"Holy shit! Did you see that?!"
Rivalz slammed both hands on the council room table, his eyes practically glowing with barely contained excitement.
The broadcast of Prince Clovis's speech was still playing on the massive screen mounted on the wall—the crowd still chanting, the dice still spinning through the air in slow motion, the prince's cloak still billowing dramatically behind him as he turned away from the reporters.
"I never thought—I mean, Prince Clovis always gave those boring formal speeches, right? The kind where everyone falls asleep halfway through? But that?" He jabbed a finger at the frozen image on the screen.
"That was the coolest thing I've ever seen! He just... he just destroyed them! Every single reporter who tried to challenge him got shut down like it was nothing!"
"Did you see that, Milly? Tell me you saw that!"
He was practically vibrating in his seat.
His hands were gesturing wildly at the screen where Prince Clovis had just finished effortlessly dismantling a room full of reporters with nothing but words and sheer, unshakeable confidence.
No spin doctors. No prepared statements.
Just the Prince, standing there, shutting down every challenge with one-liners that cut through bullshit.
The responses had been dripping with controversy.
Arrogant, even.
The kind of statements that would have gotten any other prince and politician crucified by the media within twenty-four hours.
But Clovis didn't care. He didn't hide behind carefully crafted diplomatic language. He didn't pretend to be something he wasn't. He just... spoke. Blunt. Honest. Absolutely unapologetic.
And somehow, that honesty made him untouchable.
You couldn't debate a man who refused to play the debate game. You couldn't trap someone who didn't care about your traps. The reporters tried. The critics tried. They came at him with loaded questions, with gotcha statements, with carefully constructed verbal snares designed to make him stumble.
He didn't stumble. He didn't even pause.
He just looked at them with those knowing eyes and said exactly what he thought.
And when they tried to push back, he shut them down with a single line that left them sputtering, speechless, their carefully prepared attacks crumbling to ash in their mouths.
That's what made him so badass. No compromises. No apologies.
Just raw, unfiltered, "I'm right and you know it" energy.
Rivalz had watched the whole thing with his heart pounding.
He'd imagined himself in Clovis's shoes—standing at that podium, facing down the haters, silencing them with nothing but his words and his confidence.
He'd always dreamed of being that guy. The protagonist. The one who could make critics cry with a single comeback and walk away like it was nothing.
And now he'd seen it. In person. On screen. Prince Clovis, the man he'd always dismissed as a boring aristocrat, had just become the coolest person Rivalz had ever seen.
In the council union room, every woman couldn't help but swoon as they watched Prince Clovis effortlessly put the haters in their place with his badassery.
Their eyes were glazed, their cheeks flushed, their hearts pounding.
They couldn't help but see him through heart-shaped eyes, couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be held by a man like that, to be protected by a man like that, to be claimed by a man like that.
That was just how Gigachads rolled.
When faced with criticism, they didn't compromise. They didn't apologize. They didn't water down their message to make it more palatable. They responded with pure, concentrated badassery—the kind that made haters cry and supporters swoon and everyone else stop whatever they were doing just to watch.
Rivalz's excitement dimmed slightly as a sudden, unwelcome realization crashed through his fanboy haze.
"Ah... wait." He slumped back in his chair, the energy draining from his posture. "I forgot. He's your fiancé, Milly."
What a shitty world.
Here he was, temporarily infatuated with Prince Clovis—actually fanboying over the man—and it turned out the guy was engaged to the very girl Rivalz had been crushing on for years.
The girl who was sitting right next to him. The girl who had definitely noticed his reaction and was being very kind by not mentioning it.
He sounded so pathetic. He knew he sounded pathetic.
But what was he supposed to do? The man was cool. Objectively, undeniably, infuriatingly cool. And he was engaged to Milly. And Rivalz was just... Rivalz. The guy who drove the van.
Milly didn't respond to his outburst. She knew about his crush—of course she knew, everyone knew, Rivalz had never been subtle about anything in his life—and she didn't want to throw salt on the wound.
So instead, she turned her attention to Nunnally, her expression shifting to something more serious. More concerned.
"So," she asked, her voice soft, "Lelouch will be leaving for the Middle East, Nunnally? How can you agree with that? How can you let him go somewhere so dangerous?"
Nunnally smiled softly, her blind eyes staring at nothing, yet somehow seeing everything.
"I believe in brother Lelouch's decision," she said, her voice calm and steady. "And I believe in brother Clovis's arrangement, Milly. They wouldn't send him somewhere they didn't think he could handle. They wouldn't risk his life unnecessarily."
She let out a deep sigh, her small shoulders rising and falling.
"I may be reluctant to part with him. I may be scared for his safety. I may wish he would stay here with me, where it's safe, where I can protect him in my own way. But I trust them. Both of them. Completely."
Shirley reached over and placed a comforting hand on Nunnally's shoulder, her voice warm and reassuring.
"Don't worry, Nunnally. He'll come back. He always does. He's Lelouch, after all."
...
"That madman!"
Carine ne Britannia, the fifth princess of Britannia and fifth daughter of Emperor Charles, cursed Clovis vehemently as she witnessed his audacity.
Her voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs of the assembly.
Her face was twisted with fury, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white.
She had just watched Clovis challenge the very foundations of the Britannian Empire.
Watched him espouse his blatant disregard for Britannia's nobility, for the centuries-old traditions that had kept the empire strong, for the hierarchy that had been established by their ancestors and maintained by their bloodline.
And for what?
For hollow, empty, meaningless notions of equality.
Equality was a lie. A fantasy. A tool used by the weak to drag down the strong.
And here was her half-brother, a failed artist and a failure of a prince, proclaiming himself as emperor when the actual emperor was still alive. Still breathing. Still sitting on his regal throne.
He hadn't even mentioned any candidate for the crown prince throne yet. Hadn't indicated who his successor might be, who he favored, who he thought was worthy of carrying on his legacy.
And yet Clovis acted as if the throne was already his.
How dared he?
"Why do you allow this madness, Father?" Carine demanded, her gaze shifting to the man who sat upon the regal throne at the head of the room.
Her voice was sharp, accusing, demanding answers.
Emperor Charles looked at his daughter menacingly, his eyes cold and hard, his expression utterly unreadable.
"Enough, Carine," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "My decisions are not for you to question. Not now. Not ever. Remember your place."
Carine's face paled slightly, but she held her ground, her jaw tight.
"If he wants equality," Charles continued, his tone almost bored, "then give him equality. Our empire is not so feeble that it cannot tolerate a different belief or ideology. Let him have his little experiment. Let him play his little games. If he succeeds, then perhaps he was worthy of his claims. If he fails..."
He shrugged, a cold, dismissive gesture. "Then he will have proven himself a fool, and we will have lost nothing of value."
Carine bowed her head, her voice tight. "Yes, Father."
No one in the room knew what Emperor Charles was truly thinking.
His face was an impassive mask, his eyes fixed on the figure of Clovis on the screen, his brows furrowed slightly.
How had Clovis changed so much?
Was he hiding his true competence all this time, playing the fool, playing the failed artist, playing the disappointment, only to reveal his true self after he had already consolidated enough power that no one could easily move against him?
It seemed he needed to send an envoy to Area Eleven.. Someone who could test Clovis, probe his reactions, and report back what they found.
The nobles hushed among themselves, their voices low and speculative. Intrigue danced in their eyes.
They whispered theories, suspicions, conspiracies.
None of them had taken offense at Prince Clovis's declaration.
Not yet, anyway.
Not while Emperor Charles himself had said nothing against it.
They would wait. They would watch. They would see which way the wind was blowing before committing themselves.
Among the assembly, a petite girl with pink hair murmured softly to herself, her eyes gleaming with interest.
"Interesting..."
"You're here too, C.C.?"
"I see you've thrown yourself quite a lot at Clovis."
Her lips curled into a small, mysterious smile.
"Interesting..."
...
"So, is that truly you, Clovis? How interesting. Even I was fooled by you."
Schneizel mused to himself, his voice low and contemplative, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying his younger brother's bold declaration.
His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm composure that revealed nothing of the thoughts churning beneath the surface.
In the middle of his own conquest of Europa United, while his armies marched and his strategies unfolded across the continent, he had been surprised by the news. Not merely surprised, but genuinely, genuinely surprised.
His brother's sudden competence.
To be more precise, his unpredictable actions.
Clovis. The incompetent Clovis. The failure. The disappointment. The failed artist who had been sent off to a backwater Area to rot, forgotten and irrelevant.
That same Clovis, of all people, had just declared himself wanted to be emperor.
Not wanted to be considered. Not wanted to be named crown prince. Not wanted to be given a position or a title or a scrap of their father's approval.
Emperor.
He wanted the throne itself.
Schneizel replayed the speech in his mind, dissecting every word, every pause, every subtle shift in his brother's expression.
And what he saw there, what he found lurking beneath the surface of Clovis's words, made him pause.
Ambition.
Not the petty, grasping ambition of a man who wanted power for its own sake. Not the desperate, clawing ambition of a man who wanted to prove himself to an unimpressed father. Not the bitter, resentful ambition of a man who wanted revenge on those who had mocked him.
Something else.
Something Schneizel recognized because he saw it every morning when he looked into the mirror.
The ambition to unite the world. To turn it into a place where everyone was equal, where bloodshed was unnecessary, where peace was not just a temporary ceasefire but a permanent, enduring reality.
He saw himself inside Clovis.
"Maybe," Schneizel murmured, his voice barely audible, "we are not so different after all."
He turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to the woman standing nearby.
"Marybell."
"Yes, Lord Schneizel." Marybell mel Britannia stepped forward, her posture straight, her expression attentive.
She addressed him as lord, as was proper, despite the fact that they were brother and sister.
She was his subordinate, after all. His servant. His tool. His weapon to be aimed and fired as he saw fit.
She and Schneizel had watched their brother's sudden appearance in Area Eleven together.
Watched his speech. Watched the way he commanded the room, the way he silenced his critics, the way he declared his intentions without apology or hesitation.
And she had the distinct feeling that Schneizel wanted to speak to her about Clovis. To hear her thoughts. To gauge her reaction. To see which way her loyalties might lean if it came to a conflict between brothers.
"What do you think about Clovis's appearance?" Schneizel asked, his tone casual, almost conversational.
Marybell paused, considering her words carefully.
"I don't know what happened to him," she said slowly. "What changed him. What made him... this."
She gestured vaguely at the screen, at her brother's image frozen mid-speech. "I think he's gone through a lot. Suffered in ways we may never fully understand. But..."
She hesitated, then continued. "I like him like this."
She subconsciously smiled at her older brother's speech, a small, genuine expression that softened her usually composed features.
She was especially fond of his ideal. Of turning the world into a gentle place. Of creating a society where equality was not just an empty word but a lived reality. Where people were judged not by their bloodline or their connections but by their character and their actions.
But at the same time, she was distressed.
The cheerful Clovis who always talked about art with a bright smile on his face, who could spend hours discussing brushstrokes and color palettes and the emotional impact of a well-placed shadow... that Clovis was gone.
Replaced by this colder, harder, more determined version.
Marybell didn't know how much sacrifice he had made to turn such an ideal into reality. How much suffering he had endured to develop such a great dream, a dream where equality was possible, where it was more than just a fantasy whispered by hopeless idealists.
She knew many of her brothers and sisters mocked Clovis silently behind his back. Even the nobles did it. Even in faraway places like this, she had heard the whispers, the snide comments, the cruel laughter.
They mocked him because he was soft. Because he was gentle. Because he was incompetent, or so they thought.
She couldn't help him. Couldn't change the toxic environment of the royal court. Couldn't protect him from the venomous tongues of their siblings and the nobles who surrounded them.
Because she couldn't even help herself.
Her mother had been murdered by terrorists. Brutally. A woman who had done nothing wrong except love her children and try to protect them from the cruelty of the world.
And Marybell had been exiled by their father afterward. Hated by the very man who should have protected her, all because she had dared to rebuke his authority in public.
She had the same ideals as Clovis. The same dreams. The same desire to create a better world.
But she wasn't as determined as him. Wasn't as willing to sacrifice her morality for it. She dared not take that step, dared not cross that line, because she knew, deep in her heart, that she would no longer be herself if she threw away her honor and her morality.
She admired that Clovis still stayed true to himself, even when he threw away his morality and honor. Even when he became ruthless. Even when he did things that would have horrified his younger, softer self.
What made a man great, Marybell believed, was not how great their morality and honor was. It was how they still stayed true to themselves, how they remained committed to their ideals, how they were willing to work for the betterment of the world even when their morality and honor were at stake. Even when the cost was high. Even when the price was everything.
For now, she was still known as a knight. A good person. Someone who fought for justice and protected the innocent.
Not a witch. Not someone extreme. Not someone who would take her ideals by any means necessary, regardless of the cost.
But undoubtedly, she was beginning to show the signs. The signs of what she might become.
The fact that she admired Clovis's ruthless methods, that she saw something beautiful in his willingness to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals... that was proof enough.
The seed had been planted.
It was only a matter of time before it grew.
Schneizel smirked, as if he already knew exactly what Marybell was thinking.
"Then," he said, his voice smooth and knowing, "are you willing to assist him in his quest? In his quest to turn this world into a gentle place, by any means necessary?"
Marybell's eyes widened slightly.
Then she bowed deeply, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.
"Thank you, Lord Schneizel. I would be honored."
Schneizel watched her bow, his smirk never wavering.
Oh, you will thank me now, Marybell. I don't know if you will thank me in the future. But for now, your gratitude is noted.
She would be a useful tool for him. A pawn on his chessboard. He would use her to see whether Clovis would become a threat to his own unification of the world. Whether Clovis had the Geass, like he suspected. Whether his younger brother was truly a rival worth worrying about, or just another fool with delusions of grandeur.
Everything depended on Marybell now.
As she bowed her head, her eyes closed, her expression grateful and unaware, she did not notice the sinister smirk on Schneizel's face.
She did not see the cold calculation in his eyes.
She did not realize that she was being used, manipulated, turned into a tool for someone else's ambition.
Not yet.
But she would.
Eventually.
They always did.
...
Alright, ladies and gentlemen, your fucking emperor is back.
It's been nine months, hasn't it?
Don't worry. As long as I'm not dead yet, I always remember what I've written and come back.
Now, world domination begins. More girls. More conquest. More open maps in the future. Yor Briar's coming soon too.