The Delinquent and the Fraudulent Student (3)
The front page of that day's student newspaper was a detailed exposé on everything Cleio and the boy had been up to — every lazy, drunken escapade laid bare.
Cleio pressed his aching temples.
The article was a problem in two major ways.
First, he'd never intended to become infamous. He wanted no notoriety — in any direction.
Second, why the hell was that bastard Arthur Leogunan?
In Prince of Albion Kingdom, every single event revolved around the protagonist. Anyone who stood near him — whether they wished it or not — was swept up in the great current of history.
That was the power of a narrative's central figure.
Cleio, however, had no desire to even breathe the same air as that kind of person. At this point, he felt like shaking his fist at the author himself.
"'Even the paintings of a youthful god could not rival Arthur Leogunan's beauty,' you said! What god? He wasn't even noble-scoundrel handsome — more like a hobo vagabond aesthetic!"
He knew the story was rewriting itself, but he never imagined Arthur would appear like that.
"Come to think of it — that flashy dagger trick… that was sword aura! He was testing me to see if I'd recognize it!"
Cleio's mind raced. Was the author deliberately making them meet? If so, what kind of development was he pushing toward?
"Charging ahead with no explanation at all — what am I supposed to do with that?"
His head throbbed.
Meanwhile, Behemoth, after reading the paper, was tearing around the bedroom in outrage.
"How dare you—! How dare you go about guzzling alcohol without offering your dear master even a sip!"
"Ah… hey… is that really what you're mad about?"
"Of course it is! You drank the Budigala wine without presenting it to me! There must have been a bottle of 1875 Bishop's Tower in that cellar!"
"Well, excuse me, Professor Wine Connoisseur."
"Indeed! When it comes to drink, I am an expert. If you'd gotten the key, you should've informed me immediately!"
"You sneak into places just fine without one."
"The cellar is protected by a temperature-preservation barrier, fool! A creature as divine as myself cannot enter unnoticed—meowwwww!"
As Cleio's headache worsened, the door burst open — Nebo entered, wearing a smug grin.
"Hey, Zebedi the Dean wants to see you. Right now."
"Yeah…"
"You're unbelievable. How do you manage to make every single week a disaster? Hah!"
'That wasn't the plan, okay? I just wanted to get expelled quietly for missing too many classes!'
···
By the time Cleio reached the hallway outside the dean's office, he felt half-dead.
Someone else was already waiting there, presumably called in for the same reason.
Sensing Cleio's presence, the other student turned to look.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Neatly combed dark-blond hair. The late-afternoon sunlight stretched down the corridor, forming a halo around his head.
A handsome face — perhaps too sharply defined, with eyes so clear and bright they almost looked savage.
Because of the "memory" from The Promise, Cleio even recalled the unnecessary lines that described him: "Eyes as piercing as a blade through the soul, a blue-green hue like the meeting of the Northern and Western seas."
"You got called in too? Dean Zebedi's sermons last at least twenty minutes. We're doomed."
'…That tone. It's exactly the same.'
Cleio accepted the grim truth before him.
Cleaned up, hair trimmed, wearing his uniform properly — Leo was indeed him.
Arthur "Leonid" Leogunan.
The protagonist of Prince of Albion Kingdom.
Third Prince of the Realm.
Future King.
"How was I supposed to recognize him when he looked like a vagrant bird-catcher before?!"
Cleio felt his temper flare.
"You. Leo, right?"
"Still am."
"Ha. Shit."
"Cleio Aser, wasn't it? You only told me your name was Ray."
"Forget my name entirely, if you can."
"Already know it. Can't un-know it."
"Then forget it anyway. Nice knowing you — now let's never see each other again."
"C'mon, after a week of drinking together, you're really gonna act that cold?"
Standing side by side in the hall outside the dean's office, Cleio did his best to ignore the boy's gaze burning into him.
'Author-sensei, I don't know what you're planning, but I'm not interested in any plotline that ties me to the protagonist. His fate's a disaster. And why should I help him anyway?'
Then it hit him — the Editor's Privilege.
He could still use it.
Three times per chapter. A limited resource, but perfect for moments like this.
The best way to end an incident was to make sure it never began.
All he had to do was rewind — back to the cafeteria. No, better yet, back to Monday morning's classroom.
He didn't know whether the author would accept the change, but trying was better than doing nothing. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd even hear the author's intent — why he wanted Cleio to "participate" in the rewrite at all.
'Even if I find out, that doesn't mean I have to agree. Why the hell should I?
Cleio revived the familiar sensation and summoned the thought of his Editor's Privilege. His hand grew hot, and golden strings of text unfurled before his eyes.
[―Unique Skill: 'Editor's Privilege' (2/3) activated.]
[―Remaining Time / Limit Time:
00:00:14 / 00:00:15]
Moments later, the manuscript bundle appeared.
Still messy and dog-eared as ever, it took only a few pages' worth of flipping before Cleio found the Monday cafeteria scene.
He picked up the pen, drew a line through it, and scrawled Delete all below.
But this time, a different message appeared.
[―The Author rejects this revision.]
[―'Editor's Privilege' cannot be applied without Author's consent.]
The manuscript in his hand faded away like smoke.
Cleio wasn't even surprised. No matter how generous one might imagine them, authors were authors.
Stubborn eccentrics, single-minded to the core — there was no way they'd listen to anyone else's input so easily.
As sweat gathered on his brow, Cleio's breathing grew rough. Arthur stepped closer, frowning.
"You okay? Why are you sweating like that?"
"None of your business."
Without even glancing at Arthur, Cleio invoked Editor's Privilege again.
If I don't stop this now, I'll have to deal with something ten times worse later. I can't give up after one try. If I can't undo it, I'll at least reduce my presence.
[―Unique Skill: 'Editor's Privilege' activated. (3/3).
Warning: Chapter usage limit reached.]
[―Remaining Time / Limit Time:
00:00:14 / 00:00:15]
Fifteen seconds was barely enough time to read through the text. Cleio flipped through the manuscript desperately.
Near the end, he found a suitable paragraph — a description of Arthur holding both curiosity and suspicion toward Cleio.
Let's change this one.
He crossed out the original line and hastily scribbled in,
[Arthur grew irritated by Cleio, who was being scolded by the Dean, and lost all interest in him.]
Having never written a line of fiction outside of a college application essay, his sentence was clumsy beyond belief.
Who cares? I just need to survive! Apply—!
Then, he felt it — a sharp, burning gaze piercing into his back.
Turning with the pen still in hand, Cleio found Arthur standing even closer than before.
The boy's smile was gone, leaving a face cold and chiseled as stone.
…No way. Did he just move? That's impossible… right?
During previous uses of the skill, Ishiel and Nebo had frozen like paused frames, completely unaware of what Cleio was doing. Even Behemoth hadn't noticed a thing.
But Arthur was different.
The boy's eyes closed — then slowly, painfully opened again.
Cleio Aser, who had activated Editor's Privilege, and Arthur Leogunan, the subject of its effect, met each other's gaze in midair.
How—!?
Around them, light exploded — blue and gold intertwining in violent swirls.
[―Arthur Leogunan is deeply entangled with the structure of the world.
User's narrative authority insufficient; cannot override influence.]
[―Excessive revision attempt detected. The original manuscript of Prince of Albion Kingdom, titled "□□□□'s Palimpsest," is being… scraped… coherence… degra—…]
The collapsing world reassembled itself like a shattered mosaic reforming piece by piece.
Caught in the shock of a world rebuilding itself, Cleio doubled over, the shards of glowing text engraving themselves painfully into his mind.
Stop— stop! Cancel skill!!!
[―In Prince of Albion Kingdom (Final Draft), some pre-revision paragraphs have been randomly merged.
―Internal narrative consistency has decreased.]
A hot stream of blood burst from Cleio's nose, dripping onto his knees.
Across from him, black streaks of blood began to seep through the back of Arthur's hand —
As though both had been wounded deeply by the same unseen force.
"Cleio, you… what the hell… did you do…?"