POV: Priam Lockhart
The smell hit me first—roses masking something metallic, like copper pennies left to oxidize in the rain. My head pounded with a dull, insistent ache that made my vision swim. When I finally managed to force my eyes open, I found myself staring at an ornate ceiling painted with scenes of conquest: armored knights driving commoners into the dirt, mages hurling fire at screaming peasants, nobles standing atop mountains of corpses with serene smiles.
Subtle. Real subtle.
"If you're going to faint at the sight of a little discipline," a woman's voice cut through the fog in my skull—sharp, cultured, and cold enough to frost glass, "perhaps I should sell you to the slavers after all. At least they'd get some use out of you before you expire."
I turned my head, every muscle protesting, and saw her.
Lady Seraphine de Valois stood by the window, backlit by afternoon sun that turned her silver hair into a halo of pale fire. She wore crimson robes edged with black fur, and her violet eyes—the color of bruised twilight—studied me with the same clinical interest a naturalist might show a particularly disgusting insect specimen. In her gloved hand, she toyed with a silver-tipped riding crop, tapping it against her palm in a rhythm that set my teeth on edge.
My breath caught.
Not from fear—though there was plenty of that—but from recognition.
Lady Seraphine de Valois. The villainess of Noble Hearts: Crimson Academy, a dating sim I'd sunk an embarrassing number of hours into during my previous life. A life that was rapidly coming back to me in fragmented flashes: my cramped Tokyo apartment, the glow of my computer screen at 3 AM, the taste of instant ramen and energy drinks, the crushing weight of a dead-end job I'd grown to hate.
And then... nothing. A truck's horn. The screech of brakes. Darkness.
So that's how it ends. Truck-kun claims another victim.
In the game, Seraphine had been my least favorite character—a sadistic noble who orchestrated the deaths of two love interests and even tried to kill the protagonist herself. She was beautiful, brilliant, and utterly ruthless, with zero redeeming qualities unless you counted her fashion sense. Every route in the game ended with her either executed for treason, exiled in disgrace, or killed by the protagonist's harem of devoted knights.
And now I was... her butler.
"Apologies, my lady," I rasped, pushing myself up from the marble floor. My body ached in ways I'd never experienced—deep bruises that spoke of systematic abuse, calloused hands that had known years of hard labor, muscles that trembled from malnutrition and exhaustion.
Memories flooded in like a dam breaking: Priam Lockhart, seventeen years old, orphaned commoner indentured to House Valois.
The original Priam's life had been a nightmare. His parents had been minor merchants who'd fallen into debt to House Valois after a failed business venture. When they couldn't pay, the family was seized—his mother and father sent to work in the Valois mines (where they'd died within a year), while young Priam was kept as a household servant. A toy for the nobles to break.
His days had been an endless cycle of humiliation: scrubbing floors until his fingers bled, polishing silver while nobles threw food at him for sport, standing for hours holding trays while his legs went numb, enduring beatings for the slightest perceived infraction. Yesterday, he'd been whipped for bringing Lady Seraphine's tea thirty seconds late—thirty seconds because another servant had deliberately tripped him in the hallway, spilling the tray.
The whipping had been enthusiastic. Fifteen lashes. He'd collapsed halfway through.
Hence my arrival in this body.
Well, shit. I've been isekai'd into the worst possible position in the worst possible game.
Seraphine's crop tapped her palm again. "You've wasted enough time. My carriage leaves for the academy in twenty minutes. Fail again, and I'll let the hounds finish what the whip started."
The hounds. Right. House Valois kept a pack of dire wolves—each one the size of a small horse, with teeth like daggers and a taste for human flesh. Seraphine had a particular favorite named Ravager who'd supposedly eaten three servants last year.
She swept out of the parlor, her robes trailing behind her like a bloodstain. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls.
I stood there for a moment, taking stock of my situation.
Alright. Let's assess.
The World: Erathia, a magic-driven empire where nobles wielded power through "Arcane Crests"—hereditary magical abilities tied to bloodlines. Nobles were essentially walking weapons of mass destruction, while commoners were disposable labor. The social hierarchy was absolute and enforced through violence.
The Timeline: First day of the academy year at Crimson Imperial Academy, the empire's most prestigious school for nobles. This was when Liana Hart, the game's protagonist, would arrive—a commoner girl with mysterious powers who'd slowly build a harem of powerful allies and eventually bring down Seraphine's house.
My Position: Seraphine's personal butler, a position with a mortality rate that would make an insurance actuary weep. In the original game, Priam died midway through Year One, devoured by Ravager after failing to properly polish Seraphine's shoes.
Survival first. Existential crisis later.
I limped toward the servants' quarters to change into my uniform, passing through corridors lined with portraits of sneering Valois ancestors. Each painting seemed to track me with their eyes, judging, finding me wanting.
The servants' area was a stark contrast to the opulent main house—bare stone walls, thin straw mattresses, a single communal washbasin. I found my uniform hanging from a peg: black tailored jacket with silver buttons, white gloves, black trousers. All of it designed to make servants blend into the background, to be seen but not noticed.
As I dressed, my hands shook. The body I'd inherited was weak from years of abuse, malnourished, covered in scars both old and new. But there was something else—a strange tingling in my chest, like static electricity dancing across my ribs.
Am I...adapting to this world somehow?
No time to wonder. I sprinted toward the courtyard, my dress shoes slipping on polished marble.
The courtyard was bathed in golden afternoon light that made everything look deceptively peaceful. A black-and-gold carriage waited, pulled by two magnificent steeds—each with spiraling horns and scales instead of fur. Nightmare horses, bred specifically for noble families.
Seraphine sat inside the carriage, visible through the crystal-clear window. She'd changed into traveling clothes: a fitted black jacket with silver embroidery, her silver hair now braided and coiled atop her head like a crown. She was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was beautiful—pristine, dangerous, concealing depths that could swallow you whole.
She tapped her crop against the window. "You're late."
I climbed into the driver's seat, taking up the reins. "Apologies, my lady. I'll endeavor to die faster next time to save you the inconvenience."
The words slipped out before I could stop them—a defense mechanism from my old life, sarcasm as armor against a world that ground you down.
Idiot! You're going to get yourself killed on day one!
A beat of silence. The nightmare horses snorted nervously.
Then Seraphine laughed.
It was a cold sound, melodic and utterly terrifying, like wind chimes made from human bones. "How... refreshing. Most servants grovel. You have a spine after all. Let's see how long it lasts."
The carriage lurched forward, and we began the journey to Crimson Imperial Academy.
As we traveled, I had time to think—to plan. The original Priam had died because he was helpless, powerless, completely at Seraphine's mercy. If I wanted to survive, I needed to change the game.
The Problem: In the original storyline, Seraphine's downfall began at the academy. She'd humiliate Liana Hart at every opportunity, turning the entire student body against her. Liana would gather allies—Duke Roland Vayne (the knight), Prince Cedric (the crown prince), Lord Garrick (the strategist), and others. They'd slowly uncover Seraphine's "crimes" (many of which were fabricated by Liana herself), leading to her arrest and execution.
The Solution: Change Seraphine's trajectory. Prevent her from making the choices that led to her doom. And keep Liana from building her power base.
Easier said than done.
Crimson Imperial Academy loomed on the horizon like something out of a gothic nightmare—all soaring spires, flying buttresses, and gargoyles that I'd swear were watching us. The main building was easily the size of a small castle, with countless towers and wings spreading out like a spider's legs.
As we approached the gates, I spotted the other arriving students and their retinues.
Duke Roland Vayne stood near the entrance, supervising his servants as they unloaded his belongings. He was exactly as the game had depicted him: tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair that caught the sunlight like spun gold and a jawline that could cut glass. His armor—even his dress armor—was polished to a mirror shine, and he wore his sword like it was an extension of his body.
In the game, Roland was the "perfect knight" love interest—noble, brave, kind to commoners, dedicated to justice. But watching him now, I noticed details the game sprites couldn't convey: the way his eyes constantly scanned for threats, the tension in his shoulders, the calluses on his hands from years of sword practice. This wasn't just a pretty face—this was a trained warrior who'd seen combat.
Backstory time, I thought, drawing on game lore. Roland's the third son of Duke Vayne. His older brothers are political and business-minded, leaving Roland to pursue a military career. He's desperate to prove himself worthy of his family name, which makes him rigid in his thinking—black and white, no shades of gray. In the game, he falls for Liana because she represents "pure goodness" in a corrupt world.
Near the fountain, Lady Clarisse D'Argent held court with a group of noble girls, all of them giggling at some joke. Clarisse was breathtaking—golden curls that bounced when she moved, porcelain skin, sapphire eyes that sparkled with apparent warmth. She wore a powder-blue dress that probably cost more than most commoners earned in a lifetime.
But I remembered her role in the game: the "sweet saintess" who was secretly one of the most vicious social manipulators at the academy. Every kind word was calculated, every gesture part of a long game to destroy rivals. She'd been Seraphine's main competitor for Prince Cedric's affection, and she'd played the victim so convincingly that even players who knew she was evil still fell for her act half the time.
Clarisse's family is in decline, I recalled. Her father gambled away most of their fortune, and her mother's death from illness nearly bankrupted them. She needs to marry well—preferably to Prince Cedric—or her family will lose their title. That desperation drives every cruelty.
And then I saw her.
Liana Hart stood alone near the academy gates, clutching a battered cloth bag that contained all her worldly possessions. She wore a patched gray dress that had been mended so many times it was more repair than original fabric, and her rose-gold hair was pulled back in a simple braid. Her doe eyes were wide as she stared up at the academy, and even from this distance, I could see her trembling.
She looked exactly like the protagonist of a dating sim: beautiful in an understated way, vulnerable, innocent, the kind of character designed to activate every protective instinct in the player.
But I'd played through all her routes. I knew the truth.
Liana Hart isn't some innocent victim. She's a manipulator as skilled as Clarisse, just with a different style. She plays up her commoner background, uses tears as a weapon, and has a convenient habit of "accidentally" overhearing crucial plot information. By the end of the game, she's destroyed half the noble houses in Erathia and has a harem of powerful men willing to burn the world for her.
As I watched, Liana took a step forward and immediately tripped on the cobblestones, sending her bag flying. Books spilled out, scattering across the courtyard.
Right on schedule.
Several nobles laughed. One deliberately stepped on a book as he walked past.
"Lockhart." Seraphine's voice snapped me back to attention. "Stop gawking at peasants and escort me to the Hall of Crests."
I climbed down from the driver's seat and opened her carriage door, offering my hand to help her down. She ignored it, stepping out with fluid grace that made it clear she didn't need any assistance from the likes of me.
As we walked toward the main building, nobles parted before Seraphine like fish before a shark. The crowd went quiet—not respectful silence, but the wary quiet of prey animals when a predator passes by.
I caught snippets of whispered conversation:
"—that's the Valois girl. I heard she cursed her own aunt—"
"—dark magic. Unnatural—"
"—father tried to arrange a marriage but she poisoned the suitor's wine—"
None of that is true, I thought, drawing on game knowledge. Or at least, not proven. Seraphine's aunt did die under mysterious circumstances, but it was likely natural causes that the family's enemies exploited for rumors. The poisoning incident was actually an assassination attempt on Seraphine that she thwarted. But the truth doesn't matter—reputation is everything among nobles.
The Hall of Crests was a vast chamber at the academy's heart, its walls lined with family sigils carved from precious materials. At the center stood a raised dais where the Headmaster would conduct the Crimson Oath ceremony—a ritual where students pledged loyalty to their houses.
The room buzzed with nervous energy as first-year students gathered. I spotted several familiar faces from the game:
Lord Garrick Thorne, the strategist love interest—a slim young man with fox-like features and calculating gray eyes. In the game, he'd been the "mastermind" of Liana's plans, the one who turned her vague ideas into actionable schemes.
Lady Elise Fontaine, the shy healer—a petite girl with auburn hair who kept her eyes downcast. She'd been one of the few genuinely kind people in the game, which meant she usually ended up dead or traumatized in the darker routes.
Lord Edric Renault, a minor antagonist—
I froze.
Lord Edric stood near the far wall, and I could finally see him clearly. He was young, maybe nineteen, with red hair and a face that would have been handsome if not twisted by constant anger. His uniform was expensive but slightly ill-fitting, and he kept tugging at his collar as if it was too tight.
Fire magic affinity. Relies on intimidation and brute force. Supposed to be a throwaway villain, just there to make Liana look good when she defeats him.
But now, looking at him, I could see more.
The way his hand shook slightly. The defensive hunch to his shoulders. The way his eyes constantly darted around the room, never settling, always watching for threats.
What made you like this, Edric?
A memory surfaced from one of the game's optional dialogue branches—a scene most players skipped. Edric, drunk, confessing to Roland: "My father expects perfection. Second place is failure. Failure means... means the belt. The burns. The locked closets. I can't fail again. I can't."
Abuse victim. Trained through pain to be aggressive because any sign of weakness was punished. He's cruel because cruelty was what he learned to survive.
Not an excuse. But context that the game had barely bothered to explore.
Seraphine strode to the Valois sigil—a twisted obsidian tree with roots that seemed to writhe even though they were carved from stone. The original House Valois founder had allegedly made a pact with a dark entity to gain power; the tree represented that bargain.
Seraphine gestured imperiously. "Kneel."
Right. The public reaffirmation of servitude.
In Erathia, servants had to periodically renew their bonds to their houses through ritual humiliation. It reinforced the social hierarchy, reminded everyone of their place.
My jaw clenched as I dropped to one knee, the stone floor cold even through my trousers. Every instinct from my previous life screamed against this—I'd been a wage slave, yes, but at least I'd had the illusion of dignity.
"Repeat after me," Seraphine purred, pressing her crop under my chin and forcing me to look up at her. Her violet eyes were unreadable. "I pledge my flesh, my will, and my silence to House Valois. May my blood nourish its roots, and my soul—"
A commotion cut through the ceremony.
Across the hall, Liana Hart stood at the center of a growing circle of nobles. She was crying—tears streaming down her face—as Lord Edric Renault loomed over her, his hand crackling with fire magic.
"Filthy commoner!" Edric snarled, his voice cracking. "You think you can touch a Crest without permission?! You defiled our sacred space!"
Liana sobbed, shrinking back. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't know! Please, I didn't mean—"
Edric raised his hand higher, flames dancing across his fingers. The crowd watched with a mixture of excitement and horror.
This is it. The first major scene. Liana "accidentally" touches a noble family's crest, Edric overreacts, and Roland steps in to defend her. First meeting between protagonist and primary love interest.
But Roland was across the room, pushing through the crowd. He wouldn't make it in time.
And Edric... Edric's hand was shaking worse now, his face pale beneath the anger. This wasn't just rage—this was panic. He was terrified of what would happen if he didn't punish her, if someone told his father he'd shown weakness.
He's going to actually hurt her. Maybe even kill her. Because he's more afraid of his father than he is of the consequences.
Game Knowledge Activated:
Edric Renault: Fire magic affinity. Attacks in predictable patterns. Weakness: Water magic, precise strikes to break concentration.
Liana Hart: Will use this incident to paint herself as a victim and Seraphine (who does nothing) as complicit.
Seraphine's Reputation: Will drop significantly if she's seen as supporting cruelty toward commoners, even though most nobles do it daily.
Seraphine's crop pressed harder under my chin. "Where do you think you're—?"
"Saving your reputation," I muttered.
I stood and moved before I could second-guess the decision.
End of Part 1 of Chapter 1