Side Story 1.1
Side Story
I.
The Crown Prince slowly blinked his eyes.
“So that’s how it is.”
He understood the situation he was in.
Just moments ago, his future self had turned back the world’s time. And the memories his future self had possessed were transferred to his present self.
It was an absurd situation.
Until just a little while ago, he had been passing the time in his usual, thoroughly boring way. Then, out of nowhere, an inexplicable wave of nausea surged over him, and suddenly, he had become a returnee carrying memories from over a decade later.
No—strictly speaking, he couldn’t truly be called a returnee. It wasn’t that his future self had traveled back to the present, but rather that the memories of the future had abruptly crashed into his present self.
His future self—the Emperor—had erased everything beyond this point in time. All that existed within that timeframe had been cleanly vaporized by the Emperor’s magic. Including the Emperor himself, the one who had cast the spell.
He had merely received memories from the Emperor; he was not the Emperor himself. The Emperor who had set all of this into motion no longer existed. It was a pitifully desperate act—to forcibly implant his own memories into his past self (the present him) while fading away due to the very spell he had cast. But even so, could nothingness ever become something?
From the Emperor’s perspective, he might have felt a sense of kinship or attachment, seeing him as his past self—but he did not. He felt not even a shred of goodwill toward this future version of himself, a self he had never truly experienced, a future that had vanished without a trace. If anything, he found it contemptible.
To think the Emperor—of all people—would foolishly erase himself with his own hands was laughable enough. But the fact that it all started over a slave? He abandoned everything… for the sake of a mere slave? He rewound the world’s time just to undo a wrong committed against some slave? A mage of his power, groveling over a slave?
The Crown Prince couldn’t comprehend his future self at all. Obsessing over a slave was ridiculous enough, but if he couldn’t let go, why not just alter her mind with magic? Erase or twist her memories—wasn’t that enough?
For example, he could’ve made her believe she was his beloved, so she’d blush and melt into his arms at the slightest glance. Or twisted her into a lewd creature who’d strip and spread her legs to seduce him… With power enough to warp space and time, was there anything he couldn’t do?
Of course, since he now held the Emperor’s memories, he knew what his future self had truly desired. But he couldn’t fathom why he’d yearn for such a thing—not a noblewoman, not even a commoner, but a slave. His future self must’ve been out of his mind.
“Jaha.”
The Crown Prince murmured the name his future self had called out with such longing. For a moment, his chest tightened—but that was all. No other emotions followed. What he possessed were the Emperor’s memories, not his heart.
The Emperor’s memories in his mind were, in a way, like the contents of a book he’d read thoroughly. Immersed in the story, one might empathize with the characters—but in the end, it was just words on a page. The narrator, the Emperor, had cherished the slave named Jaha deeply, and sometimes, as the reader, he found himself swayed by those emotions. But that was it. He didn’t confuse fiction with reality.
A slave is a slave.
Perhaps the Emperor had sent back his memories hoping his past self wouldn’t repeat the same mistake…
“If that was the plan, he shouldn’t have rewound time this far.”
The seventeen-year-old Crown Prince muttered with indifference. Whether it was the vast gap in time or simply his own nature, he felt no connection to the man he’d become a decade later. He didn’t want to.
An Emperor, begging and pleading for a mere slave? That was his future? It felt like a sick joke.
When he thought of how his future self had crushed his enemies and ascended the throne, or mastered impossible magic, he could almost respect him—but then came the parts where he lost his mind over a slave and got stabbed by traitors. “This is supposed to be me?” The doubt was overwhelming. No—doubt was too mild. It was disgust, as if his entire life’s worth had been spat on.
He didn’t claw his way to this position just to fall so pathetically.
As a prince, he lived flawlessly to become the Crown Prince. And as the Crown Prince, he left no openings in his pursuit of the throne. He’d originally had eleven brothers—meaning at least eleven replacements, eleven rivals. Even now, though their number had dwindled to seven, those who wished for his downfall were far more numerous.
Countless people were desperate to find a crack in his armor. He could’ve obliterated those insignificant pests with a flick of his finger, yet he endured their tedious schemes without resorting to magic—solely out of ambition. He wanted to ascend the throne through legitimate means, with the recognition of the majority. A forceful seizure of power through brute strength would only become his weakness in the future.
His desire for power was genuine. He had deliberately avoided the obvious shortcuts, choosing the longer, righteous path—all because he wanted to become an undisputed Emperor. And yet, after all that struggle, what did his future self do upon claiming the throne? Squabbling over rank with a slave, desperately vying for her attention, begging for her love, neglecting state affairs to atone for her, researching time-reversal magic—only to be betrayed in the end…
The more he recalled, the more pitiful it all seemed. He pressed a hand to his forehead, refusing to sigh only to maintain his dignity as the Crown Prince.
Just then, a startled gasp reached his ears. A servant was staring at his hand with a horrified expression.
“Y-Your Highness… That mark—”
Only then did the Crown Prince notice the anomaly on his hand.
“Ah.”
His gaze lingered on the intricate pattern glowing faintly before shifting to the servant’s face. If he recalled correctly, this servant knew a bit of simple magic. It seemed they had vaguely grasped what this was.
“Annoying.”
He flicked his fingers dismissively. Instantly, the light faded from the servant’s eyes. By the time their focus returned, they would remember nothing of what they’d seen.
Having effortlessly erased the witness, he scoffed and examined the mark on his hand again.
“A seal, huh.”
It was a spell that completely locked away his magical power.
“So this is the price for tampering with time.”
So the future version of himself had messed up, yet the consequences fell squarely on his present self. The Crown Prince was so furious and frustrated he could barely contain his rage. The only saving grace was that there was a solution.
If he couldn’t use the magic power within his body, he could draw it from the outside. After all, magic was everywhere in this world. There was probably no mage alive capable of pulling off such a feat—even he, one of the top five mages in existence, had never dared attempt it. But for his future self, the Emperor, it didn’t seem to be much of a challenge.
“Poison comes with its own antidote,” as they say. The memories he received from the Emperor included a deeper understanding of magic. Thanks to that, he had instantly surpassed his own limits and could now cast spells using external magic. Hadn’t he just erased the servant’s memory despite the seal on his hand?
True, it was more cumbersome than drawing from his internal reserves, but it wasn’t difficult. It seemed the so-called “divine punishment” had been rendered useless.
At any rate, rumors about the mark on the Crown Prince’s hand would do him no favors. He turned to the servant and ordered:
“Fetch me gloves.”
The now-powerless seal was completely hidden beneath pristine white gloves.
But his hand wasn’t the only part of his body he needed to worry about.
Discussion
0 CommentsNo comments yet.