(Not) A Vanilla Levelling System

12#4

From the time I was born, I was blessed with a father who wasn't very useful.

A man who could only brag about his cleverness and strange insights to everyone-yes, even if it was proven in writing, anyway-and never made any significant discoveries.

That's why, when he failed and went bankrupt, all he did was brood. Complaining. Cursing.

Cursing all the people who betrayed him. Cursing the people who left him alone behind.

What a pathetic coward!

"Dad ...." Lucian stood up. Putting on a smile. His suit was more formal in a black suit.  His hair was pulled back in a dwarf clump like a small bun.

I stand up and pay my respects as well.

The figure waltzed gracefully to the dining table. Everyone bowed respectfully as he passed.

When my eyes met with the Dawve clan's piercing purple eyes, I realised that I had finally found her.

A figure worthy of a role model!

A figure with an aura so powerful that you feel compelled to obey him even without being ordered to!

Count Alfie Dawver scrutinised my and Lucian's faces one by one.

As if searching for hidden faults. Looking for the rottenness that could betray him at any moment.

"Sit down."

And so, we all sat down in unison.

If Lucian was dressed in something akin to a dance outfit, then the man I must call Father from now on seemed to be dressed in mourning.

An all-black suit - hat, coat, trousers, and shoes - combined with a white shirt with a lacy collar that puffed up awkwardly. A phoenix brooch and a golden watch chain were draped over the right shoulder and stomach.

Alfie only sat down ten seconds later as he took off his tall hat, revealing an ear-length golden mane that was curled in curls.

Rather than paying attention to his hair, which had the monotonous style of classical nobility, I was more interested in his hat.

It was the kind of tall, round hat that I could only see at costume parties or Halloween at the office. You could say it's a really situational item.

So yes, the material is sometimes just perfunctory and the textures are as fragile and tough as cardboard.

But, this one is different. Even from afar, it looks shiny and cosy.

Wait.

Are those noble hats made of silk too?

Eh, heck.

It turned out that the peaks were also glued together with small, dark sapphires.

"I heard that you finally got your turn for sparring?"

At that moment, I was still engrossed in munching on a dish that was truly appetising-a large piece of honey-soaked roast pork with blisters of fat that sent out a delightful blend of sweet and bitter aromas.

It was only when Lucian cleared his throat that I looked up and found that all attention was on me. "Ah. Yes. That's how ...." I gulped, trying not to choke when I said the last word. " ..., Father."

"Good."

I sighed. Continue eating.

In addition to draining my energy and patience, all those complicated magical healing procedures also made my body almost as slender as a stick and my stomach growl, you see.

"That's a decision that surprised me too, Father."

Lucian's voice sounded enthusiastic. When we exchanged glances: his look changed from one of seemingly-sincere affection to sassy and... somewhat dangerous?

"The Mighty One gave Rachel a body that was a little too weak. I was afraid she wouldn't survive to adulthood. When I found out about the sparring, I had the intention to ask Mr Dylan to give Rachel exclusive rights to not attend today's class, but I was worried that giving her special treatment for longer would end badly."

"That's a wise decision. I'm glad to hear that she's made significant progress." Alfie sipped his tea slowly with his attention fixed straight on my face.

It was as if this dead man's face was a target that needed to be aimed at closely so that it wouldn't blur out of sight.

I gulped. That intense gaze reminded me of the obnoxious behaviour of my annoying boss at the office.

At that time, I should have realised that Lucian had been acting quite strange. "But, when I heard the results, I was a bit disappointed. So I was wondering if you'd like-"

"Lucian!" Alfie glared and made the man immediately fall silent. "Last time I educated you to be a worthy heir to this esteemed clan, instead of a babbling parrot." His words came out as cold as ice and sharp as a sword.

Lucian's expression changed from one full of odd joy to almost expressionless. "Okay, Father. Sorry for my impudence," he said spontaneously, stiffly.

Hah!

Feel that!

No wonder his behaviour was suspicious, it turns out he had a ridiculous plan to stab me in the back.

Yes, you have to be wary of men who like to talk.

"A smart man speaks with his mouth, a wise man speaks with his steel." Alfie took one piece of meat and chewed dramatically.

Well, I agree.

I don't know if it's the words, or the old man's way of enjoying food - good meat like this is best enjoyed slowly, savouring the fibre of the oil and the fusion of the broth that spills over the tongue, and the pleasantly chewy sensation with each bite.

That's right.

You can't hurry.

Who knows if this is my last good meal

Regardless of whether this is an uncreative type of beyond or an imaginary reality, it's what I feel now that matters.

After all, because of that damn Yuda and my troublesome parents, my monthly money was already gone even at the beginning of the month.

Just after finishing my third bite and about to grab another piece, a waiter came rushing over.

Unlike the previous one, this one was more senior.

His hair was grey with a few whitened manes. Although he had the sturdy build and arms of a soldier, his face was full of folds and wrinkles that stood out-especially when he was worried like now.

The waiter whispered in Alfie's ear.

I wasn't really paying attention-not interested in paying attention.

The slices this time were quite difficult. Whereas earlier, with just one movement, I was able to get a big cut.

But, why is it so hard this time?

What the hell? Did she think I'd only eat half of it?

Who the hell is cooking?

It's incompetent and half-assed.

Just watch out. I'll sack you and punish you along with that whiny waitress.

"That makes no sense!"

Yes, really, 'Father'!

This doesn't make sense.

You useless employee eating your salary blindly!

"I told you I'll pay it back when the time comes. And before that, we had no agreement at all!"

Eh?

I looked up.

Alfie's face was already full of sinewy lines, eyes bulging, and hands clenched into fists.

"But, Mr-"

"If your ears can't hear what I'm saying, it's better to remove them immediately. Would you like to?"

The waiter was cornered, shaking his head, defeated.

I frowned.

That damn meat still couldn't be cut open.

"-an! Master! Sir! Please-"

Along with the deliberate stomping of shoes, from the hallway connecting the dining room and the castle hall, another stranger appeared.

His appearance was a mix of a clown and a fashionable person from the eighth-century Middle East.

With a face scrawled in mottled multicoloured ink, a set of thin cream-coloured cloth, white slacks, and a matching silk bandana.

What is this?

An acrobat?

A comedian?

"I'm honoured to have been invited here, Mr Dawver." When he opened his mouth, his voice was soft, smooth, and pitched.

Like the recitation of classical poetry.

Another servant followed behind. Exhausted and out of breath. "M-sorry, sir, I-"

"No one invited you here, Sayyid." Alfie's voice was low, cold, and tinged with... fear?

"Hm... what a lovely welcome. I like it. I'd like to ask permission to sit down and join the ladies and gentlemen, if you'd like." Sayyid did not wait for Alfie's reply.

He planted his bum and gave me and Lucian a strangely warm greeting.

"Now let's talk-"

"There's nothing more to talk about." Alfie jerked his spoon and knife away. Wipes his mouth. Preparing to move on. "I've lost my appetite. Dough, my stick, please!"

The senior waiter obediently complied.

However, Sayyid did not give up. "I think I overestimated you."

"What do you mean?" Alfie gave Sayyid a sharp look.

"When you asked for a loan, I was honoured and very happy. The project with the nobleman was a promising prospect-"

"It was a joint investment. I never went into debt. And I never begged."

Sayyid shrugged. "Still, the project never made any progress. And the last I heard, it failed."

"It's not my fault that it failed. There was little capital and none of the workers were competent. It was inevitable. Do you ever blame the gods for having an ex-prostitute mother or being given a weak female body?"

Sayyid didn't seem to take offence-even though what Alfie had just said seemed to be fact. "Well, I've heard, 'the discipline of the troops depends on the commander'. Even though it's talking about war troops, I think it can be applied to anything. Including this project. When I entrusted you to lead the project, I had high hopes because you are a person with a high title and are respected. But it seems like rumours end up being rumours-"

"HEH!" Alfie hit the table hard. "What do you mean, you're trying to embarrass me, aren't you?"

"Humiliate? Oh, of course not. I wouldn't dare." Sayyid laughed crisply.

With a subtle gesture, the man took vthe man picked up the apple and took a small bite. "I only expect a responsibility. I'm afraid you are not who I expected you to be."

"OK! OK THEN!"

Alfie gritted his teeth. "How much do you and your entourage of beggars want, huh? A hundred? Two hundred? I'll turn it round. Twice-no, five times. When it's time."

I don't really know what the point was, but Alfie just now seemed to have made a careless promise.

Sayyid flashed a smile. But, still not satisfied. "The time, hm. Whose time, my good lord? My time? Your time? I fear that if it were your time, my poor impatient caravan would starve to death-"

"Next week." Alfie snorted, shook his head, then still had the courage and time to leer scornfully. "Next week."

Sayyid nodded. Full of smirk. "Next week, then."

The man left.

Alfie grumbled for a while, then finally drove to the room.

I stared at Lucian, trying to find an answer, while trying to continue cutting meat-hooray, it worked.

Banyak yang bilang aku pesimis, padahal aku cuma realistis.

(Selesai)

So whenever I meet new people or things, I tend to think about the worst-case scenario.

For example, if someone in the queue suddenly gives in and tells me to go first, there's a possibility that that person is a disgusting stalker trying to win me over and kidnap me once I've fallen for it-hah! Like it's going to happen! Do you think I'm an innocent fourteen-year-old boy who can be fooled?

Well, you might as well apply it.

It'll do you a lot of good and make you feel more at peace-at least it worked for me.

That's why, when I discovered that Alfie was another irresponsible bastard, I wasn't too surprised.

At least, even though he was just a prestigious loser, my father still had some brains.

But this Alfie was arrogant and stupid - I swear, the kind of person you'd want to stay away from, stupidity is contagious.

So, anyway, from the info I got, these past years the Dawver clan has been facing hard times.

The territory keeps failing crops. The suffocating royal tax continues to run. Meanwhile, the people are starving and going on strike because the wages are too minimal.

In the midst of this crisis, our good; honourable; and exemplary Alife Dawner made a pact with the devil.

She collaborates with an Eastern merchant named Sayyid to build a dam.

The hope is that the fields will become more fertile and the produce can be sold.

Of course, the rewards were quite petty.

Since all the capital was provided by Sayyid, he expected twenty per cent of the sales for each harvest.

Alfie accepted without asking too many questions - he thought this was something that only existed in Indonesia.

The project went well-at first.

But when only a tenth of it was completed, the work suddenly broke down.

No one knew what caused it-no one dared to open their mouths.

I was quite curious at first, but after finding new tapestries and displays on the jewellery cabinet, I think I know where the money went.

Well... I didn't bother, anyway.

After all, it's their problem.

After all, it's not necessarily real either.

After all, after going to bed tonight, I will return to my usual life.

Eating, sleeping, labour, and Rendi.

Ah, yes, Rendi.

Ouch ... how long has it been, huh?

Hm ... it's only been a few days, but I already miss him like this.

They say that if you suddenly remember someone, there's a chance that someone will remember you too.

Okay, then.

Now we sleep, dream, and then wake up in my usual daily life again.

...

...

Right?

It's not that simple.

Something that has the potential to go wrong, will go wrong one day.

I'm starting to agree with the saying that hope is poison.

And people who hope are just a bunch of cowards. Those who are too weak to do something to prop up life on an uncertain benchmark.

It reminds me of Mum. And Dad.

And my old life.

Come to think of it, even apart from this hardship I never expected, things would still be the same.

It wouldn't be worse.

And certainly not better.

Argh!

What the hell?

This is coming out of a tiger cage, into a black hole.

Magically enter the world of novels? Surrounded by handsome blokes? Have half-crazy powers?

Look, no matter how good your fairy tale world is, if you're born a beggar, you'll be destitute too!

"Good, right? Good, right?" Sara snorted to herself. Waltzing and strutting in front of me like a mix of a model and a circus performer.

Her appearance seemed more brilliant and striking than the sunlight. Her dress was yellow and loose-necked, exposing her neck and part of her chest that was covered in a barrage of flashy jewellery-all gold, but I'm sure only one or two were real.

"See this one?" She showed me a necklace of bluish precious stones-similar to sapphires, but more opaque, dull, and even cheap-looking-with a flowery heart. "My father gave it to me yesterday. A souvenir from his trip to the East. It's said to make the wearer happy and lucky, but my brother says it's a myth. That's so old-fashioned now. I don't believe it either."

But, afterwards, Sara smiled and stroked the surface as if cradling a son.

Duh!

This is hell on earth.

I thought leaving early was the right choice.

At times like this, clearing my mind is the most sane way-I need to get away from the castle's increasingly gloomy atmosphere, you see.

But, after arriving and expecting to find a peaceful morning, I found myself stuck with a walking drum, alone.

"Do you know what this is made of, hm?"

I stroked my chin and looked up. Thinking. I wondered what side dish I was going to eat this afternoon.

"Right. Rubies."

I was stunned. Sara giggled.

Huh?

"That's why you rarely find this here. The merchant is one of Father's good acquaintances who often transits between continents. He was willing to sell it to me at a low price because he thought our family was special. No wonder, really."

Hah!

Yes, social status is no guarantee of intelligence.

"Yes... but no matter how good it is, it can't beat Miss Irene's necklace. That's... the best kind. The prettiest kind. A necklace suitable for a high-class woman. For an aspiring queen. Uh... her charm is second to none. Right?"

Oh my!

That reminds me of yesterday.

The potential mate selection that failed miserably and the annoying defeat.

If only this damn Sara would shut up.

I wish that damn Irene wasn't so selfish.

I wish I had a more reliable partner.

Sara went further.

Touting how graceful, noble, and charming her queen idol was in the fighting arena.

"If you compare it with that ignorant commoner, it's far away. She just makes everything chaotic. She doesn't want to be organised. His behaviour is unclear. In the end, we had to stop because Prince Zack claimed a draw." Sara shook her head, continuing to babble.

What the hell, you bastard!

The combination of thinking that sooner or later my new useless family-again-would fall into misery and yesterday's miserable incident made me even more disgusted.

I feel less and less at home here.

"That's the quality of a king. A man of honour. From among the honourable people. And civilised!" For some reason, in that enigmatic pause I felt Sara glance at me briefly while snorting sarcastically. "Hey, for that yesterday, have you apologised yet?"

I only realised that it was a question for me when Sara repeated it almost three times and her gaze became more intense. "To whom?"

Sara sighed, pretending that the answer was as obvious as why humans should breathe. "To the Prince of Devon."

I still don't understand.

"After your unpleasant and inappropriate behaviour yesterday? Seriously? You don't feel guilty?" Sara smirked and shook her head.

"Inappropriate?" What, exactly, does that mean? "I was just trying to win."

It's not like Dylan said we should fight until one of us is half dead.

That's what I did.

"Yeah, not like that either. You're already acting like barbarians. Why are you carrying all that wood around and using it as a weapon?" Sara folded her arms across her chest.

"So what? Should I just stand there and get hit like that?"

"Prince Devon tried to be generous and stop the sparring yesterday, but you refused-"

"What generosity? He told us to give up without a fight."

I still couldn't believe it.

Indeed. Right now I'm nothing more than a haggard girl with a single mana, a clan that has almost lost influence, and a sickly body.

But, do I really look like a person who can't do anything? A desperate person?

A person who takes refuge in the mercy of others? "I'd rather die than just give up."

But, Sara just gradually put on a look of disbelief, scorn, and disgust. "It turns out I was right all along." She grinned again. "Miss Irene overestimated your value."

He snorted. "You're just an image person. What's in your mouth is in your deeds."

What did he just say? "Hey, Sara." I licked my lips. "You never look at yourself?"

Sara was silent. Frowning.

Seemed surprised I could still be that calm - honestly, I was surprised too. "I'm the one who's surprised why Miss Irene could accept you in the first place."

At that moment, it seemed like our conversation was too intense because everyone had gathered around and watched, no one was trying to intervene-good.

"Follow wherever Miss Irene goes. Do what she wants. Always praising her even when you don't want to. Do you know what that looks like?"  I deliberately paused. "Sycophant."

Sara stuttered. Her face contorted into a frown. "I-I just want to be a good friend to Miss Irene."

"Are you sure?" Now it was me who widened my grin. "Not for something else?"

The Livingsworth clan was one of the most illustrious clans in the kingdom.

Its influence was probably just a notch lower than the royal family.

That's why Sara's motives were very clear, even to someone who didn't know and was too close to this evil conspiracy.

"I-I don't see your point."

I shrugged. "I'm just saying that your methods are too old-fashioned. Too visible. You know what goes through my head every time we have to meet?" I looked at him intently. The look of anxiety was getting there. "Pathetic."

There was a faint sound of laughter and an amused snort.

In any case, Sara had already lost.

Her body was already trembling and her eyes were dazedly looking around for answers.

There were only two choices for her.

Give up and bear the shame until the school year is over.

Or act more stupidly and endure the embarrassment until the school year is over.

Sara crossed her chest again, looking at me while licking her lips. "Well, at least my clan doesn't go into debt and refuse to pay."

"Who?" I clenched my fist.

The girl giggled like a demon possessed. "It's an open secret, you know. Everybody knows."

I heard the crowd let out another round of laughter and amused snorts.

This time it was more obvious and blatant.

This time directed at me.

Trying to corner me.

Just like before.

"I can't believe it. The Dawver Clan, which is known to be noble and honourable, turns out to be-"

PLAK!

I did it.

That... slap was too hard.

Even my hand got hot. Sara almost fell down. Her eyes were glazed over.

But, I still wasn't satisfied.

"You-"

"STOP TALKING, TRY!"

PLAK!

I slapped her again.

Again.

Again.

When I realised, I was being held by two men.

It was no longer hot. My hands were now even a little sore - blisters I think - and... clammy?

Meanwhile, in front of me, Sara was almost lying down. Her body was trembling. Her hand held the corner of her chapped and slightly torn lip.

My eyes were terrified.

The room was much more crowded than before and it seemed like everyone had gathered.

Even Irene and Dimitri.

Irene stared at me in disbelief. Sara crawled on all fours and rushed towards her. Mumbling a low whine. "Miss Irene, she's... she's...." Then Sara started sobbing.

*#*

 What a mess!

My life is ruined.

It collapsed.

It's a pile of ashes.

So, the conclusion and moral message of the above nirguna metaphor is: don't go to school if you're in a bad mood.

Honestly, I'm a good person. And very normal.

After all, there are many bad scenarios that might happen when people get angry, right?

In fact, there are worse ones.

At least my behaviour doesn't involve firearms.

But, as they say, people of honour have sensitive hearts.

And if you dare mess with them, there will be dire consequences.

Let's hope these rich people aren't as much of a jerk as those in the real world.

"Honestly, I'm surprised, Miss Dawver."

Especially me.

What the hell was I thinking at that moment?

Making a scene? Going on a rampage? Especially when the target was the most dangerous kind.

"Do you have anything to say first, Miss Dawver?"

"What else do you want to explain?" I could feel Sara's intense gaze fixed here. It was full of a strange mixture of anger and fear that had not yet subsided. "Di-she's insane. Crazy. Crazy. If you don't believe me, just ask the residents of the class."

"Then that's how it is, Miss Dawver. Since you won't provide Miss Carrington with more convincing explanations and evidence, I'm afraid I can't help you any further."

I gulped. Then I looked at my hands.

It had been an hour ago, but the feeling still lingered.

Hot. Somewhat stinging. And-the strongest of all-satisfaction.

Okay. Focus!

"I..."

"Hm?" Dylan stopped writing notes.

Even I felt that Sara also glanced over.

"I..." I gulped once more. Even at this age and in this situation, it was very difficult to get this sentence out.

"Apologise."

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry." I glanced to the side.

Sure enough, Sara was dumbfounded. Then glared. Then dumbfounded. "Apologise?"

Sara again snorted in a way that annoyed me and made my hands itch again. "After all that you think you'll just let go? Just by apologising?"

I kept silent. The spit I swallowed felt even heavier, thicker, and bitter.

Sara was right. I was really in bad shape right now.

"Unfortunately that's true, Miss Dawver. I regret to say this, but we are here trying to educate and produce a generation of honourable leaders." Dylan picked up a piece of paper, and began to write.

Although still dominated by the hue of fear, I could see Sara was holding her chest and wearing a smirk.

Bloody hell!

Dylan stopped, looking at both of us.

This is it. My death sentence.

"After careful consideration, I have decided that... starting at noon, Miss Dawver will attend an additional advanced etiquette class, as punishment."

Huh?

"I hope, after going through that intensive study, you'll be better able to behave yourself."

Either I misheard, or the resolution to this dizzying problem was rather... unexpected.

"That's the punishment?" Sara didn't seem satisfied.

Even I feel that this is not quite right. But, I was worried that if I said more, another problem would arise.

"I also feel that it sounds a little too severe. Miss Merryweather is known for being disciplined, stern, and unpopular, you know." Dylan shrugged, chuckling to himself. "But, I'm expected to be disciplined here."

"That's not the case!" Sara had lost her temper. "Are you not listening to me or what? He was trying to harm me. See this? This?" She showed me the bruise on her cheek that had gone from blushing red, to cloying blue, to slightly blackened.

It looked like it was rotten. Stinging. And throbbing.

What? I already apologised.

"He apologised half-heartedly."

Dylan listened silently, looking with that odd look that people usually get when looking at grocery lists; weather broadcasts; and babbling women.

I knew this guy was wrong from the start.

What a heartless man!

That's good.

"I order you to report this to His Majesty. Let him be imprisoned at once. If possible, put him in the black cell." Sara again looked at me with the same contemptuous gaze. "A madman like this will be dangerous if he's allowed to run free."

Dylan sighed. "A thousand apologies, Miss. We don't have the authority to do that."

"Huh?"

"My good lady, Your Majesty has graciously granted us the honour of guiding you all to become the next generation that will be modest and bring prosperity to the country." Dylan developed a smile full of empty politeness. "But imposing such a cruel punishment seems too far."

I could almost hear Sara gritting her teeth.

Her hands were already clenched so tightly that I thought her palms would bleed from fingernails.

I just laughed to myself. Astonished. Laughed again.

"As a consolation, I will also ask Miss Dawver to write a formal apology. To you, and to Count Carrington's family as well, if you wish. Right, Miss Dawver?"

When I was about to nod, Sara had already stood up and let out a squeal of objection. "No need."

She turned round and stomped off.

After chatting about the details of the next procedure I had to follow, I withdrew with forced politeness-I swear, it's so hard!

Outside, Sara was waiting. With her chest crossed. Leaning against the wall. Her eyes had become bolder and radiated a series of emotions that I could no longer define.

Her mouth just twitched and mouthed, but not a single word came out. Just a silent threat. "Just watch out."

Then we parted ways.

Um... is this it?

They say there's a calm before the storm.

But, if the storm has already hit beforehand, what kind of worse disaster will come later?

A mountain toppling over? The earth suddenly burning up from the sun? I finally wake up from this ridiculous series of dreams and find out that the bill due date has been brought forward?

Hii ... the more I think about it, the more horrified I get.

Well... I'll enjoy the rare moment first.

It's not often that I come out of the courtroom with a heart full of this questionable dilemma-usually, anyway, between a grudge or a half-assed grudge.

Remember, courtrooms in schools are even more terrifying than a courtroom. And the counselling teacher-or BP, or whatever damn name you use for those damn people-has justice beyond the devil.

That's why the incident just now made me quite nostalgic.

Although, now I'm on the other side.

This is how good it feels to win controversially.

But, Sara's latest behaviour doesn't stop making me more uneasy.