“Huh? What?” That very afternoon, the North City Commandant came to our door with his adjutant to apologize.

Upon learning who he was, Vinny was genuinely surprised. The man turned out to be the overall administrator and commander for all of North City—meaning every regular force and patrol guard outside of the Dragon-Knights was under his direction.

By rights, someone of that rank would never have paid a call on this shabby place.

And yes, shabby was accurate. We almost couldn’t scrounge up a single cup of tea to offer a guest.

The visitors didn’t seem to care about our lack of manners. They stood there tense and stiff—big shots of the royal capital whose status towered beyond anything Vinny could’ve hoped to curry favor with in the past—now looking like children caught misbehaving, one breath away from snapping to attention.

“It’s like this, Lord Vinny. This morning, when you and your classmate went out to fish, you were ambushed by a gang of vicious, despicable assassins, correct?”

“Yeah. But... are you really not going to sit? It’s not great to talk while standing, is it?” Vinny eyed the pair. Skipping the tea he could understand—he knew exactly how their tea tasted, and it wasn’t winning any prizes—but not even sitting? They looked like subordinates reporting to a superior.

These were people who hadn’t spared him a glance before. Since when were their positions reversed?

“No, no, we’ll stand! About this matter: the officer under the officer under the officer under my command handled things completely out of line. I also bear responsibility for that.”

“Huh? But didn’t that officer say he was just following standard procedure? He even told us to report to the garrison tomorrow—probably wanted us to line up and count off.” Vinny teased. He was honestly just curious; there was no intent to make things difficult.

That was not how it sounded to the North City Commandant’s ears.

“Not at all! That ignoramus has no idea what the capital patrol’s regulations are—just a newly promoted waste. He was talking out of his neck. Our army has no such procedures. That brat who couldn’t see past the end of his own nose dared to invert right and wrong and slander upright citizens of the kingdom—lawless and reckless, on top of exposing his incompetence. We have already expelled him in accordance with regulations. Moreover, we expelled his superior as well. From this point forward, the garrison has nothing to do with that sort.” The Commandant thought Vinny was dissatisfied and mocking them, so he rushed to explain and presented the disciplinary outcome, terrified Vinny would remain unhappy.

Times change. In the old days, to this North City garrison chief who held real power, Vinny was nothing more than a notorious, powerless, insignificant titular noble. And now...

As for why the attitude had flipped so hard—anyone who knew, knew.

The Commandant himself couldn’t fathom why Her Highness the Princess would speak up for Vinny. Weren’t their relations supposed to be strained??

But a princess doesn’t err in judgment, much less aid a wrongdoer. After reviewing the full report afterward, they also concluded that officer was a serious problem—ambition had driven him mad.

The facts were reported layer by layer up to Her Highness and then conveyed layer by layer back down to them. The instruction Her Highness gave them was—no instruction at all, just a few upright, forceful words:

“Use your own judgment.”

Anyone who survives at this level understands: those words are far more chilling than a specific order.

The subtext is: you set the bounds—but if the result displeases me, be ready.

No specifics; immeasurable pressure. Mirexia understood that, and so did the administrators.

As a future monarch, Mirexia was not merely diligent and compassionate. Friane V had taught her long ago: when dealing with subordinates, if you don’t project sovereign majesty and pressure, then even the most loyal retainers will sometimes forget the weight of the crown.

So for many courtiers and capital officers, the respect and loyalty they feel toward Mirexia is laced with a measure of fear.

The future Queen of Camella, like her father, says one word and it stands. You do not want to be the chicken she sacrifices to warn the monkeys.

Knowing that the other city commands were watching for a spectacle at his expense, the North City chief gritted his teeth; his spine went soft; and he personally brought his adjutant to Vinny’s door to apologize. Then he kicked that officer—and that officer’s superior—out of the garrison.

He had his own grievance, too.

Damn it, you lot flutter around all day adding to my headaches instead of easing them, is that it??

Crucially, how is he supposed to keep tabs on some no-name officer at the third level down? Without a roster in hand he wouldn’t even know who that little shrimp was. The rank gap was that wide.

“Oh? In that case, do my classmate and I still need to report to the garrison tomorrow?” Vinny was pleased—one less hassle.

“Of course not. But if you’d like to come, you’re welcome anytime. Tell the guards my name and you may come and go as you please!” the Commandant hurried to say.

“Uh... that’s not really appropriate, is it? A garrison is a restricted area. How could someone like me come and go? Back then, when I so much as peeked inside, they nearly threw me out.” Vinny pouted.

“No, no. You are a noble of Camella—and the sole surviving descendant of the Facilis line. Your entry to the garrison is perfectly proper! As for the past, I swear by the Goddess it was a misunderstanding. If you still remember the faces of those rude soldiers, I’ll have them found now!”

“Er... no need.” The Commandant’s posture felt surreal to Vinny, though he’d more or less guessed the reason for this three-quarters about-face.

Mirexia had surely said a word—just one—and “woken them up.”

This North City chief could bend and stretch. A character, in his way. Back then he’d met Vinny with nostrils flared, eyes on no one; now he was all nods and bows, going out of his way to polish Vinny’s boots.

“Besides that—the identities of those black-clad attackers, who sent them, who’s pulling the strings, and to what end—we will find the truth and will not let it go. To dare attempt this in Camella’s capital against a Camella noble—we will pursue it to the end,” the Commandant declared solemnly. “Rest assured. Leave this matter to us.”

Whether Mirexia spoke or not, they had to get to the bottom of it. An assassination attempt near the capital wasn’t mere recklessness; it demanded a heavy response.

“Mm. I understand. Thank you,” Vinny nodded.

“As an apology, this is our compensation. Please, you must accept it.” The Commandant took a casket from his adjutant and handed it to Vinny.

“What is it?” Vinny asked.

“A small token,” the Commandant deflected.

Vinny was curious. “Can I open it now?”

“Of course. It’s entirely up to you.”

He opened the casket—and found a very devout apology inside.

Very devout. The gleam alone screamed sincerity.

“Are you satisfied?”

“Mm. Satisfied. I’d say satisfied.” Vinny nodded repeatedly. He’d been worrying about replacing Shicodale’s burned clothes, and here he was—ask for a pillow and someone brings one.

Seemed being hassled by the patrol had turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

“If you’re satisfied, we’ll take our leave?” the Commandant ventured.

“Go ahead. Sorry the house is what it is—we really don’t have anything decent to offer the two of you.” Vinny smiled.

“Nonsense; we came to apologize. How could we ask Lord Vinny to entertain us? Since you’ve nothing else, we still carry our duties. We’ll be on our way.” The two departed.

“Classmate Dale, you can come out now.” Only after they left did Vinny call Shicodale down from the second floor.

First, Shicodale feared strangers. Second, Vinny suspected they were coming to apologize, so he’d decided to hold the upper hand: have Dale hide first, then, when they arrived, put on a serious face and explain that his roommate had an anxiety condition—now worsened—and they’d better compensate, blah blah.

He hadn’t expected their attitude to be that sincere, so he skipped the bit entirely. Otherwise they’d have learned that the “capital’s notorious wastrel” was no soft touch.

“Vinny, are you... truly not hurt?” Shicodale clasped his hands together, scanning Vinny up and down in worry.

“Come on, Dale—you’ve asked me that twenty times today!” Vinny groused.

“But didn’t you say that while I was unconscious... ‘she’ appeared?” Shicodale asked, tense.

The “she” naturally meant Shicodale’s Second Personality.

Vinny had guessed right. After they returned, he’d explained; Shicodale had confessed.

When the tribe-raiders cost him his people, his home, and his loved ones; when he became a wanderer; the hatred and despair toward humans birthed another personality.

That personality is the opposite of Shicodale’s temperament and shares his memories, though interestingly, while the Second Personality knows what happens to Shicodale, Shicodale does not fully know what happens while the Second Personality is awake.

According to Shicodale, each time the Second Personality wakes and then sinks back down, when Shicodale comes to he only remembers part of what the Second did—large portions are missing.

Vinny inferred the Second Personality is the body’s self-protection: because the original Shicodale is timid and yielding, his deepest heart wished to become strong and decisive—and so a personality utterly opposite to his nature took shape.

The Second Personality is nothing like Shicodale. She can fully wield his gifts and talent—excellent but hamstrung by his nature—to devastating effect. She kills decisively, hates humans, and shows no mercy.

She also acts domineeringly. In sharp contrast to the “bottle-it-up and never say it” cowardice of the gentle self when it comes to affection, the other self doesn’t accept defiance, and if she likes something, she takes it and makes it hers.

Especially given her loathing of humans—she figures humans owe her—she has precisely zero scruples about # Nоvеlight # laying hands on Vinny.

And that, Vinny thought, explained why Shicodale had shown none of a heroine’s presence since his debut.

Well, here it was. Turned out the “scriptwriter” had installed a “power-up patch” for Shicodale in the original. Once applied, Shicodale’s aggressiveness vaulted by orders of magnitude.

From dead last on the “destined heroine aggression index,” he shot up several tiers.

Granted, the gentle self remained harmless and still dead last—but if you counted only the Second Personality, based on her actual attack on him earlier, she could already be mentioned in the same breath as Aesphyra.

Of course, that’s aggression only. In terms of power, there’s probably still a considerable gap.

“Yeah, she showed up. But it’s also a fact she didn’t harm me. Didn’t I say so?” Vinny scratched his head.

“But... I know that personality. She’s an elf who hates humans...” Shicodale’s voice sank.

“Maybe. But the fact remains she didn’t hurt me. And you said when the Second Personality wakes, you don’t forget everything that happens, right? What do you remember this time—what parts?” Vinny asked.

“I...” At that, Shicodale’s ears went scarlet; steam all but puffed from his head.

Virtue +100

Current Virtue: 8584

Vinny fell silent.

All right. He knew exactly which part Shicodale remembered.

The kid couldn’t hide anything—his face wrote every secret.

And yes, the number made sense because Shicodale had already “spiked” Virtue once earlier.

Thinking back, that must have been when he woke and recalled the memories from before he fainted—his brain overloaded, Virtue spiking hard; plus, as he recalled, the Second Personality had also triggered a smaller spike.

Maybe. He couldn’t be sure. The Second’s offensive had been too intense—he’d been under such pressure he had no bandwidth for anything else, couldn’t even speak back, and hadn’t watched the Virtue counter.

This also made Vinny wonder: could the Second Personality control which memories Shicodale retained after waking?

Otherwise, it was too coincidental.

It seemed likely. After all, once awake, Shicodale remembered nothing of the Second dismembering the black-clad attackers. As the party involved, with his temperament, wouldn’t he be retching for three days and nights?

Vinny figured the Second was deliberately protecting the gentle self: every time she logged on to take out the trash, she made sure he wouldn’t remember the cleanup.

Reasonable enough. The Second was born from the soil of the gentle self’s despair; her purpose would naturally be to protect him at any cost—the original self.

That’s why she’d told Vinny those words earlier—don’t do anything that harms Shicodale, or next time, pay the price.

“Okay, okay. I won’t ask. As long as you know. I’m fine; your Second Personality didn’t do anything to me.”

“But... but...” Shicodale drooped.

“But what? Dale, haven’t I told you—men should be broad-minded. We lost two outfits, that’s all. You’re still mourning that?” Vinny fanned out the money the North City Commandant had just handed him. “Come on. Who wants those rags? Burned is burned. Out with the old, in with the new. I’m taking you to buy better.”

“Eh? Vinny, where did you get money?”

“My ancestor earned it when she debuted as an idol. Let’s go.”