Chapter 2: The Star System

  In my past life, there was something called the “Star System.”

  It applied to film, politics, and sports alike. It was a tactic tested for over a century through trial and error. It wasn’t exactly my favorite strategy—but I couldn’t deny its effectiveness with the masses.

  Especially in desperate times.

  Before long, the war of independence would begin. I could more or less imagine what those difficult years would look like: gray, hopeless, and depressing.

  For that very reason, I needed a countermeasure to raise morale during dark times.

  And what better way to do it than with a hero?

  After appointing Sir Percival, I sent a formal letter to Mother requesting a meeting before dinner. Girasol was surprised by the formality. I didn’t usually summon her like I did the rest of the courtiers.

  If I wanted to talk to her, I simply did. I never used bureaucratic procedures with her.

  Doing so now was proof of how serious I was.

  “We’re here, my son.”

  My mother, Girasol León, was still the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. But according to the courtiers, her position was about to be overtaken by Ingrid Wall—my fiancée and future queen.

  Mother actually liked that rumor. She had never enjoyed carrying such a striking title and preferred to pass that honor to younger women.

  She wore a one-piece black dress, golden jewelry around her neck, and a small silver tiara that matched her regent’s scepter.

  Behind her stood Ingrid and Yuka—her two primary ladies-in-waiting and political apprentices. The brown-haired girl was still as proud as ever. Unlike her brother Ronaldo, who had returned to his father, she chose to stay and learn everything she could from Mother so she wouldn’t fall behind Ingrid.

  The two had developed a friendly rivalry that occasionally extended into other aspects of life—appearance and intelligence included.

  Very important skills at court.

  “Do you mind if I bring my ladies with me, son? I promise they won’t say a word.”

  “They may stay.”

  Our dynamic shifted naturally into king and regent. Until my coronation, I held no true authority. Every decision had to pass through Mother first.

  “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “I have a very important plan to improve our nation’s morale. I want to create a hero—and I believe I have the perfect candidate.”

  I didn’t circle the issue. I went straight to the point.

  Mother placed her right hand on her chin and remained silent for several seconds. Her apprentices watched her with equal intensity, memorizing every expression.

  “A hero? For what?”

  “Dark times are coming, Mother. The war of independence will begin soon, and things will turn ugly. In difficult times, people need someone to admire—someone who inspires and supports them in their darkest hour. That’s what heroes are for.”

  I wanted to fulfill that role myself—but I realized a king could not be a hero.

  Sooner or later, I would be forced to make decisions that were anything but heroic for the sake of the country.

  Mother remained silent longer this time. She didn’t yet grasp my reasoning—and I couldn’t blame her. My strategy was ahead of its time.

  “You intend to use the boy, don’t you? Sir Percival.”

  “Yes. Sir Percival has a noble heart. I believe he can fulfill the role perfectly. He’s already loyal to me. If I present him to the masses as a hero—and he openly declares loyalty to me—I will strengthen my royal authority even further.”

  “Ulric, are you certain about this?” Mother’s voice lost its usual strength and determination. Her eyes no longer saw a king, but her son. “If you choose this path, there’s no turning back.”

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  “I-I believe Sir Percival has what it takes. I know it’s not entirely ethical to use him to gain public approval, but honestly… I don’t think he’ll fail us. He’s young and honest. I need people like that at court.”

  “It’s a risky plan. He’s known in the capital—but not in the distant provinces.” Girasol paused and turned to the two girls. “How do you intend for them to know him?”

  “I plan to name him my champion in the jousts. I can’t compete yet—I haven’t been knighted—so I may appoint a champion to ride in my place.”

  That finally unsettled Mother.

  Yuka and Ingrid exchanged glances, trying to process what I had just said.

  “Son, over the years you’ve proven yourself to be far more intelligent than average. I’m surprised by what you’ve proposed. You would grant that honor to a newly appointed knight?”

  “Yes. Sir Marte and Sir Einar will compete in the fencing tournament. That leaves the jousting position open for Sir Percival. I won’t lie—I’m taking a leap of faith. I don’t know if he’s a skilled jouster. But we’re out of time. In two years, hostilities will begin. The sooner we have a hero, the better.”

  “Let’s think calmly. What duties would this ‘hero’ have? I don’t believe I fully understand yet.”

  “Beyond appearing at public events, I want him to raise the morale of our troops. We don’t have professional soldiers at our disposal, Mother. Most of our forces are militia—ordinary people who take up spear or bow for service. They need something to believe in. Something to hope for. Only a true hero can give them that—especially one who rose from nothing.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  The peasantry loved heroes.

  But what they loved even more were common-born heroes who climbed the social ladder through effort and discipline. That would inspire countless others to try doing the same—even if few ever succeeded.

  “A hero for war and dark times.” Mother stood, walked toward me, and gently stroked my head. “I wish such measures weren’t necessary.”

  “What do you two think?” I asked Yuka and Ingrid. I wanted their opinions.

  “It’s a very clever plan, Your Highness,” Yuka spoke first. “Having a hero under your command is more useful than I initially thought. Well done. You have my respect.”

  Praise from her was rare.

  “And did you make sure Sir Percival wants this role?” Ingrid asked.

  It could have been considered insubordination. Yuka sighed in resignation at the way the albino questioned my authority.

  Had I been an idiot, I might have taken offense.

  But Ingrid had a completely valid point.

  Forcing something like this would be a terrible idea—especially something so risky. Mother smiled slightly at her disciple’s question. I was certain she had thought the same but chose not to say it aloud.

  “He will want it,” I said.

  Another leap of faith.

  I didn’t know him well. And despite trusting his good intentions, assigning him such a heavy responsibility made me uneasy.

  “Then I trust you, Ulric,” Ingrid said softly. “You would never do anything to harm one of your vassals—or beyond that, a friend.” She turned to Mother and smiled sweetly. “Ulric doesn’t have male friends near his age. Perhaps having one will help him grow even more.”

  Oh.

  She was right.

  I had no male friends my age. Everyone around me was older—servants, knights, guards—each of them at least ten years my senior.

  The only one close to my age had been Ronaldo. And we were far from friends.

  “I suppose my son does need friendships as well. Very well. I approve.”

  Mother returned the smile. Yuka watched the exchange with narrowed eyes.

  This wasn’t simply approval.

  Mother was evaluating my judgment. I couldn’t blame her—not with less than a month before the tournament and my coronation. Her regency would soon end, and my reign would truly begin.

  “It’s decided. Nothing more to discuss.”

  The meeting ended, and we naturally returned to a more informal tone.

  “Thank you for coming, Yuka, Ingrid,” Mother said politely. “I have errands to attend to before dinner.”

  “I’ll take my leave as well.”

  Mother and Yuka left the throne room, leaving me alone with Ingrid.

  “You have a larger plan, don’t you?” she asked.

  Ingrid had grown beautiful. Her white hair and honey-colored eyes had long overcome the prejudice once directed at her. Courtiers who once mocked her now admired her.

  Sometimes I found myself looking at her with a strange nostalgia.

  If I hadn’t suffered that wound in my heart at that cursed banquet… perhaps I—

  No. Not worth thinking about.

  I had renounced romance the day Sora died.

  A part of me died with her. I didn’t fully understand it until I remembered her words:

  “To love is beautiful.”

  Even though I understood what she meant, my heart was filled with fury and focused on a single goal—becoming a great king. Everything else felt distant.

  My engagement to Ingrid was political—a punishment from Apollo meant to bind us.

  “Yes,” I answered. “A plan that goes beyond winning the tournament.”

  “I know. I have faith in you, Ulric. You always find the answer.”

  She sighed and sat on the lower step beneath the throne.

  I sat beside her. Formalities were over. I could sit wherever I pleased.

  “I’m not that exceptional. I just do my best.”

  “Your effort brings good things.” She looked up toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. “I-I still remember when you saved me from the kidnappers. I thought it was the end. I was alone and terrified. Then you came. It was the first time someone did something for me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “I didn’t do much. I couldn’t just let you die. Sir Marte saved us both.”

  “But you came first.”

  She turned toward me.

  And then something strange happened.

  Very, very strange.

  Her pale cheeks turned red.

  But that wasn’t the surprising part.

  No.

  The surprising part was that mine did too.

  And I smiled at her.

  Damn it.

  Was this body reacting to hormones and puberty?

  It had to be that—because a twenty-nine-year-old man would never feel attracted to a sixteen-year-old girl. That would be disgusting.

  I couldn’t look at her that way. It wouldn’t be right.

  Even if my previous life had ended.

  Even if that person no longer existed.

  Why was I even thinking about this?

  “I-I have something to take care of. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  I stood abruptly and walked toward the door. Ingrid turned her face away to hide her embarrassment.

  “S-See you there.”

  I left the throne room as quickly as possible.

  And the same thought echoed louder than ever before:

  Why do I still see myself as a dead man?