EP.10 S1. 황자와 꽃과 레지스탕스 -1 - Academy’s Undercover Professor

EP.10 S1. The Prince, the Flower, and the Resistance -1 You awoke in the heart of a secluded forest. "…Have I succeeded in dimension travel?" You were not certain. This place was just a forest, after all, and you couldn't spot any meaningful difference from the world you had lived in. Perhaps it was a failure of magic, merely resulting in a long-distance teleportation. But whether the magic was a success or not, The fact that you stood in the midst of the forest remained unchanged. It seemed you realized something. Was there something special around you? "This species of tree is native only to the vicinity of the imperial capital. They were acquired on order of the alchemists in celebration of the fifth emperor's birthday." Indeed, according to your knowledge— This forest was not far from the imperial capital. That was a silver lining. Had you landed in some remote jungle, immediate survival would have been your concern. But even a small forest can be vast enough to get lost in. No signs or beaten paths were in sight around you, only occasionally the chirping of birds. Then, a noise you never heard before filled the air. Bwooooom—! "…" You crouched low, scanning for the source of the sound. It was the sky. The noise that resonated with a hum came from above. An oddly shaped, ovoid 'something' crossed the sky, making that sound. That 'something' appeared more like a building than a living creature. Gears ticked, steam was forcefully expelled. It flew toward the direction where the sun was setting, carrying many people. "…Are people riding it?" A flying structure. Ancient civilizations are said to have such relics, but that thing looked too modern to be ancient. It had fashionable railings like those currently in vogue in the empire. You would later realize that this was the essence of magic engineering, known as an airship. "It seems more prudent to follow that… flying golem than to wander aimlessly in the forest. It will increase my chances of encountering someone." You pushed through the forest, following the airship. Its speed wasn't too fast, and the loud noise allowed you to track it somehow. How long had you been on the move, perhaps for an hour? Tall city walls loomed into view. They were the walls of Crownhall, the imperial capital. However, the image before you differed significantly from what you remembered. Parts of it were cracked, one side of the wall had even collapsed, and there were visible signs of repair. It was surprising enough to see any damage on the walls of Crownhall, which was touted to be impregnable. But the real shock was yet to come. The flag. The banner that hung on the high tower of the central castle did not bear the imperial crest. It was a pattern you had never seen before. As you well know, the imperial crest has not changed since the founding of the empire. "……." You sensed something was amiss. There was a long line at the city gate, and guards were busy checking people as they passed. The style of the guards' armor felt unfamiliar too. Something was different from the empire you remembered. But returning to the forest to live as a savage was no option. You, who would rather throw yourself into danger than retreat in the face of threat, did the same this time. You discreetly joined the end of the queue. Then, multiple gazes showered upon you. Especially, your hair drew attention. After their eyes fell on your proud golden locks, a symbol of the imperial bloodline, people revealed feelings of contempt, mockery, and anger. They looked ready to hurl insults at any moment. The reason they hadn't dared to act rudely was perhaps because of the aura of importance you carried with you. You seethed with rage at this unprecedented contempt. You were born of noble blood, lived your life respected by all, and now to face derision? It was unacceptable. You observed your surroundings to pinpoint the cause. People with paler or darker shades of blonde hair were turned into slaves. It was very strange; those hair colors were evidence of the imperial bloodline—most blondes belonged to the nobility of the empire. Why would such highborn individuals be made to work as slaves? The answer to this mystery would be uncovered in your conversation with the guard. "Halt. State your identity. Where is your master?" "I am not a slave." The guard scoffed audibly enough for all to hear. "If you're not a slave, then what? A plaything, perhaps? To still walk around with that filthy blonde hair held high, the gall!" "Mind your manners. There are limits to my patience…" "The cheeky slave… Do you mistake your master’s authority as your own? I don't care how lofty your master is, but you, you are just a lucky slave, got it?" Tick. Tick. As you pressed your brow with a gauntleted hand, unable to hold back, you exploded. "Respect your betters, guard! I am the empire’s second prince, Irid Crown—!" Silence. An eerie silence swept through. You mistook the stillness for intimidation caused by the revelation of your status, but that was not it. It was the calm before the storm, the precursor to an insult beyond your wildest imagination. Crrack! Stars twinkled before your eyes. You fell to the ground with a slap to your cheek. As your mind reeled from the horrendous insult, mustering magical power to sever that wretched guard's head from his body, you heard something unbelievable. "To impersonate, yet you choose that fool to emulate. Have you lost your mind?" "What…?" "Sometimes we get deluded fools living in their own fantasies. Listen up, slave. The wretch who led to the downfall of your so-esteemed empire, making you imperial plebs crawl like slaves, is none other than the Desolated Emperor, Irid!" Imperials, slaves, crumbling, and Desolated Emperor (零落帝). Sparks flew in your mind. The reason those of imperial blood with golden hair were enslaved. The crumbling and hastily repaired walls of the empire, the missing imperial flag. And the epitome of unfamiliar technology, the airship. This place was the future. The emperor—that is, you—had brought down the empire. You... stood there dazed, as if your spirit had left you. Even as the guards came rushing and pummeling you with their clubs, what echoed in your head was not the pain but countless 'whys'. Why had such a mighty empire collapsed. Why was it said that I caused its downfall. Why was my name prefixed with Desolated Emperor, a title so bitter it makes one want to bite their tongue to death. Why, why, why... Battered and tattered, you entered what used to be the capital of the empire, Crownhall. Stumbling along, you gazed at the Crownhall of the future, now filled with gears and steam. Citizens walked around laughing, while the slaves with golden hair looked miserable. Civilization had advanced, the roads were clean and bright with streetlights laid out. But the deeds in the shadows remained dark. The only consolation for you, struck by shock, was the purple watch-shaped tattoo on your wrist shining faintly. According to the sorcerer, when the time is right... you would be able to return to your original world. --------------------------------------------------------------- The past three days were the most dreadful ever for Irid, the second prince born of noble blood. In the future’s Crownhall, his status was the lowest of the low. Everyone saw him as a slave, not a noble, and assaults were common. Thus, when venturing outside, he had to conceal his golden hair under a dirty rag. Having no money even for a simple piece of cloth, he collected foul-smelling fabric discarded on the streets. He couldn't find work either. Even though he boasted high skills like reading and writing, merchants merely offered pitiful pays. Yet the three wasted days were not entirely meaningless. Irid picked up all sorts of information. The empire was defeated and occupied by the 'Kingdom Alliance', a union of three kingdoms. All captured royals and nobles were made slaves, and so were their offspring. 'This' time was a hundred years from the era Irid lived in. The Kingdom Alliance was unpopular because of their tyranny. Many among the lower classes longed for the old empire, and the remaining imperial remnants warred as the Resistance. And… "…" Irid rolled up his sleeves to the forearm. The purple watch tattoo cast a faint glow. The dial was marked from 0 to 3, slowly ticking down. He recalled the sorcerer's words. It was just three days prior, yet it felt so distant. "In three hours of real time, I shall call Your Highness back. A mark on your wrist will allow you to check the return time. And I repeat, fiction…" Three hours in real time. The flow of time differed between future and present. The tattoo’s hand had just touched the 2. That meant... 6 days. He only had to endure 6 days in this horrid future, and then he could return. "Damn it all, damn." Irid slumped against the wall of an alleyway, hands cupping his face. Hunger and physical pain meant nothing compared to the torment of the mind. The fact that he was responsible for ruining the empire was excruciatingly painful, as well as the fate of loyal followers made slaves. If one aspired to become Emperor, they needed to gather valuable information from this future’s Crownhall, ranging from trends in statecraft to climate changes. It would be a stroke of luck to get one’s hands on the airship blueprints. With the technology of 100 years later, he could easily secure the imperial throne, regardless of his siblings' machinations. But what would that mean? If he became the emperor, the empire would just collapse. He would live as inconspicuosly as a dead mouse. Once back, he would never covet the emperor's throne and live quietly. Therefore... Shhhplash! "—Pff!" A deluge of water drenched Irid from above. Looking up, he saw a girl with an overturned bucket by a third-floor window, her wide blue eyes shocked. "I, I'm so sorry! I didn’t know someone was down there…" "…" "Just a moment, please!" Irid pushed down his rag to hide his face and stood up. At this point, not even a dousing could ignite his anger. He intended to leave the alleyway at once rather than get entangled in any more trouble. But then. "Gasp!" Whoosh—! The girl was sliding down holding onto a drainpipe! Her skirt and black hair fluttered with the resistance of the air. "...?!" In an instant, the girl landed in the alleyway, righted her overturned skirt, and tapped off the dust, then scrutinized Irid up and down. Her movements were buoyant and springy. "Wow, so soaked. Let's get you dried off. I'll give you a bowl of stew, too!" "No, I'm fine..." "It’s cold out, and you’ll catch a cold if you stay wet. Come on!" The girl grabbed Irid's hand and pulled. He certainly could have resisted. But, the reason he never shook if off was probably because, for the first time in three days, he was confronted by 'kindness' that left him at a loss.