Chapter 2

Lustrous black hair and crimson eyes. His sharp features, far removed from anything found in Japan or even the rest of Asia, forced him to acknowledge the likeness of Harold Stokes, whether he liked it or not.

He stood roughly 140 centimeters tall—the body of a ten-year-old.

Dressed in a pintucked, snow-white blouse with a cross-tie and knee-length half-pants, he was the picture of a young British aristocrat.

Kazuki Hirasawa had become Harold Stokes. Hard as it was to swallow, the fact was now undeniable.

He had no idea how or why. Was this what people called possession, or was it just a terrifyingly lucid dream? Perhaps Kazuki and Harold had swapped places, or maybe the consciousness known as "Kazuki Hirasawa" was nothing more than a delusion born of the original owner's shattered mind.

His sense of self was dissolving. Struck by a vertigo so intense it felt as if the floor were vanishing beneath him, Kazuki braced his hands against his trembling knees. He fought back a sudden surge of nausea, swallowing hard to keep his stomach down.

Breathing became a chore. Dizziness bleached his vision, and acid burned in the back of his throat. He felt utterly miserable.

He wanted to give up on everything and just sleep. In a fit of despondency, Kazuki collapsed onto the bed, his mental energy spent.

When I wake up, this will all have been a dream, he told himself. I'll wipe away the cold sweat and laugh about how much I panicked. He clung to that desperate hope as his consciousness began to fade, only to be jerked back into Harold’s body by a sharp knock on the door.

"...Enter."

He considered ignoring it, but before his mind could catch up, his mouth had already spat out the command. He couldn't tell if it was Harold’s will or his own subconscious reflex.

(Damn it. If it were really "me," I wouldn't just bark "Enter" like that.)

Kazuki wasn't so rude as to address a stranger with such arrogance. It seemed his body was moving on its own again.

He’d already answered; there was no turning back now. He forced his heavy body upright, his mood sinking even further.

The visitor didn't hesitate. An elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair opened the door, offered a deep, respectful bow, and stepped inside.

Upon seeing that face, Kazuki recognized him.

Norman.

The man served as the butler of this mansion. In the game, players knew him as "The Stokes Family's Conscience," and affectionately called him "Norman-san." He wasn't a blood relative, but in the toxic environment of House Stokes, he was the only source of comfort for the players. And now, he was standing in Kazuki's room.

"Pardon the intrusion, Lord Harold."

"What do you want?"

"Actually, I wished to consult with you regarding..."

Norman trailed off.

Kazuki stared back, puzzled by the sudden silence. The butler looked concerned.

"My lord, are you feeling unwell? If so—"

"I'm fine."

"But your complexion—"

"I said I'm fine!"

He shut down Norman’s worry with a callous snap.

He was drowning in problems, but he couldn't exactly confess, "Actually, I think I’ve possessed Harold-kun." He’d tried to be polite, but his mouth had other ideas. It seemed his words were being automatically translated into Harold’s haughty dialect. It was a maddeningly inconvenient "feature."

Norman, however, felt a prickle of unease.

The Harold Stokes he knew had zero tolerance for discomfort. He never worked hard, he fled from pain, and he crushed anything that annoyed him. While his parents were largely to blame for enabling him, Harold usually exaggerated even the slightest ailment to get attention.

Today, despite being as pale as a ghost, he was enduring it and even demanding to continue the conversation.

Norman wondered if he should return later, but seeing the look in Harold’s eyes—a gaze that practically screamed Get on with it—he decided to proceed.

"……I shall be brief, then. I wish to request a reduction in the punishment imposed upon Clara."

The words hit Kazuki like a physical blow. He suddenly remembered: he held a life in his hands.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own predicament that he’d completely forgotten about her.

Claiming her for "magical experiments" had just been his body following the script; he had no intention of actually doing it. He wanted to agree to Norman’s request immediately, but the words died in his throat.

It wasn't that Harold’s personality was blocking him. Kazuki had stopped himself.

Why? Because he knew the Original Story.

If things went according to the game, Clara would be burned alive by Harold’s magic. Her daughter, Colette, would be left orphaned and cast out of the Stokes Territory. Eventually, the Original Protagonist’s family would find the exhausted girl and take her in.

In short, Colette was the Main Heroine. If he saved Clara now, he might derail the plot so much that Colette never meets the Protagonist. The weight of that realization paralyzed him.

Of course, there was the possibility of a "Historical Correction Force"—an invisible hand that kept the plot on track regardless of his interference. If such a thing existed, he wouldn't have to worry about the consequences of his actions.

(But if the world is self-correcting, then my fate is already sealed. I have to assume that my actions actually matter.)

It was the only way to stay sane.

On the flip side, if there was no Correction Force, then his knowledge of the game was his greatest weapon. He could avoid the atrocities Harold committed and stop his reputation from tanking.

A glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.

(Changing the plot too much would be a mistake. I'd lose the advantage of foresight. I need to guide the story toward a better ending without breaking the main scenario!)

If he did nothing, Harold would die in a few years. He had to stop that. But breaking the world's internal logic was just as dangerous in an RPG world where death lurked around every corner. Survival meant walking a tightrope: sticking to the general flow while systematically dismantling every Death Flag in his path.

If I want to live, I need to stop overthinking and start doing, Kazuki decided, hardening his resolve.

Norman caught the flash of determination in Harold’s eyes and felt a jolt of surprise. He had never seen the boy look so resolute.

"Clara... the servant? You expect me to go out of my way to help her?"

Kazuki winced internally the moment the words left his lips.

He’d meant to say, "Clara is the servant from earlier, right? I want to help, but I can't be seen doing it." How on earth did his mouth translate that into such a sneer? Norman’s face fell, his hope visibly withering.

(Crap! This is going south fast!)

He was about to rake in even more Hate Points if he didn't fix this. He scrambled to salvage the situation.

"If you want her saved, show me some initiative first. Only then will I hear you out."

"D-Does that mean...!"

"You're annoying. Get out."

Terrified that his mouth would spew even more insults, Kazuki practically chased Norman out of the room.

The butler offered a final word of gratitude as he left, leaving Kazuki to collapse back onto the bed in relief. He’d managed to signal his willingness to help—barely.

Staring at the ceiling, Kazuki reconsidered his strategy. Avoiding Hate Points while the plot moved forward was going to be much harder than he’d thought.

But giving up wasn't an option. If dying here meant dying for real, he couldn't take the risk. His best bet was to play the part of Harold Stokes, avoiding the worst "scum" behavior while sticking close to the Original Story's path.

Step one: information. He needed to know if this world was a perfect replica of Brave Hearts or just a close imitation.

He ransacked the room, finding several familiar game items and a shelf full of magic books and biographies. To his relief, they were written in Japanese. It really was a world "Made in Japan."

Next, he needed to see Clara. He stepped out of his room and flagged down a nearby armored guard.

"You there."

"My lord!"

The soldier dropped to one knee. Kazuki ignored the groveling.

"Take me to the Underground Dungeon. I wish to see the servant, Clara."

"The dungeon, sir?"

"What? Have you something to say about it?"

"No! Not at all! Right this way!"

The soldier led the way with brisk movements, his armor clanking loudly with every step. It would be a nightmare to try and sneak around this place at night.

They arrived at a bleak, stone structure standing at the rear of the estate.

"This is the entrance, my lord."

"How many prisoners are inside?"

"Only one at the moment, I believe."

Perfect.

"Wait here. See that no one else enters."

"U-Understood."

Leaving the guard outside, Kazuki opened the heavy wooden door and stepped in.

"L-Lord Harold!? Whoa!"

Inside, Kazuki found another guard slacking off on a row of chairs. The man panicked and tumbled to the floor as Harold entered. Kazuki ignored him, heading straight for the iron floor-grate in the corner.

"The key. Now."

"Y-Yes, sir!"

He took the key, unlocked the grate, and looked at the guard.

"I have business below. You are not to follow."

He took the key with him—just in case—and descended the murky stone steps. The air was cold and damp. At the bottom, he found four cramped cells.

In the back right, a shadow huddled on a bed of straw.

"You are Clara Amereil, I presume?"

"Lord Harold...?"

Clara’s voice was a fragile thread. She couldn't see his face in the gloom, but his voice was unmistakable.

"Is it... time already?"

She was trembling. She expected the magical experiments to begin. Despair clouded her features.

"If you're so eager to die, I can oblige. But I'm here for something else."

Harold leaned against the bars of the opposite cell, crossing his arms. Clara was confused. In two years of service, she’d barely spoken to him.

"Something else?"

"A few questions. Answer truthfully, or else."

Clara nodded, paralyzed by the sheer pressure he radiated. This wasn't the petty brat she knew; his presence was calm, cold, and heavy.

"Tell me about your family."

"I... I have a daughter."

"Her name?"

"Colette."

"And the rest of your kin?"

"My husband and I eloped; my family disowned me. He passed away three years ago."

(So that's why she's all alone,) Kazuki thought.

He continued the interrogation, confirming Colette’s age and lack of magical ability. Everything matched his knowledge of the game. He had what he needed.

"We're done. Goodbye."

"Wait! Please!"

Clara lunged toward the bars, tears streaming down her face.

"When I'm gone, Colette will be alone! She's so young... she can't survive on her own! Please, Lord Harold, I beg you—look after her! She's innocent! Please!"

She prostrated herself before the very boy who had framed her, begging for her daughter's life.

The real Harold would have laughed. But Kazuki only saw a mother’s selfless love. He couldn't kill a woman like this. Colette needed her.

"Pathetic," he spat. "You're a sight to behold, groveling over meaningless anxieties."

It was the only way his mouth would allow him to offer comfort.

"My lord...?"

He didn't answer. He turned to leave before his own emotions could betray him. Just before reaching the stairs, he threw one last sentence over his shoulder.

"If you love her so much, then see to it you never leave her side again."

His footsteps receded. The iron gate clanged shut.

Clara stared into the darkness, whispering his words back to herself. Meaningless anxiety? Never leave her side?

There was no one to answer her, but for the first time in that damp, dark cell, the silence felt warm.