The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Side Story 1.16

Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

Count Keron, self-proclaimed expert on women’s hearts and universally acknowledged as an incurable playboy, muttered with genuine curiosity.

“When a man comes to have a suit tailored, it’s because there’s a woman he wants to impress,” said Hunt the tailor, surprisingly the first to agree.

“Exactly. Wanting to change one’s hairstyle? That always means there’s a woman involved. What do the ladies think?” Edite, the wigmaker and stylist, chimed in.

But it was critic Sir Balak who actually spoke up next.

“If only he would produce more heirs, we could mass-produce such masterpie—”

“Sir Balak. Say something that reckless in front of the imperial palace, and you’ll be arrested,” Edite smoothly cut him off. They were already used to reining in Sir Balak’s frequent outbursts.

“So, it must be his first love.”

Tuallet the seamstress remarked, adjusting her monocle with interest.

The Crown Prince had never been involved in any scandals with women—no, he hadn’t even been associated with women in any non-scandalous way. His fastidiousness in that regard had led to rumors that, like the First Emperor, he might devote himself to just one woman. If he had indeed taken a liking to someone, it was surely his first.

“I wonder which noble house the lady belongs to.”

“Could she perhaps be a commoner?”

“The Crown Prince’s first love… What inspiration! I must go design hats for this season right away!”

As Agatha the milliner excused herself, the others began to disperse one by one.

Marina glanced back once. A brief exchange she’d had with the Crown Prince flashed through her mind.

That day, the Crown Prince had been leaning back in his chair, long legs propped on a footrest. His silk-gloved fingers had trailed slowly along his brow—though he hadn’t looked unwell, there had been something inexplicably weary about him.

She had been carefully tending to his skincare, cautious not to provoke any criticism, when he unexpectedly spoke first.

“Does meeting someone with the same hair color make you feel more kinship or affection?”

Though it was an odd question, Marina answered earnestly.

“To some extent, yes—but whether the hair color truly suits them matters even more. May I ask why you inquire?”

“I might have to cling to even that tiny shred of fondness.”

The Crown Prince responded with a hollow laugh, looking strangely drained. His uncharacteristic vulnerability—so unlike the arrogance and dignity he was known for—left Marina inwardly flustered.

“A single glance at my face should be enough to melt her anger. When nothing else works… all I have left is this face.”

Marina was rendered speechless by his words. It was unbelievable—coming from the future emperor who possessed status, power, wealth, and talent in abundance.

What kind of woman are you meeting to act like this? Could it be that you’ve fallen into the hands of some truly vicious person? Brainwashed until your self-esteem was dragged to the bottom… That didn’t seem to be the case. Judging by your usual behavior.

Marina cast a curious glance, but the Crown Prince’s lips did not open again. That was the limit of what was permitted to her. Even so, as she gazed at the imperial palace in that moment, she sincerely cheered for the Crown Prince.

For the sake of the future, please take care of your skin from now on. So that those flawless, jade-like features can last as long as possible. Beauty begins with the skin, after all.

Holding her skirt, the skincare specialist Marina bowed politely and then walked toward her nest with steps as light as a feather.

For a while, high society was in an uproar over the Crown Prince’s terrifying beauty, but like all other disturbances, it settled somewhat with the passage of time. After all, a god-given face was among the least significant of the Crown Prince’s possessions.

As the Emperor’s health visibly deteriorated, the aristocracy’s focus shifted to the trajectory of power. The Crown Prince was the most likely successor, but nothing in this world was “impossible.” Some unforeseen variable could always seat a different candidate—not the seemingly flawless Crown Prince—on the throne. Though most were confident the game was already decided, the nobles waited for the outcome without letting their guard down.

Of course, that was solely the nobles’ perspective. To the Crown Prince, it felt like performing a tedious role in a predetermined play.

This was a victory he had already secured long before the future became certain. It would’ve been stranger not to receive a perfect score when the answer key was already in his head. He saw through his rivals’ schemes, severed their hidden financial ties, and ruthlessly exposed their concealed weaknesses.

His father, the Emperor, hovering on the brink of death, would pass away tomorrow. Just as in the vanished future, he would become Emperor by tomorrow.

He looked down indifferently at the First Prince kneeling before him.

“P-Please, spare me…”

Devoid of even a shred of dignity as an elder brother, the First Prince groveled pathetically. Naturally, the future Emperor showed no reaction—just as he had coldly taken the First Prince’s life before. He had no hobby of leaving loose ends. Especially not when the First Prince had attempted to poison him no fewer than ten times. If he included other assassination attempts, the count would easily reach fifty.