Night settled heavily across the palace.
The snowfall from previous days had stopped, leaving the capital covered beneath pale layers of white that reflected moonlight softly across rooftops and courtyards. Cold wind moved quietly beyond the windows while distant torchlight flickered along the outer palace walls.
Inside his chambers, warmth from the brazier spread slowly through the room.
Rudura sat alone near the low table once again.
Échecs Humains rested open before him.
Its dark pages had begun feeling less like a strange discovery and more like a mirror held toward human behavior itself.
Tonight, his eyes rested on another chapter title.
Court Attention at All Cost
Rudura stared at the words silently for several moments.
Then slowly began reading.
Nothing pains man more deeply than being ignored.
The brazier crackled softly nearby.
At first glance, the line sounded dramatic.
But almost immediately
memories surfaced naturally inside his mind.
Classrooms.
Hallways.
Social gatherings.
People constantly trying to be noticed.
Sometimes subtly.
Sometimes desperately.
Rudura lowered his gaze further down the page.
Men may claim to seek peace, wisdom, or success. Yet many seek attention above all, for attention confirms existence.
That sentence lingered heavily.
Because the more he thought about it
the more examples appeared.
From both lives.
Especially his previous one.
High school.
Students interrupting lessons with jokes.
Classmates exaggerating stories loudly during lunch breaks.
People speaking differently whenever popular students entered conversations.
At the time, it all seemed ordinary.
Now he noticed something else beneath it.
Attention.
The desire to be seen.
Rudura leaned slightly back while staring quietly into the brazier flames.
Then another memory surfaced clearly.
A student during presentations.
The boy constantly tried making classmates laugh during serious discussions.
Teachers scolded him often.
Students called him annoying sometimes.
Yet he never stopped.
Even after embarrassment.
Rudura remembered wondering once:
"Why does he keep doing that?"
Now
years later
the answer felt strangely simple.
Attention itself rewarded him.
Even negative reactions still acknowledged his presence.
Being ignored entirely probably felt worse.
The realization unsettled Rudura slightly.
He looked back toward Échecs Humains again.
Many prefer ridicule over invisibility.
The sentence connected instantly with dozens of memories.
Students starting unnecessary arguments online.
People exaggerating achievements publicly.
Classmates pretending confidence loudly.
Even social media from his previous life revolved around visibility constantly.
Photographs.
Opinions.
Performances.
Everyone competing quietly for attention.
Not always consciously.
But constantly.
Outside, winter wind brushed softly against the palace windows.
Inside the room, the fire crackled steadily.
Another memory surfaced.
This one quieter.
A student who rarely received attention suddenly topped an examination unexpectedly.
For several days afterward, he constantly brought the topic into conversations.
Repeatedly mentioning marks.
Waiting for praise.
Lingering around teachers longer than usual.
At the time, many classmates found it irritating.
Now Rudura viewed it differently.
Perhaps recognition itself felt addictive.
The student wasn't merely proud of marks.
He enjoyed becoming visible.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Rudura rested one hand lightly against his chin while continuing reading.
Attention grants temporary importance. Men chase it instinctively.
The line reminded him sharply of palace life too.
Not through dramatic incidents.
Small behaviors.
Nobles extending conversations unnecessarily during gatherings.
Officials speaking more elaborately in front of Chandragupta.
Young trainees competing subtly for acknowledgment during instruction.
Everyone desired visibility from powerful figures.
The palace simply disguised it beneath etiquette and refinement.
The desire itself remained the same.
Rudura remembered examination gatherings from earlier years.
Some trainees constantly answered questions immediately even when uncertain.
Others exaggerated stories about training achievements.
At first, those actions looked like confidence.
Now he wondered if they were something simpler.
The desire to stand out.
To exist visibly.
The brazier popped softly nearby.
Rudura lowered his gaze again.
To be acknowledged is to feel significant.
That line felt uncomfortably accurate.
Humans wanted recognition naturally.
Praise.
Respect.
Reaction.
Even disagreement sometimes satisfied the same need.
Another memory surfaced from his previous life.
Online arguments.
People continuing pointless debates for hours.
At the time, Rudura thought they simply enjoyed conflict.
Now he realized something else.
Conflict still created attention.
Responses.
Notifications.
Visibility.
Perhaps many people argued not because they cared deeply about subjects
but because someone was finally paying attention to them.
The thought lingered strangely in his mind.
Then another memory followed.
A quiet student during school assemblies.
Normally ignored completely.
But once, after publicly answering a difficult question correctly, students suddenly surrounded him afterward asking things.
For days, his behavior changed noticeably.
Straighter posture.
More confidence.
Louder voice.
As though recognition itself altered his sense of self.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Rudura leaned back slightly against the wall behind him.
Then slowly realized something deeper.
Attention and reputation connected closely.
Recognition strengthened identity.
Humans seemed to shape themselves partly around how much acknowledgment they received from others.
The realization made social behavior feel simultaneously understandable and unsettling.
Outside, clouds drifted slowly across the moonlit sky.
Inside, the brazier burned lower.
Rudura turned another page.
Courts, gatherings, and crowds transform attention into competition.
That line fit palace life perfectly.
Not openly.
Subtly.
Nobles competing through elegance.
Officials competing through usefulness.
Military leaders competing through accomplishment.
Even silence sometimes became performance.
Everything inside hierarchical societies involved visibility somehow.
Rudura remembered watching certain officials during formal gatherings.
Some spoke briefly.
Others extended every statement dramatically whenever Chandragupta listened.
At the time, Rudura simply viewed it as personality differences.
Now he saw another layer beneath it.
They wanted imperial attention.
Because imperial attention created opportunity.
Status.
Importance.
The same psychology existed in schools too.
Students competing for teacher approval.
Popular groups controlling social visibility.
People changing behavior depending on audience.
Different worlds.
Same instincts.
The realization settled heavily.
Then another thought surfaced quietly.
How many ambitions were truly independent from recognition?
If nobody praised achievement
would people pursue it with equal passion?
Rudura stared silently into the firelight.
The question felt dangerous somehow.
Because recognition motivated humans far more deeply than most admitted.
Athletes wanted crowds.
Students wanted praise.
Officials wanted acknowledgment.
Nobles wanted visibility.
Even kindness sometimes became performance once audiences appeared.
That realization disturbed him slightly.
Not because it made humans evil.
Because it made them vulnerable.
Dependent on being seen.
The room remained quiet except for the low crackling of charcoal.
Rudura lowered his gaze once more toward Échecs Humains.
The fear of irrelevance drives men more strongly than they confess.
The sentence lingered heavily.
Fear of irrelevance.
Perhaps that explained why some people spoke endlessly.
Why others exaggerated achievements.
Why many feared embarrassment so deeply.
Being ignored socially almost resembled disappearing.
Another memory surfaced unexpectedly.
A student from his previous life who constantly posted dramatic messages online whenever attention faded from him socially.
At first, classmates mocked him.
Yet they still responded.
And eventually Rudura realized:
the student preferred ridicule over silence.
Because silence meant invisibility.
The realization connected sharply with the chapter title again.
Court Attention at All Cost.
Not only royal courts.
Human society itself resembled one enormous court.
Everyone competing quietly for acknowledgment from others.
Some through talent.
Some through beauty.
Some through humor.
Some through conflict.
Different methods.
Same desire.
Rudura slowly closed his eyes briefly.
Then another realization surfaced quietly.
Even he wasn't entirely separate from it.
As a prince, recognition already shaped parts of his behavior naturally.
Praise during training felt satisfying.
Respect affected confidence.
Acknowledgment influenced motivation.
Humans simply weren't fully independent from social perception.
Perhaps nobody truly was.
The thought felt strangely humbling.
The brazier flickered softly beside the wall.
Rudura reopened his eyes slowly.
Then read the final lines of the section.
To control attention is to influence emotion, perception, and memory itself.
That line stayed with him longest.
Because it explained so much.
Why powerful people valued visibility.
Why leaders cultivated image.
Why crowds followed spectacle.
Attention shaped importance itself socially.
The room fell silent after he finally closed the book.
Thump.
Outside, cold wind moved softly through the sleeping capital beneath the winter sky.
Rudura sat quietly for a long while afterward.
Thinking.
About schools.
Palaces.
Crowds.
Humans.
Then finally, he muttered softly into the firelit silence:
"…Perhaps people fear being forgotten more than being hated."
(Continued in Chapter 77)