Arc-6 Ch-02

 Ah. This scene again. I’ve witnessed this event countless times in my dreams. If the scars carved into my heart and body are signposts of the path I’ve walked, then this scene must be an inseparable part of my life. To be honest, I’m sick of it. Utterly fed up with this dream. No matter how much I remind myself it’s just a dream, I don’t have such a masochistic urge to keep reliving the most agonizing moment of my life.

The despair of being abandoned by my fiancé The rage at those who mocked me. And above all, the hatred toward the ones standing before me. All of these are memories I can never forget. If they disliked me, that was fine. If they had followed the proper procedures and broken off the engagement with just cause, I would have complied. But to be unilaterally condemned as a villainess without even the chance to defend myself-That was something I could never accept.

For fifteen years since birth, I carried the titles of “Daughter of the Redgrave Duchy,” “Fiancée of the Prince,” and “Future Queen.” Not because I chose them, but because I was born the daughter of a ducal house, engaged for political reasons. Even so, I worked tirelessly to meet the expectations placed upon me. I understood that not everyone who strives is rewarded, and I thought I had learned the cruelty of this world. But for me, there was no other path but to become queen. And after all that effort, was this truly the treatment I deserved?

Never once allowed to complain, dedicating myself wholly to becoming a worthy queen?

My anger is justified. It would be entirely reasonable to demand compensation, even to take up arms against the Holfort royal family. That is why I threw down the gauntlet. If such lawlessness is permitted, then any atrocity could be justified under the shield of power. Such a world must not be allowed. Above all, I wanted to tear apart those who trampled on my dignity. Anger wells up from deep within, crashing over me in wave after wave. But no one supports me. They cower beneath the authority of the royal family, ignoring His Highness’s crimes—or worse, sneering at my misfortune. Is this the state of the kingdom’s nobility?

Are these truly the only people surrounding me?

To think I sacrificed sleep, striving for the sake of ruling over such rotten nobles-I am nothing but a fool. If that is the case, then I will struggle to the very end. Even if the ducal house abandons me, I will carve my own path.

“Hey, hey! I’ll volunteer to be your champion in the duel!”

A somewhat goofy voice rings out, one I know all too well.

Why?

Why is he here?

Turning, I see a familiar man standing before me. It makes no sense—everything is wrong. It is him, without a doubt. Leon Fou Bartfort. And yet, it is not. The Leon Fou Bartfort I know is not a cheerful man. He is a man with a gloomy expression, as if sneering at the world. At least, that was the kind of man he was when I met him. Tormented by the scars of war, both physical and emotional, he was a recluse who had half given up on life.

And yet, he was kind—loyal and compassionate. He grumbled, but he was outraged by the injustices of the world. The man before me has none of that shadow. His glib tongue, skillfully manipulating His Highness and the other four, is nothing like the Leon I know. It is only then I notice how strange this place is. The location is indeed the party hall where I clashed with His Highness. But the central figure is different.

The woman surrounded by the five is not the one from my memory. I know this petite girl—smaller than Olivia. But she is not the her I know. At the very least, the her I knew gave me a modicum of respect, if not affection. She was not a woman who hid behind His Highness and the others, mocking me with her gaze.

I look back to him. He is definitely not the Leon I know. He looks younger than the Leon I met, carrying himself with only the barest trace of noble dignity. Leon never attended the academy—his family’s circumstances prevented it. At the time of my duel with His Highness, he should have been enlisted in the kingdom’s military, fulfilling his duties. Most notably, the scar on his face—his defining feature that inevitably drew attention—is gone.

Wearing a student uniform without that scar, this Leon is not my Leon Fou Bartfort. I know that. I should know that, and yet—

“Angelica-san, come on, hurry up and acknowledge me.”

“Huh, uh…”

“Come on, just say it. Once you acknowledge me, everything will be settled.”

“I… acknowledge…”

This Leon is undoubtedly Leon Fou Bartfort. It feels like watching a play performed by a different actor—The storyline is the same, but the overwhelming dissonance gnaws at me. I know it is a dream, yet I cannot stop watching. The images play on, mercilessly.

“Let’s duel, Your Highness. Better say your farewells to your precious lover.”

The voice addressing His Highness is unmistakably the same as his.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I remain beside him, now crowned. Repelling foreign invasions and accomplishing great feats, he is hailed as a hero. He crushed the Fanoss Duchy, quelled the civil war in the Alzer Republic, subdued the Holy Kingdom of Rachel, and even brought the Holy Magic Empire of Voldenova under his dominion. A young hero king, praised as the incarnation of a war god. That is him. With the backing of the Redgrave ducal house, his glory elevates my own.

As queen, I stand at his side, basking in his achievements. The me in this dream is truly happy—she believes it from the bottom of her heart. And yet, the me watching this dream feels nothing but dissatisfaction. There is no doubt he is an extraordinary man.

Even with the aid of a spherical Lost Item, incompetence would have spelled his death long ago. He may even surpass the Leon I know. Ask the masses, and nearly everyone would choose him.

But not me.

My husband is not a king. He is a self-made man, a frontier lord, better suited to farming than conquest. That is the Leon Fou Bartfort I know. My husband is that kind of man, not some young hero king. What infuriates me most is the endless stream of women around him.

The Priestess of the Sacred Tree, the former queen, the princess of the Fanoss Duchy, daughters of noble houses, the ducal daughter of the Alzer Republic— Women who adore him appear one after another. The me in this dream suffers through it, swallowing jealousy again and again, supporting him as he resolves crisis after crisis.

That is what dissatisfies me. Watching him—wearing my husband’s face—smile happily among other women grates on my nerves. And yet, when he turns that face, my husband’s face, toward me with words of love, I forgive him. That is the weakness of a woman in love. And so it is that, again today, the me in this dream works beside an empty throne.

Late at night, as she sleeps alone in a chamber without him, she appears. This is the part of the dream I despise most. Why her! Olivia is so close with the me in this dream! Their distance is far too intimate!

I may have accepted Olivia’s apology for causing the annulment of my engagement with His Highness, but I have no desire whatsoever to be actively friendly with her!

The pretense of “comforting each other in his absence” crosses every line!

I am not bisexual! Even as the me within the dream screams, her voice cannot be heard. Time drags on in vain. The me and Olivia in this dream continue their intimate caresses. A shiver runs down my spine as she touches my chest. When the me in the dream returns the gesture, kneading Olivia’s chest, the softness makes me want to recoil.

The strange pleasure is frightening—If this continues, I might awaken to some twisted fetish.

Her face draws closer. At this rate, we will kiss.

“Stop it!!!”

My scream echoes, unheard by anyone.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“It is time to rise, Viscountess Bartfort.”

“…Understood.”

The sound of knocking on the door and the urging voice finally pulled me free from the nightmare. Sitting up, I looked around the room, and the white walls caught my eye. Walls reminiscent of fine porcelain, something I had seen countless times before—the materials and furnishings of this room alone could sustain the entire Bartfort estate in luxury. This was a guest room, tucked away in the innermost part of the Holfort Kingdom’s palace, in a corner of the harem.

Once, I believed this harem would be my final home, and I visited it often. Back then, I thought the palace, a symbol of the kingdom’s glory, was an inviolable sanctuary that nothing could breach. Now, the palace walls seemed dulled to a faded white, and it wasn’t merely because I had grown accustomed to the environment of the Bartfort territory.

Compared to the days when I frequented the harem, the number of staff working here had clearly decreased. The harem was a place reserved for the king and his family, so even the servants responsible for menial chores required trusted guarantors. Many of the maids serving in the harem came from noble families, vying for the king’s favor in hopes of becoming concubines.

Even when I was engaged to His Highness Julius, there were always shameless women here and there harboring improper ambitions. Now, those court sparrows were nowhere to be seen. The current harem staff worked diligently and conscientiously. This was likely the result of the purges following Marquis Frampton’s betrayal and the war with the Fanoss Duchy, combined with massive staff cuts to fund war expenses.

Even the king’s concubines had been mercilessly executed the moment any connection to Marquis Frampton was discovered. Concubines with even the faintest ties to his faction had escaped death but were sent back to their families, while their sons’ princely titles were demoted or stripped entirely. The harem, once called a garden of scheming women, had become desolate—a bitter irony that made it easier to conceal my visit.

With the help of a maid, I finished changing and was escorted to the room of the most authoritative figure in the harem. I had been to this room countless times, so I didn’t need guidance, but it was a matter of protocol. It felt strange to find such tedious procedures and formalities bothersome. When I lived in the capital as a duke’s daughter, I never once felt constrained by them.

It struck me that I was no longer a duke’s daughter or a prince’s fiancée, but the Viscountess Bartfort—a realization that stirred a certain sentiment within me. After turning several corners in the corridor, I arrived at the intended room. The maid completed the necessary formalities for the meeting, and the door opened. That esteemed figure was seated leisurely, savoring tea.

“I trust Your Highness, Queen Mylene, is in good health.”

“Good morning, Viscountess Bartfort. Did you sleep well?”

After exchanging greetings, a chair was pulled out across from Lady Mylene, and I slowly sat down. The top-quality chair was remarkably comfortable, yet I couldn’t relax—not with the person sitting across from me. My thoughts drifted to him from the dream.

[T/N- Him= Leon]

In the dream, he was utterly infatuated with Lady Mylene. At times, he wooed her more fervently than he ever did me, his rightful wife. Such irreverent behavior had seared itself into my mind. The real Leon I knew was always wary of Lady Mylene, adamant about avoiding involvement with her. Indeed, a dream was only a dream. Forcing myself to that conclusion, I focused on the woman before me.

“I didn’t sleep well. A change in environment makes it difficult to rest.”

“Then at least make sure you eat properly. I’ll have something prepared.”

While I sipped the tea that was offered, a light meal was arranged. Soup, bread, appetizers, a main dish, salad, and dessert were laid out on the table all at once. For a “light meal,” the quantity and quality were far too extravagant. It was practically a full course for an adult man. Though I had little appetite, eating was essential for me now.

With childbirth approaching, I needed to consume enough nutrients for two without gaining excessive weight. I began with the dishes that caught my eye, working through them methodically. Do the royal dishes I once ate taste divine because my palate has since grown rustic?

As the empty plates were cleared away and I sipped the post-meal tea, I felt nourishment spreading through my body, finally calming me.

“You ate well. That must be the influence of the baby due soon.”

“My due date is next month. I’d like to settle the troublesome matters before then.”

“I’m sorry, but I desperately need your help.”

Lady Mylene’s expression tightened. Living peacefully in the frontier versus reigning as queen in the capital. High status did not equate to a happy life. Whether the me who became queen in the dream was truly happy was something only she would know. Despite my heavy, pregnant belly, Lady Mylene seemed to need rest more than I did. The survival of the Holfort royal family weighed heavily upon her shoulders. If this was the ducal house’s revenge, it was quite the harassment.

“Now that you’re settled, let’s get to business. I need you to persuade three people.”

“My father and His Excellency the Prime Minister. Who is the third?”

“Earl Bernard Fia Atley. I want to bring the minister over to our side.”

Earl Bernard Fia Atley was the current head of the Atley family and a seasoned noble who had served as a minister in the Holfort Kingdom for many years. A court noble, he never discriminated against territorial lords or those from the frontier, showing rare favor even to capable commoner upstarts. Even my father, a duke, treated the earl with respect. Called the last conscience of the haughty and greedy court nobles, the earl’s reputation as a minister had begun to wane for the same reason as mine.

His daughter Clarice’s fiancé, Jilk, became infatuated with Olivia and unilaterally broke off their engagement. Following the annulment between a prince and a duke’s daughter, the broken engagement between a noble heir and a minister’s daughter became an extraordinary scandal. This incident rapidly soured relations between the minister and the royal family. Like my father, the earl grew distrustful of the royal family and began actively engaging with him.

A key figure among the royalist court nobles defected to the ducal faction. Even the academy students who mocked my and Clarice’s broken engagements later panicked, realizing it could lead to the kingdom’s collapse. After the scandal, the earl continued his duties as minister but drastically reduced his attendance at royal ceremonies.

“Earl Atley has joined the ducal faction and, being anti-temple, doesn’t view the Saintess favorably. Isn’t it unlikely he would side with the royal family now?”

“They have their own circumstances. We didn’t instigate any of this. If anything, it was Duke Vince who did.”

“My father?”

“First, the ducal house secretly aligned with the temple, planning to marry Saintess Olivia into their family. Do you think many nobles would view as an ally the very person responsible for their daughters’ broken engagements?”

It was a natural human sentiment. Olivia might be a good person, but she was politically naive. She had nearly been used by Marquis Frampton, and now the ducal house sought to use her as a symbol to rally support. Using what was useful sounded clever, but it could also be seen as lacking integrity. It was no surprise that the fair-minded Earl Atley would not agree.

“At the same time, the ducal house’s recent hardline stance has become noticeable. More nobles are growing wary of Duke Vince’s overt attempts to strengthen his faction, and the minister is keeping some distance from the ducal faction.”

“So you want me to pull the earl, who is leaning toward neutrality, back to the royalist side?”

“It’s fine if he doesn’t side with the royal family. The minister weighs both his family’s influence and the kingdom’s interests. When I briefly explained your proposal, he showed interest, and so he agreed to join the discussion.”

“Is it wise for me to persuade him? He might assume my father sent me to recruit him for the ducal faction.”

“The minister is concerned about the kingdom’s state. Frankly, reports suggest he would support whoever can rebuild the nation, whether it be the royal family or the ducal house.”

Earl Atley was a man of integrity, but still a true noble. A gentle, good-natured person could never survive long in the treacherous court. Neutrals had to be shrewd in order to avoid being crushed by both factions. A mere opportunist could never manage it. Persuading such a capable and cunning minister?

That was asking too much.

“A banquet will be held at the earl’s residence tomorrow night, ostensibly to celebrate the upcoming merit awards. I’ll be attending as well. I’d like you to explain your reform proposal to the minister.”

“There’s no guarantee of success. If I fail, I might only deepen his distrust.”

“If you fail, that’s fine. Right now, I’m focused on minimizing bloodshed.”

Her words were surprisingly blunt. Lady Mylene seemed almost indifferent to the survival of the Holfort royal family. Well, that did make me feel a bit more at ease. If failure would not be held against me, then I could have a candid discussion with the earl. Especially about my father’s recent, perplexing actions.

“It’s not about persuading the Prime Minister. If anything, I want to uncover his true intentions.”

“I’ve heard you and His Excellency the Prime Minister are close. Was there something that caused a rift?”

“We’re not estranged. I still trust him with political affairs—except for one matter.”

“What matter?”

“It concerns Saintess Olivia marrying into the ducal house. For some reason, the Prime Minister is the only royalist noble who supports it.”

Since the war ended, Olivia’s influence has grown by the day. At this rate, the Saintess—and by extension, the temple she belongs to—might surpass even the royal family in authority. Yet while Olivia is gifted at helping people, she is not suited to governance. Inevitably, whoever gains control over Olivia could, in effect, become the kingdom’s ruler. I could not comprehend why the Prime Minister, a leading figure among the royalist nobles, would support the ducal house’s stance.

“I’ve questioned him several times, but he refuses to answer.”

“A matter he won’t even share with you, who essentially runs the kingdom?”

“He’s vaguely hinted it concerns the legitimacy of the Holfort royal family, but the details remain unclear. Since I’m a woman from the Republic of Repard, he may believe there’s a risk of secrets leaking if he tells me.”

“Yet he would trusts me?”

“The Prime Minister specifically named you. He said that as a directly concerned party, you have the right to know.”

Why is the Prime Minister so fixated on me?

I may have once been a duke’s daughter, but now I am merely a frontier viscountess. Being entrusted with state secrets that could determine the kingdom’s survival feels less like a privilege than a burden. There are far too many unknowns. Those who possess the truth keep silent, manipulating others for their own purposes.

At times, I even feel as though I am nothing more than a pawn, moved across a chessboard by unseen hands. The royal family. The ducal house. The Saintess. The temple. What truth lies hidden at the heart of this kingdom?

Whatever it is, I am determined never to bring it back to Bartfort territory. I will not allow my husband and children to be dragged into such strife. As I quietly resolve myself, a maid approaches Lady Mylene and whispers something in her ear. At the same time, the other maids line up and bow respectfully. I rise from my seat, following their lead. The door opens, and a long-haired man wearing a crown and cloak strides inside with purposeful haste.

Only one person could move with such boldness in the harem. If Queen Mylene is its overseer, then the king is its master. Roland Rapha Holfort. The current king of the Holfort Kingdom makes his entrance. Everyone bows their heads except the queen, yet His Majesty does not spare them a glance. There is, however, an unmistakable air of urgency about him. Meanwhile, Lady Mylene calmly prepares tea. Though it is usually a maid’s duty, she does it herself—likely to assert psychological dominance.

“What brings you here unannounced, Your Majesty? A king acting so freely creates trouble for his subjects.”

“Mylene, I came to ask you something. I’ll leave as soon as I’m done.”

“That’s unfortunate. I went to the trouble of preparing tea.”

“Where did you hide it? You’re the only one who could have done it.”

“Hide what? You’ll need to be specific for me to understand.”

“Don’t play dumb. Only you or Julius could know about the hidden room. Julius isn’t foolish enough to pull something like this.”

“Your thoughtless son caused a scandal at the academy party with that annulled engagement and even went through with a duel. If anything, you’re the one who ought to be suspected.”

“He’s a man—he understands romance.”

What a perilous conversation. Either way, I want to leave this place quickly, cursing myself for getting distracted.

“…My transformation set and armor. I went to the hidden room, and countless other things were missing. Where did you move them?”

“Oh, that gaudy outfit and tacky armor? I disposed of them.”

“…Hey, wait, what did you just say?”

“I said I disposed of them.”

“What have you done!?”

His Majesty’s scream echoes through the harem, loud enough to shake the walls. I don’t grasp every detail, but it’s clear enough—Lady Mylene has disposed of His Majesty’s personal belongings. His face flushes red, his eyes dart in shock, while Lady Mylene serenely sips her tea.

“Wait, you—everything!? All of it!? The custom-made ‘cool outfit’!? The armor I painstakingly upgraded with budget funds I skimmed!?”

“So those unexplained expenses in the annual budget were for that. Even for a king, that is shameless embezzlement.”

“Do you know how much time and money I invested in those!?”

“We are in peacetime now. Rebuilding the kingdom is our priority. If the royal family leads by cutting extravagance, it sets an example for the people.”

“You had no right to dispose of them without permission!! Did you destroy them!?”

“I summoned the royal merchants and held an auction. The armor was too extravagant to sell as is, so I had it dismantled and sold for parts.”

“What have you done, you—!?”

“Everyone was eager to buy them. They were high-quality, top-grade goods. The proceeds will supplement the kingdom’s budget.”

“You can’t just—!”

“I have the royal seal taken from Julius. With that authority, I can manage and dispose of the king’s belongings.”

So this is Lady Mylene’s famed political prowess-the queen praised for effectively governing the kingdom. She leverages every bit of authority to cut waste and redirect resources where they are needed. As for His Majesty, whose treasured belongings were sold off without his consent, I can only feel pity. Yet it was his own negligence that led to this situation. Those who slack will inevitably face hardship when life’s turning points arrive—a truth written in ancient proverbs.

“You old hag!! This is why women who don’t understand a man’s romance are the worst!!”

“If you’ve got complaints, manage your own things properly!! What kind of king entrusts the royal seal to a child!?”

“It was useful during the war with the duchy!! And you, a vile wife, throw out your husband’s treasures!?”

“Instead of rushing to the battlefield, work on preventing wars!! And what is this nonsense about a man’s romance!? If you’re so upset, then do your duty, you foolish husband!!”

“What did you say!?”

“What!?”

The volley of insults is unbearable. The surrounding maids exchange bewildered glances. Is this truly the conversation of a king and queen?

It sounds no different from a bickering middle-aged couple in the slums. Imagining the rumors if anyone witnessed this scene sends a chill down my spine.

“Lady Mylene, that’s enough.”

I step between them, cutting off the exchange. Lady Mylene, breathing heavily, drops back into her seat and drains her cold tea in one gulp. His Majesty, drenched in sweat, stares at the ceiling. Then his eyes shift toward me—he hadn’t acknowledged my presence until now. He gazes with something like hostility, or perhaps wariness. I bow deeply to divert his gaze, attempting to gloss over the moment.

“Angelica, is it?”

“It has been some time, Your Majesty Roland. I am honored to see you in such good health.”

“No need for hollow flattery. The intruder can leave.”

As he speaks, his gaze lingers on my swollen abdomen. In this harem, many concubines have borne the king children after receiving his favor. Surely His Majesty is not so depraved as to set his eyes on a pregnant married woman.

“…Bartfort’s child?”

“My third.”

“Vince played his cards well.”

His brief words carry a weight that unsettles me. Bartfort’s child. My father’s name. The phrase “played his cards well,” tinged with envy or contempt. What could it mean?

His Majesty must know some truth. And I want to know it too.

“Your Majesty Roland.”

“What?”

“What did you mean by ‘played his cards well’?”

“…So you don’t know anything.”

“Does Your Majesty know something?”

“…It’s nothing of consequence. I’ll give you a bit of advice instead: staying out of trouble is the key to a long life.”

Muttering words that could be either warning or mockery, His Majesty hurries away. I am somewhat surprised—I thought Lady Mylene and His Majesty had a colder relationship.

“It’s nice to see you and His Majesty growing closer.”

“A backhanded way of putting it, but I’ll take it as praise.”

Lady Mylene mutters, then calls for sweets in addition to tea. She devours them hastily, one after another, as if to mask her irritation with sweetness. Ignoring the maids’ nervous looks, she finishes a third plate of cake, drains her cup, and at last calms down.

“After we parted last time, I went straight to His Majesty and gave him a thorough scolding. I yelled, ‘You avoid me normally, so don’t act cool now!’ and we ended up having our first marital spat in ten years.”

“That’s, well…”

“How did he become so lazy and cowardly? He’s so utterly pathetic. If I abandoned him, he’d be hopeless. I have no choice but to clean up the mess.”

“You never considered divorce?”

“If he had the backbone for that, we would have divorced long ago. He slanders me behind my back, yet never dares to confront me directly.”

Lady Mylene’s grievances about His Majesty seem endless. And yet, compared to before, she appears oddly fulfilled.

“So I decided—if it’s come to this, then I’ll stick with him until the end. No divorce. I’ll keep nagging him until the day we die.”

“Does that make you feel better, Lady Mylene?”

“Who knows? But if he insists on doing as he pleases, then I’ll do as I please too.”

Perhaps this is its own kind of marriage. It may even be healthier than maintaining a cold, silent distance. Leon’s face suddenly comes to mind. Only one day apart, and I already feel an aching nostalgia for him. How strange—that I feel more at home in the soil-and-green-filled Bartfort territory than in this palace of porcelain. The me who once trained here to be queen feels like an entirely different person.

“I want to see Leon.”

As this thought lingers, I listen absently to Lady Mylene’s complaints while gazing at the azure sky through the window, hoping it connects me to him, far away.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

Mobseka is complete! (;∀;)

And so, this post coincides with the release of the original work’s final volume. I’ve devoured over three hundred published female-oriented reincarnation-in-otome-game novels, but a male-oriented otome-game reincarnation story with a male protagonist, like Mob Psycho, was my first experience. I’ve followed some of Yume Mishima’s works since their web serialization days, but I only began reading them seriously with Mobseka.Thank you, Yomu Mishima-sensei, for such a wonderful work. I plan to continue writing this story to completion, even after the original has ended, reflecting on the source as I go. The next chapter will shift to Leon’s perspective, as an homage to the original novel’s first chapter.

To celebrate the original work’s conclusion, I’ve also posted an adult-oriented Leon and Angelica story at the same time. Please check it out if you’re interested: Syosetu

Addendum: At the client’s request, illustrations were commissioned from Naha Doi-sama, Otonari Yamada-sama, Unitaru-sama, and Ryoha-sama. My deepest thanks!

Naha Doi-sama: Skeb

Otonari Yamada-sama: Pixiv

Unitaru-sama: Pixiv

Ryoha-sama: Skeb

I’d be truly grateful for your opinions and feedback to keep me motivated moving forward.

[Translator Note- The adult chapter athour mentioned in the end-note I will do it by next Sunday! I am not fond of Adult chapters , previous translator was not me , this r-19 hapter won't break chapter count if skipped so I will shelf it a bit]