. „Ohydne zachowanie bogatych frajerów. Gdybym był tylko trochę większy to bym im spuścił wpierdol.”

Siła ognia dzisiaj była za mała. Światło znowu mignęło gdzieś kątem oka. Dwa samochody na ulicy obok zwolniły, po czym przyśpieszyły. „Bohaterzy”. Ustabilizowałem krok. Pamiętam nauki dzielnicowego profesora Bu. Zawsze powtarzał: „Jak się nie czujesz na siłach to wyglądaj tak jakbyś się czuł”. Złota myśl.

– Pomocy! – usłyszałem za plecami.

Zerknąłem, ukradkiem. Jeden próbował dać jej buziaka w policzek. Nie powiem, poczułem przypływ krwi w skroniach. Pięść jakoś sama się zacisnęła. Przymknąłem na chwilę oczy, wziąłem głęboki oddech. W sumie nie byli duzi. Może po metr osiemdziesiąt. Czyli podobnie do mnie. Jedyny problem: jedli lepiej. I to było widać na pierwszy rzut oka.

„Z zaskoczenia będzie łatwiej”. Zwolniłem kroku, upewniłem się, że nie są mną zainteresowani. Nie byli. Pięść dalej zaciśnięta.

Obrót na pięcie. „Nie na mojej warcie lamusy”.

Jeden dostał prosto w potylicę. Charknął, ale o dziwo dalej stał. Pięść bolała jak diabli, spojrzałem na nią. „Siła ognia zawiodła. Protokół „spierdalamy” odpalony”. Lewa noga wystartowała. Prawa też chciała. Miała szczere intencje, ale knykcie któregoś z nich odcięły dostawę prądu. Coś chrupnęło teraz u mnie. Beton był zimny, przyjemny. Jak zawsze, kiedy się spotykaliśmy.

Sygnalizacja zabrzęczała. Zielone zmieniło się znowu na czerwone. Pod powiekami zaczęło robić się mglisto. Gdzieś po przeciwnej stronie zobaczyłem Namadę. Stał na światłach. Czekał na zielone. „Debil. Od zawsze to wiedziałem”. Przynajmniej ta dziewczyna skorzystała z okazji i już stała za witryną sklepową. Spojrzałem do góry. Stara baba wydawała się być zadowolona. Przetarłem ręką po głowie. Dłoń wróciła czerwona. Niedobrze. Przed oczami zostały już tylko niewyraźne kształty. Gasły z każdą sekundą. Potem ciemność.

A z niej głos, niewyraźnie…

– …bisz to m-mój …nu

The general concept of this story is isekai – I know, I'm sorry xD It's just that my isekai is a tiny bit different – a boy who has nothing, and who in his own world mostly got by on petty theft and living on the streets, is suddenly the heir to a royal throne. But there's one condition he has to meet to become the ruler. Putting his father's doubts to rest.

Prologue

Quiet today. Too quiet. I was scanning the storefront, the neon sign with the store hours blinking right in my face. All around me, beautiful gray concrete. What was I looking for? No clue. Some sucker to roll, maybe. Or some company of the fairer sex. To my left, the high-rise of the big “Garver” chain. My old man used to work there — at least he did the last time I saw him. To my right? My workplace. My home. My personal space. The park.

It was coming up on ten. The old bag in the window was eyeballing the block, same as always. Rat. May the ground lie heavy on you for all that snitching.

I checked my watch. Where’d that knucklehead run off to? They close in fifteen. The smokes aren’t gonna walk out of the store on their own. I spat on the concrete.

There. My eyes had found what they were looking for, all on their own. The curves of a goddess. Jeans so tight she’d have to get them surgically removed. Sure, Namada was still running late, but the wait just got a whole lot nicer. The click of her heels rolled down the sidewalk like it was laying itself out under her feet. Shame I’m not the sidewalk.

I took a step forward. Hold up — which hoodie am I wearing? X-Rax, “GOAT” printed on the lining of the hood. Perfect. She was gonna love the hoodie. A hoodie like that is half the battle right there. Second step forward. The light at the crossing was red, but that wasn’t any kind of problem. Especially not when the potential mother of my children has legs like that. The red reflected off the store windows. I looked right, then left — empty. Fire!

“Hey, baby!” I tossed it out loud enough for her to hear.

Her brown hair rippled in the air. She looked around. I frowned. Did she not see me?

“Hey! Over here! Your future husband!” Something in my throat straight-up crunched.

The signal beeped behind me. Green. Now Namada was the one who’d have to wait a minute. I passed the shop display. A little group was coming our way from the other direction — college kids, by the look of it. Dressed like… college kids. Some shirt, some tie with a goofy little red crest on it. Their phones were probably college-kid phones too. Meaning expensive. Eh. No point making a fool of myself in front of the girl. I’ll roll them on the way back. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Then again, there’s a few of them. I put the phone away. No point risking it.

I looked up — no sense provoking them either. The old bag was about halfway out that little window of hers. I couldn’t be sure, but I think she was holding a phone. I spat at my feet. Looked her straight in the eye. Maybe you’ll come in handy for once, you old bat.

I ran my eyes down the dimly lamp-lit street one more time. Maybe something ate Namada. Some dragon or other crap from that anime he watches. The knucklehead of knuckleheads. Starting next grade, I’m done hanging out with him. Just let him stand lookout one more time tonight.

My eyes went back to the girl. And stopped dead.

Unfortunately, nothing had eaten Namada. No dragon or any other junk from that “Anime” he kept droning in my ear about. At least not anywhere I could see. Something was trying to eat the beauty in front of me, though. More specifically: those drunk college boys. Two of them had her backed against the wall. One stroked her hair. Disgusting, rich-punk behavior. If I was just a little bigger, I’d beat the shit out of them.

Not enough firepower today. The light flashed again somewhere in the corner of my eye. Two cars on the street beside us slowed down, then sped back up. Heroes. I steadied my stride. I remember the teachings of the neighborhood’s own Professor Bu. He always said: “If you don’t feel up to it, look like you do.” Pure gold.

“Help!” I heard from behind me.

I glanced over. On the sly. One of them was trying to plant a little kiss on her cheek. Not gonna lie, I felt the blood surge in my temples. My fist kind of clenched all on its own. I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep breath. They weren’t that big, really. Six feet each, give or take. So about the same as me. Only problem: they’d been eating better. And you could see it at first glance.

It’ll be easier with surprise on my side. I slowed my step, made sure they weren’t paying me any attention. They weren’t. Fist still clenched.

Pivot on the heel. Not on my watch, you lames.

One took it right in the back of the head. He hacked out a grunt, but weirdly enough, he was still standing. My fist hurt like hell. I looked at it. Firepower failed. Protocol “get the fuck out” — initiated. My left leg took off. The right one wanted to. It had honest intentions, but somebody’s knuckles cut the power supply. This time something crunched on my end. The concrete was cold, pleasant. Like every time we got together.

The signal buzzed. Green flipped back to red. It was starting to fog up behind my eyelids. Somewhere on the far side I saw Namada. Standing at the light. Waiting for the green. Moron. Always knew it. At least the girl had taken her chance — she was already behind the store glass. I looked up. The old bag seemed pleased. I wiped a hand across my head. It came back red. Not good. All that was left in front of my eyes were blurry shapes. Fading by the second. Then darkness.

And out of it, a voice, barely there…

“…ll do it, m-my …on”

 

Chapter 1

I opened my eyes and still saw nothing but darkness. Black space all around, empty and dead quiet. The only signs I was alive were my shallow breathing and a heart trying to jump out of my chest. I scoped out the terrain with one hand. Something smooth, real pleasant to the touch. A moment later another sense came online. Smell. Nice smell, kind of girly — like on a date. Probably. Can’t be sure, I didn’t go on many. I blinked a few times. Looked like I’d banged my head so hard my eyesight had given out. A few panicked blinks later, the shapes started settling into outlines. Some tall rectangle on the left, a smaller one on the right.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” I screamed with everything I had.

Something was off about that scream. It came out higher than I meant it to, wobbled halfway through, and broke like a rich kid who just got his sneakers jacked. Like somebody else was doing the screaming and I was just opening my mouth. Took a hit to the head, so the throat gave out too. Silence. I felt like a moron… After a quick analysis, it hit me that I might be in a hospital. Definitely wasn’t jail. That one I know. Looks different, and it doesn’t smell like girls. I tried digging the last few moments out of my memory. A hole. That tie. The big guy’s. And that weird voice, raspy like your old man’s after a weekend bender. Then red.

A clacking came from somewhere up front. Slow, but so steady it could’ve backed a freestyle battle. Good! A nurse shows up, at least I’ll know for sure I’m alive. If nobody shows up — that’s worse. I slammed my head back into the pillow. The plan wrote itself: if she starts screaming her head off at me, I play asleep. If not — no clue. A moment later I heard a door creak. Light forced its way under my eyelids and stung. Orange, warm — like the streetlight back on my block, the one that flickers just to flicker. I winced. Now she’s definitely not buying the sleep act. I cracked one eyelid open. Against the orange stood a black dress with white frills sewn along the edges. White stockings pulled up over the knees.

“Is something wrong, Young Master?” A quiet, high little voice reached me. “Young Master. I heard screaming.”

At that question, my leg twitched all on its own. The heroic decision to open my eyes came with a clenched fist and a few short blinks.

“Young Master, if something has happened, I will have to inform Master Reis.” The “Master Reis” part came out quieter than the rest of the sentence.

That’ll be the doctor. Gotta be.

“N-no. Every… thing’s… okay, nurse.”

“Nurse?”

I swallowed. She took two steps forward. The light fell deeper into the room. My eyes were glued to the stockings. She leaned in.

My head dug even deeper into the pillow. Her face hung inches above mine. No way to keep looking at the stockings now. Her blue eyes ran me straight through. I shut my eyelids. Mentally braced for the hit. Second one today. If it was still today.

I peeled one eyelid back. She was standing a bit farther off. My eyes drifted lower on their own. The white trim ran along her chest, too. Crucially, it sat a good distance forward of her shoulders.

“S-so… rry…”

I was counting on some kind of reaction, to buy a second to get my head straight. I got nothing. Just that terrifying stare — now complete with hands on hips. Even worse.

“Wh-where… am I?”

“I am calling Master Reis. The Young Master must be running a fever.” I wanted to protest, except before my brain got word to my tongue, she was already in the doorway. The door. Kind of weird for a hospital. First time I’ve seen a rounded wooden door. Slapped together, too — like I’d been the one nailing it.

On the plus side? I’d gotten rid of the crazy lady. On the minus side? No telling who I’d traded her for. At least there was light. The room was pretty big by hospital standards. Furnished weird — everything in wood. Kind of luxurious, even. Usually the standard is cheap plastic that smells like old people. Or maybe it’s a psych ward?

A sound knocked me out of my thinking. Distant, somewhere below. A steady clatter of banged-up metal with every step. Don’t tell me they’re gonna chain me to the bed. That was definitely not the sound of some random guy walking down the street. Nobody walks like that — at least nobody I’ve ever passed in my life. The clatter sped up. He was taking the stairs two at a time — or five, even, because the rhythm fell apart and the clanking turned furious. I held my breath. My fingers went for the sheets on their own, clamping down. The half-open door slapped flat against the wall in a split second. The hit was so hard the floor vibrated. In the doorway stood six and a half feet of wheezing man. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed red. From which I deduced that the crazy lady standing behind him must have woken him up.

What the hell kind of hospital is this?

The guy was wearing armor. ARMOR. PSYCH WARD. GUARANTEED.

I started laughing. Couldn’t stop it. The two in the doorway watched me like I was having a stroke, at minimum.

“Young Master!” he wheezed, hands braced on his knees. “I have arrived!”

Yeah, I can see the nutjob roster’s growing.

Before I knew it, he was standing at my bed. If this were some cheap show they air after 10 p.m., it would’ve made a great romantic shot. Except I was about two seconds from a heart attack.

It didn’t take long for the doorway to get crowded. Heads leaned out from behind the frame, one stacked over another — the orange light going out head by head. All of them staring at me like I was the evening’s star attraction at the zoo. In the background I could hear metal knocking on metal. Guess not everybody got front-row tickets.

“Is the Young Master in trouble?!” somebody yelled from the pack.

I pushed myself up a little to fix my position. Felt my shirt glued to my back. Managed to peel it off with two fingers. First time in my life I had an audience that size in front of me. I felt downright obligated to put on a show. I had a few options. I saw a trick once where you cut off your thumb, but they might rule it charlatan work and burn me. Pass.

“Gentlemen…” I started, pretty quiet. “Gentlemen!” I fixed my tone. “And dear lady.” I nodded toward the crazy nurse lady.

I cleared my throat, loud.

“There has been a small misunderstanding. The Young Master — ahem, which I guess is me — is not in trouble.”

Silence fell. A few of them traded looks, then locked back onto me. The one I figured for “Reis” gave a little flinch. Audience is ready. Shame to waste it.

I stood up on the bed. Took one more bow toward… Who, exactly? No idea. The other psych ward patients, I guess.

“I had a dream about an old bag. Naked.” I bowed one more time, then dove all the way under the covers. I don’t know how long it took for the room to empty out. All I know is it worked.

Behind my closed eyelids, the last moments before the fight kept replaying. Sharper and sharper: the big guy’s face, the fall, the girl behind the store glass, and that raspy “…on.” What finally woke me was the sound of a trumpet coming from somewhere down the hall.

I dragged myself out of bed. The stone under my feet was so cold my toes curled on their own. No kicks on my feet. Plus some long goofy shirt made of rough fabric that scratched at my neck. Somebody had undressed me, that much was certain. I just hoped it wasn’t the guy in armor who’d been responsible for that.

I wanted to sneak out into the hall, but turns out patients don’t get much freedom in this place. There was no way out — or at least I didn’t have the key to it. But why would a fight land me in a place like this? No idea.

It took me a good while to realize my head didn’t hurt. Actually, nothing hurt. Weird — it should be pounding like crazy. I know my mornings after parties like that one.

There was no mirror, so a visual exam was off the table. Some banner hung motionless by the door. I’ve heard of themed hospitals. This one really commits.

The lock in the door turned a few times. Luckily, the one opening it was neither that “Reis” guy nor the chick in the maid outfit. A guy, maybe fifty-something. He nodded at me in silence. In one hand he held a bucket of water, in the other a golden tray with a little stick and something like a sponge stuck to the end of it.

“The morning toilette is ready, Young Master Yan.” A voice so stable you could build a castle on it.

For a second I wondered how he knew my name. I smacked my forehead with the flat of my palm. The patient chart! Right.

My surprise must’ve been showing way too much, because he said it again. That’s when it hit me. This had to be some kind of therapy. A form of mental straightening-out. Any minute now I’d find out I’d spent six months in a coma and this was some life-readjustment program. Functioning from zero. Literally — from the Middle Ages up. I repaid him with a bow I’d picked up from a show about ballerinas. I took the bucket and the tray and shut the door.

I started with the hands. They were light. Too light, like I really had dropped a few pounds. I pulled my pants down in one quick move. The calves and thighs weren’t right either. Skinnier than I remembered. Sure, I was never one of the muscle guys, but it was never this bad. I looked at the surface of the water in the bucket. The face was blurry. The cheekbones somehow not mine. The image blurred out fast — my temples were starting to burn. I scooped up water in my hands and splashed it on my face. Ice-cold — it knocked me right back. But the temples let go.

A few moments later the butler decided to come back, without asking permission. With one smooth move he took the bucket off me, and with an even smoother one, dumped its contents out the window. Classy on the surface. Not really, though.

“Allow me to present the Young Master’s schedule for the day. Item one: breakfast with His Royal Majesty, your mother, and your sister. Then a tour of the commoner districts and training with Master Reis.”

My eyelids were twitching. I figured one nutjob per scene. Didn’t know they staged whole productions.

The hallway really did look straight out of a castle. Bare stone, narrow little windows way up under the ceiling, and torches mounted between them in iron brackets. Cold came off the walls like a stairwell in December. The butler led the way with a sure step toward a winding staircase. I tried counting the floors, but I couldn’t manage it for the life of me. The stairs were so narrow and there were so many of them that I lost track after three.

The hall he led me into was enormous. Footsteps carried in echoes, even though I had on some thick rag socks the butler had handed me a moment earlier. Looking up, I could barely see the pattern on the ceiling. Some figures, but it was so high up it was hard to make out what the graffiti was going for. Huge stone pillars, a red carpet — thick, soft — leading straight to a table built for a good fifteen people. At the far end, great wooden doors, ten feet tall easy by the look of them. Guys with trumpets on either side, dressed funny in something like blue dresses. Wonder which one was blasting away under my window like that. To my surprise, there were no other patients. Probably some special welcome after waking up. Nice of them, honestly — just wondering who’s paying for it.

They sat me on the left side of the table. A moment later a girl was brought in. Fifteen years old, tops. They seated her across from me. Blue eyes scanned me for a short moment, then the blond mane did a theatrical turn toward the doors.

“Psst,” I started. “Little girl — how long you been in here?”

She looked at me, brows pulling together. Kids these days have no manners. You’re supposed to show your elders some respect.

The sound of trumpets rolled through the whole hall. The butler standing by the doors I’d been brought in through signaled with his hand for me to stand. So I did.

The giant doors boomed open to the sides. Down the red carpet came a guy in his forties, striding proud. A scarlet cape flowed off his back, and he was wearing what I know from the movies as light armor. A big gold crown wrapped around his graying hair. A few steps behind him walked a woman in a purple gown. Younger, definitely — thirty was the absolute ceiling on her age. I was impressed by how closely she tracked the steps of the guy ahead to keep her pace perfect. When he neared the table, the butler ran up to pull out a chair — first for him, then for the woman. Only once they were seated did the butler allow me to sit. I was so stunned I didn’t even notice when I started begging him for instructions with my eyes.

A few women, dressed like that crazy lady from last night, carried in the plates. The smell rolled in first, one big wave — roasted birds in skin glistening with fat, eggs, and something that looked like rotten bread and smelled sour. That one I looked away from, but for the rest, the drool was already running down my chin on its own. I squeezed my fingers on the edge of the chair and looked at the butler. I reached out for a plate, but the butler served me a look that made me pull it right back. The one with the crown served himself first; only then did I get the nod that I was allowed. I threw myself at the nearest bird. Burned my tongue, but that didn’t get in the way of savoring the crispy skin.

“So fucking good.” It slipped out while I was still grinding meat in my mouth.

Nobody could accuse me of bad manners. As previously established, I probably hadn’t eaten in half a year. I took a whole quail. The girl across the table sized me up — she probably wanted it too, but like Bu says: “First come, first served.” What actually had me wondering was what some sulky brat was doing at my welcome party. Given more time, I probably would’ve found that suspicious, but the quail left me no choice.

The one with the crown sent me a look that hurt a little more than that punch today. With one wave of his hand, he cleared out the entire restaurant staff.

“Conduct yourself as befits an heir,” he threw out, right after he stopped shooting me with his eyes.

These guys can act. They’re seriously good.

“An heir? To what?” I chuckled under my breath.

“Enough!” He slammed his fist on the table.

The quail slid off my plate.

“I have given thought to your behavior. Last night, my expectations of you were razed to the ground.”

The air got thick. The girl was looking at the floor. The woman seated on the right, next to the girl, drilled her stare into me so hard I felt it in my chest. I put down my silverware.

“As a warrior, I have won hundreds of battles. As King, I have led this Nation to many triumphs. But as a father…” He broke off for a moment, propping his forehead on his hands. “…I have failed.”

He thundered his fist onto the tabletop again. For a moment he stared into the empty space of the table.

“The court… wants a firm, true leader. The nobles are pushing Tsuneda forward. You must prove your worth at the Hero Academy — earn the title of Hero, shut the nobility’s mouths — or otherwise…” He looked pointedly at the girl sitting across from me. “…Terix and Tsuneda will be wed, and your fate will be no concern of mine.”