Chapter 3: The Engagement Proposal

The Dragals family’s second residence in the imperial capital was modest by noble standards. It was not large, and fewer than ten servants attended to it. A few years ago, Al’s older brother had lived here as a student, but upon graduation, he returned to their remote homeland. Now, Al was the only member of the Dragals family residing in this quiet, understated estate.

Originally, Al would have spent his days idly at his family home, enjoying a life of leisure. But fate—or rather, a stroke of unfortunate circumstance—had forced him into the position of court magician. With obligations he could not refuse looming on the horizon, he had no choice but to reluctantly station himself in this residence, a place that felt more like a gilded cage than a home.

Al’s mornings were… famously slow. By which one meant, excruciatingly late.

“Fwaaah… what time is it now?” he yawned, stretching languidly under the covers.

The short hand of the clock pointed east.

“Still three in the afternoon… huh. Alright, just a little more sleep.”

With a sigh of supreme contentment, he buried his head once again beneath the blankets, eyes drifting shut.

And then—an interruption. A flustered maid appeared in a rush, practically bouncing with urgency.

“Al-sama! It’s terrible!”

Her name was Meruru, the exasperated caretaker type assigned to manage this hopelessly lazy young master.

“Oh? What is it, Meruru?” Al replied lazily.

“Just now, the mail arrived…”

Her hands trembled as she revealed the contents: a heap of letters, each one a formal envelope, stacked like a small fortress in her grasp.

“Those… aren’t all marriage proposals, are they?” Al asked, half-amused, half-horrified.

“Y-yes… all from noble families of the empire,” she admitted, cheeks flushing.

“So the news of my appointment as a court magician has spread already… that’s a bit too fast, isn’t it?”

“Well, it is quite the honor, isn’t it? Hehe,” she said, unable to hide her pride in her young master’s reputation.

“Though somehow, this feels like it’s someone else’s problem,” Al muttered, scratching his head. “You’ll have to help me write refusal letters for all of them, though.”

“Eh?!”

Spreading the letters out across the table, he took stock of the imposing collection. Among them were missives from some of the most prestigious noble houses, their crests stamped in wax, asserting the weight of their influence. Al scratched his head again and exhaled a long, resigned sigh.

“Haa… I’m really not someone worthy of all this attention,” he murmured.

“Al-sama, being the second son who will not inherit the family estate makes you even more attractive, I imagine. The empire has many noblewomen who value independence,” Meruru added gently.

Al had not only been the top student for three consecutive years at the academy but had also restored lost ancient magic and, upon graduation, been appointed as a court magician—a position of immense prestige. Normally, a young nobleman of such accomplishments would have been betrothed long before graduation. But Al, who had barely attended school, remained miraculously unclaimed. It was inevitable that marriage proposals would start pouring in now.

As Al methodically examined each letter, his hand froze on one envelope.

“Al-sama… could it be…?” Meruru asked, sensing his hesitation.

“…Yeah,” Al confirmed.

The letter in his hand bore the seal of the Ducal House of Levian—leaders of the faction to which the Dragals family belonged, and one of the empire’s four grand ducal houses. A request from such a house was not something the Dragals family could refuse, no matter what.

One could decline proposals under extreme circumstances—if Al hated his own family, or if the royal family themselves made the request—but this was not such a case. The weight of the Leviann name was simply too great. His parents had surely never imagined that such a proposal would actually arrive.

Opening the letter carefully, the content confirmed Al’s suspicions: it was indeed a formal proposal of marriage from Selestaria–sama, the eldest daughter and heir of the Levian house.

“………”

“Al-sama, congratulations on your engagement!” Meruru exclaimed, all enthusiasm and no filter.

“Stop that, seriously,” Al muttered. The thought of marrying Selestaria—a young woman said to be the very opposite of his lazy, carefree nature—was enough to make him hesitate.

Nonetheless, the formal reply accepting the engagement was soon sent.

“Father! Why did you send a marriage proposal without asking me?!”

The speaker was Selestaria–, eldest daughter of the Levian house and heir apparent—a paragon of beauty, intelligence, and competence. She was well-loved, respected, and renowned for having led her ducal forces in battle during her student years. A woman of both martial and scholarly accomplishment, she was a living legend among the empire’s nobility.

Despite receiving countless proposals from young nobles eager to secure an alliance, she had dismissed them all, waiting patiently for a suitable match. Yet none seemed quite right… until her father took matters into his own hands and proposed to Al, the second son of the Dragals family.

“Father, you can’t just—” she began, but her father interrupted.

“You are unmatched in the empire. Only he can truly be a fitting partner for you.”

“Even if his achievements are impressive, I’ve never met him! And I hear he’s a lazy shut-in! I will absolutely not marry such a useless man!”

Her words were not exaggeration—by most accounts, Al was exactly as she feared.

“Do not worry. Al Dragals is not the failure you imagine… probably,” her father said, trying to soften the blow.

“Ah, so that’s your insurance policy, Father! This is awful!”

“There will be a medal ceremony at the imperial palace next week. An invitation will be sent to the Levian house as well. See him in person—you will surely change your mind… I hope.”

“Stop trying to hedge your bets!” she snapped, flustered.

The Levian household was in an uproar that day.

The office of court magician was legendary—the empire’s greatest magical force. Only ten seats existed, and one had been vacant for several years following the retirement of a senior magician. Whispers and speculation had run rampant: who would fill this coveted position?

At last, Al Dragals, second son of the Dragals family, was appointed. The news spread like wildfire across the empire, sending waves of excitement throughout the Dragals territories.

Yet not all celebrated Al’s appointment. Some long-aspiring magicians, jealous and bitter, resented his selection. But none felt as much hatred as one person in particular.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! This is absurd!”

This was Gust, eldest son of the Noir Marquisate.

“Why was he chosen as a court magician?! He’s always in my way!” he roared, smashing a priceless antique vase against the wall.

“G-Gust-sama, please, calm yourself…” a servant stammered.

“Silence! A mere maid cannot order me around!” he barked, shoving her aside before storming into his room.

To Gust, Al Dragals represented a lifelong inferiority complex. From childhood, Gust had been hailed as a prodigy, destined to become a court magician himself. He had believed, without doubt, that he was the protagonist of his own story.

Then came the day of the imperial academy entrance results.

“What… I’m second?! Me? The famed prodigy of Noir?!”

Al had claimed the top rank, and Gust’s pride had been shattered. For three years, Al’s repeated absences from school did nothing to prevent him from consistently taking the highest honors. Gust had earned the nickname “perpetual second,” and slowly, the world stopped calling him a prodigy.

To endure such humiliation repeatedly, only to lose the position of court magician—the very goal of his ambition—to Al, left Gust seething with bitterness.

“Al Dragals… how dare he, a mere baron’s son!”

For Gust, the stinging truth that a lower-ranking noble had bested him was intolerable.

(Next week… the medal ceremony… remember this, Al… hahahaha…)

A cruel, scheming smile crept across Gust’s face.

Al, however, remained blissfully unaware of Gust. Having skipped school entirely except for exams, Al didn’t even know the faces of his classmates. More accurately—he had no interest in remembering them.

Because, simply put, he didn’t care.