The palace had gone quiet hours ago.
Only distant footsteps from rotating guards occasionally echoed through the corridors beyond Rudura's chambers. Outside, winter snow drifted slowly across the capital beneath a pale moon hidden behind clouds.
Inside the room, warm firelight flickered softly from the brazier near the wall.
Échecs Humains rested open across Rudura's lap.
The pages shifted faintly beneath his fingers as he reread several lines from Chapter V.
Reputation is more fragile than it appears.
The fire cracked softly.
Rudura lowered his gaze further.
One stain can overshadow years of achievement.
That sentence lingered longer than the others.
Because immediately
a memory surfaced.
Not from the palace.
From his previous life.
At first, the memory came fragmented.
Bright classroom lights.
Voices.
Laughter echoing through hallways.
Then slowly
the image became clearer.
High school.
Rudura stared silently at the page while the memory unfolded naturally in his mind.
There had been a student.
Probably the most popular person in the entire school.
Not just among students.
Teachers liked him too.
Confident.
Smart.
Athletic.
The kind of person who seemed naturally comfortable everywhere.
He answered questions easily during lessons.
Won competitions regularly.
Spoke casually with teachers.
Moved through crowds effortlessly.
People expected success from him.
And because they expected it
everything he did appeared impressive.
Even ordinary things.
If he joked loudly in class, teachers called him "spirited."
If another student behaved similarly, they were called disruptive.
At the time, Rudura noticed the difference faintly.
Now he understood it clearly.
Reputation shaped interpretation.
The memory sharpened further.
Lunch breaks.
Students gathering around him.
Constant conversations.
People laughing at almost everything he said.
Even his flaws became part of his image.
Arrogance looked like confidence.
Carelessness looked like boldness.
Because everyone already decided who they believed he was.
Rudura slowly leaned back against the wall behind him.
Then the memory shifted again.
Toward the incident.
Strangely
it hadn't even been something massive.
That was what made it memorable.
No crime.
No dramatic scandal.
Just one moment.
One mistake.
It happened during examination season.
Someone accused the popular student of cheating.
At first, nobody believed it.
Students laughed the rumor away immediately.
Teachers defended him too.
"He wouldn't do that."
"He doesn't need to cheat."
"Someone is probably jealous."
His reputation protected him instantly.
Rudura remembered that clearly.
But then
more rumors appeared.
Someone claimed they saw hidden notes.
Another student mentioned suspicious behavior during a test.
Whispers spread through classrooms and corridors.
Nothing confirmed.
Yet suddenly
people began doubting.
And once doubt appeared, everything changed frighteningly fast.
Rudura stared quietly into the firelight.
The memory felt strangely vivid tonight.
He remembered how students started speaking differently around the boy afterward.
More careful.
More distant.
Teachers who once laughed warmly with him became colder during lessons.
Not openly hostile.
Just different.
The shift happened gradually at first.
Then all at once.
The strange part wasn't the accusation itself.
It was how people suddenly reinterpreted everything about him afterward.
Before:
"He's confident."
Now:
"He's arrogant."
Before:
"He's relaxed during exams because he's talented."
Now:
"Maybe he always relied on cheating."
Before:
"Teachers trust him because he's responsible."
Now:
"Of course teachers favored him."
Same person.
Same history.
Different reputation.
Rudura slowly exhaled.
That was the part that disturbed him most even now.
People didn't merely change opinions about the present.
They rewrote the past itself.
Memories shifted to fit new perception.
The brazier crackled softly nearby.
Rudura looked down toward Échecs Humains again.
Once reputation weakens, every flaw becomes magnified.
The line felt painfully accurate.
The popular student's social fall became almost unstoppable afterward.
Not because everyone suddenly hated him.
Because uncertainty destroyed trust.
People no longer interpreted his behavior positively.
Even harmless actions changed meaning.
If he laughed loudly:
"He's pretending nothing happened."
If he stayed quiet:
"He knows he got caught."
If he argued:
"He's defensive."
If he ignored rumors:
"He has no response."
No matter what he did
perception had already shifted,
And once it shifted, everything became evidence against him.
Rudura frowned slightly.
At the time, he remembered feeling uncomfortable watching it happen.
Not because he particularly admired the student.
Because the speed frightened him.
Someone who once controlled the social atmosphere of entire classrooms suddenly became isolated within weeks.
Friends distanced themselves gradually.
Conversations stopped when he approached.
People whispered after he walked away.
Even those who once admired him began criticizing him casually.
That part especially remained vivid in Rudura's memory.
People who previously defended him now spoke as though they had "always noticed something strange."
As though they needed to align themselves with the new perception quickly.
The realization unsettled Rudura deeply even now.
Humans adapted frighteningly fast once reputation collapsed.
The memory continued.
Eventually the school investigated the accusations.
Nothing was ever fully proven.
That was the strange part.
No definitive evidence appeared.
Yet by then
it no longer mattered.
His reputation had already broken.
And once broken, people no longer viewed uncertainty in his favor.
Rudura closed his eyes briefly.
The student eventually transferred schools several months later.
After that, people barely mentioned him anymore.
Except occasionally.
Usually during gossip.
And whenever his name surfaced, people spoke as though his downfall had been obvious from the beginning.
As though everyone always knew.
That part felt especially cruel in hindsight.
Because Rudura remembered clearly:
before the rumors,
those same people admired him openly.
The brazier popped softly.
Rudura reopened his eyes slowly.
Then looked toward the final pages of the chapter again.
Men protect reputation desperately because reputation shapes reality around them.
He understood now.
Far more deeply than before.
Reputation wasn't just pride.
Or vanity.
It determined:
trust
interpretation
opportunity
forgiveness
Even memory itself.
The thought lingered heavily in the quiet room.
Inside the palace, reputation probably mattered even more dangerously.
Nobles.
Officials.
Commanders.
Once weakness appeared publicly, others would search for more immediately.
Not always maliciously.
Naturally.
Humans seemed drawn toward confirming changed perception.
Rudura remembered another detail suddenly.
During the popular student's fall, many people seemed almost excited.
Not openly.
But subtly interested.
As though watching someone respected collapse created strange fascination.
At the time, Rudura never fully understood why.
Now he thought he did.
Damaged reputation disrupted social order.
And humans paid attention instinctively when status shifted.
Especially when someone admired began falling.
Rudura lowered his gaze toward the firelight reflecting across the pages.
Then another realization surfaced quietly.
Perhaps that was why powerful people guarded image so carefully.
Not because reputation was everything.
Because once reputation weakened
control weakened too.
People questioned more.
Doubted more.
Reinterpreted more.
Even silence changed meaning afterward.
The room remained quiet except for the soft crackling of burning charcoal.
Outside, snow continued drifting across the palace rooftops beneath the dark winter sky.
Rudura slowly closed Échecs Humains.
Thump.
Silence settled heavily around him afterward.
For several moments, he simply sat there thinking about the student from his previous life.
The most popular person in the school.
Someone who once seemed untouchable socially.
Reduced to whispers within months.
Not entirely through truth.
Through perception.
That realization stayed with Rudura longer than expected.
Then finally, he muttered quietly into the firelit silence:
"…People don't just change how they see you."
His eyes drifted toward the closed book beside him.
"They change how they remember you too."
(Continued in Chapter 74)