The girl swept into the hall like a small sun, chin high, every step ringing with the kind of pride that couldn't be taught. It was bred into the bone.
Five candidates in total, and not one of them carried themselves quite like this. That innate arrogance set her apart from everyone in the room, Crusch Karsten included. The head of the Duke Karsten Family possessed her own commanding presence, but it paled beside whatever burned inside this newcomer.
Behind her trailed a towering figure: a one-armed man in a fully enclosed helmet, dressed like a bandit who'd wandered in off the road. If the girl's aura clashed with the hall's formality like a queen among commoners, her companion clashed with it like a beggar in a palace.
Both drew every eye in the room.
The girl, Priscilla, didn't spare a single glance at the rows of onlookers. The same stares that had made Felt tense might as well have been subjects approaching for an audience. Her expression never wavered, her stride never faltered. She walked at her own pace until she reached the other candidates and stopped.
The bandit-like man, meanwhile, made a beeline for Gojo's group.
"I looked left, looked right, and figured this was probably where I belong."
He planted himself beside them and spoke as if they'd known each other for years.
"Oh, right. Name's Al. Looks like we're in the same boat here."
"Getting claimed by a weirdo gives me complicated feelings." Subaru couldn't help himself.
"Slant-eyed kid, that's a bit hurtful."
"Personal attacks, really. That's low."
Gojo watched the newcomer trade barbs with Subaru and found himself amused. Compared to the polished composure of Reinhard and the others, this man was aggressively out of place in every possible way.
"You're her knight?" Gojo tilted his chin toward Priscilla.
"You could say that. Though I'd say 'doorman' is more accurate."
"Definitely a weirdo." Betty, for once, agreed with Subaru.
Doorman. What was anyone supposed to do with that?
"Oh, didn't expect a little girl in the lineup. Which candidate has the weird hobby? I thought only my princess pulled stuff like that."
"Betty has nothing to do with any candidate. Keep your baseless assumptions to yourself."
She rolled her eyes with open contempt.
"Reminds me of my princess, actually. Both hard to talk to."
Al shrugged, resigned.
"Talking about your princess like that behind her back... is that wise?"
"It's fine, she's used to it." He leaned in toward Gojo and Subaru, clearly intrigued by both. "So, fellas, who are you backing?"
"Her." Gojo nodded toward the candidates. "The last one. Felt."
"Oh! So you're the final candidate's knights..."
"No, no. This one's her knight." He jerked a thumb at Reinhard. "We're more like friends who tagged along for the show."
The exchange between Gojo and Al carried none of the solemnity befitting a national assembly. They might as well have been chatting on a park bench.
"Silence."
The command cut through the hall. On the raised platform at the front, several figures appeared, draped in purple robes. They settled into seats on either side of the dais, gazing down at the assembled crowd.
"A bunch of old men. Reminds me of some unpleasant memories."
Gojo studied them, muttering to himself.
"Tell me about it. Hard to believe these geezers run the whole country." Al's whisper floated up from behind him.
The two of them were practically schoolboys passing notes during a lecture. Every knight around them stood ramrod straight and silent, which only made them stand out more.
Nobody seemed to care, though. The call for silence had snapped the entire hall into rigid formation, both lines of attendees straightening to attention.
Marcos stood on the platform, surveyed the quiet room with a short nod, then turned to address the row of elders behind him.
"Esteemed members of the Council, all five candidates, the full Knight Order, and all officials and nobles are present. Shall we begin?"
One of the elders, gaunt-faced with snow-white hair and beard, inclined his head.
"Proceed."
The word had barely faded when a voice rose from the officials' side of the hall.
"Esteemed representative of the Council of Wise Men, Lord Miklotov. Before the assembly begins, might I humbly request that the Count describe the circumstances of the fifth candidate's discovery?"
Felt's existence had been reported by Roswaal, but only to the Council. The rest of the officials and nobles knew a fifth candidate existed; they knew nothing else.
The man who'd spoken was short and thin, his complexion pallid, his features pinched and sharp. A thin mustache sat above his lip. Everything about him radiated the word "scheming."
"Oh, Lord Rickert, your timing is rather inconvenient." Roswaal shook his head with practiced weariness, then turned to the platform. "Esteemed Lord Miklotov, what are your thoughts on Lord Rickert's proposal?"
Classic Roswaal. Take no initiative, make no objection, defer to the Council.
"If you would, Roswaal."
Roswaal offered a small bow and stepped out from the line. As he moved, his gaze swept across to Gojo's side of the hall. Their eyes met, and the look held.
Gojo understood perfectly.
There was no way Roswaal could lie here. He'd have to lay out the facts, all of them. And the moment this room heard that Felt had grown up in the Slums, first impressions would crater. Royal blood or not, it wouldn't matter. Without the right upbringing, even the noblest lineage counted for nothing in these people's eyes.
He and Felt had braced for this. They'd expected the topic to come up. They hadn't expected it to come up before the assembly even started.
Felt's chest tightened. Her head started to turn, instinct pulling her gaze toward Gojo, but she caught herself and held still.
Roswaal descended the steps, turned his back to the five candidates, and faced the crowd.
"The events took place roughly two weeks ago..."
The story wasn't complicated. Roswaal laid it out in a handful of sentences, precise and complete.
As the details landed, as the hall learned that this candidate had come from the Slums, that she'd been a thief, murmurs erupted across the officials' side. The knights maintained their discipline, but the nobles couldn't help themselves.
"A thief from the Slums?"
Rickert's voice dripped with theatrical disbelief, as though he'd just heard the most absurd thing in his life.
Gojo tilted his head, studying him. That kind of open hostility meant Rickert had already pledged his support elsewhere. No one in their right mind would antagonize a candidate this brazenly without a backup plan. It was tactically stupid otherwise.
As for Felt, Gojo realized he'd underestimated just how powerful her desire for money was.
By his reckoning, the old Felt would have fired back by now. A cutting remark at minimum, a full-blown verbal brawl more likely. Instead, she stood at the front of the hall as though she hadn't heard a word.
Impressive.
Though she was probably seething inside.
"Is everyone satisfied?"
Miklotov's voice settled the room. As the Council's representative, he held undisputed authority here.
No further disruptions.
"Then I ask all candidates, along with their attendants and supporters, to come forward."
Miklotov nodded to Marcos, who stepped forward and called out the instruction.
Julius and Felix moved immediately, heading for the platform. Reinhard followed, ready to ascend alongside them.
Then Felt turned around and looked straight at Gojo.
"You too. Come on."
He scratched his head.
"Sigh."
"That's the life of a working man, right? Let's go, buddy." Al bumped his shoulder, a comrade-in-arms sort of gesture.
"I thought I was at least a shareholder."
Gojo shook his head with a sigh and fell into step with Al toward the platform. Betty followed without hesitation. As for Subaru... sorry, but there was no role for him here. Unless someone officially recognized him as a knight, an attendant, or a spirit, he had no grounds to go up.
Once on the platform, Priscilla and Al went first.
"Lady Priscilla Barielle and her attendant, Al."
"The Royal Selection is meaningless. I alone am fit to rule. All you need do is kneel and follow."
"Hey, what did you drag me up here for?" Gojo whispered, sidling up to Felt.
"To keep me calm. Otherwise I'm going down there and punching that bastard."
Her face maintained its composed, dignified smile. Only her lips moved.
"It's not that bad. With this many candidates, some officials were always going to pick sides early."
"I still want to punch him."
The thought of all those days, the etiquette drills, the late-night memorization, all of it undercut before she'd even had a chance to speak... fury coiled tight in her chest.
"Don't worry about it. When we head to Kararagi, we'll beat him up first and then skip town."
"Yes."
Felt's eyes lit up. She fixed Rickert with a smile that promised something far worse than anything she'd say from this platform.
"Lady Felt, please refrain from such reckless talk." Reinhard turned to her, exasperated.
"I'm ordering you to mute our conversation right now."
She pursed her lips, annoyed at his interference.
"Lady Crusch Karsten, head of House Karsten, and her attending knight, Felix Argyle."
"When I become ruler, I will make the Dragon forget its ancient covenant..."
"You know, Felt, I think you might actually have an edge over the rest of them."
Gojo watched Crusch's address and leaned in.
Both Priscilla and Crusch had given extreme speeches. One demanded blind submission as though it were self-evident. The other opened by declaring she'd sever the bond between Lugunica and the Divine Dragon, the very relationship the kingdom was famous for.
Neither had offered a single tangible benefit to their potential supporters. Their stated goals were vague at best.
Next came the head of the Hoshin Company, Julius's liege. As a merchant, Gojo had expected something more concrete from her. Instead, her address proved equally baffling: no matter how successful her business became, it couldn't satisfy her, so she wanted an entire country of her own.
Then Emilia. Her speech was, if anything, worse.
In a feudal society, she stood up and called for universal equality. Setting aside her identity as a silver-haired Half-Elf, the idea alone threatened every noble's vested interests. Support from the aristocracy would be nearly impossible.
"See the difference now? Go get them." Gojo gave Felt a gentle push on the shoulder, grinning. "You've got this."
After days of Gojo's "advanced" coaching, Felt could see exactly where she stood relative to her four rivals.
Self-interest. The one law that never changed, in any world.
She'd learned that lesson young. In the Slums, people would risk their lives over a loaf of bread. Nobles and officials were just better dressed versions of the same thing. Scratch the surface and the hunger was identical.
Give them what they wanted, and she'd be ahead of everyone.
"Lady Felt and her knight, Reinhard!"
Marcos's voice rang out. Felt gathered the hem of her gown, let a quiet smile settle on her face, and walked to the center of the platform.
She looked down at the hall below, at every single face turned up toward hers.
...
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