Chapter 41: The Weight of Being a Hero

Draekon stared at the orange juice in his hand, watching the pulp swirl lazily at the bottom of the glass. He took another sip, the taste lingering on his lips longer than he expected—sweet, acidic, with that weird grainy texture that clung to the roof of his mouth.

The Freshers' Party roared around him. Music played from instruments floating near the vaulted ceiling, their melodies weaving together into upbeat and celebratory. Students laughed, ate, danced in small groups. The smell of roasted meat and honey-glazed pastries filled the air, mixing with the floral scent of candles burning in glass holders along the walls.

Countless eyes fell on him throughout the night. Glances from across the room. Whispers behind hands. A few brave souls had already approached, congratulating him on his medal, asking about his plans, trying to strike up conversation.

He was the center of attention.

The Hero of Generation.

And yet...

Hollow.

That's what it felt like. Like someone had scooped out his insides and left only the shell, smiling and nodding and playing the part.

Why?

Draekon's grip tightened on the glass.

Was it because the sequence of events kept changing? Because the script he'd memorized from the game was becoming less and less reliable with every passing day?

Was it because Lyralei kept ignoring him like he was a ghost—present but invisible.

Or was it something simpler?

He could hear people more clearly now. Not just their words, but the weight behind them. The judgment. The expectations. The assumptions about who he was supposed to be.

But no.

The real answer was simpler than all of that.

Agni.

The name settled in his mind like a stone dropping into still water, ripples spreading outward.

The person who had changed the timeline. Whose very existence was a walking contradiction to everything Draekon thought he knew about this world.

Agni looked like garbage—literally. His entrance to the academy had been a disaster.

But the changes he was making...

Serina—someone who was supposed to be recognized and supported by him—had gotten her moment of fame because of Agni's intervention during the exam.

Lyralei—who was supposed to march alone—was now still engaged to Agni, leading the Sun Empire heirs as his fiancée.

Ignatia—who in the original timeline quit the academy—was now obsessed with Agni.

All of them were rolling down different paths. Diverging from what should have been.

And at the center of it all was him.

Agni.

Draekon's pulse quickened, adrenaline flooding his system for the first time in... he couldn't remember how long.

Draekon exhaled slowly, setting his glass down on a nearby table.

Fear.

No.

Not fear.

Challenge.

For the first time in eighteen years—since the moment he'd been reborn into this world with all his game knowledge intact—Draekon felt a threat.

That's what Agni represented. A challenger. Someone whose very existence contested Draekon's role as the protagonist of this story. Someone who was grabbing attention, reshaping events, pulling people into his orbit without even trying.​

For the first time in eighteen years—since the day he'd opened his eyes in this world as an infant and realized where he was—Draekon felt something he'd never experienced before.

A genuine threat.

Not to his life. Not to his safety.

To his role.

So... what do I do now?

Should he just keep playing the Hero? Keep following the quest markers, completing objectives, building affection meters like this was still a game?

Or should he change?

Become something else. Someone else.

Draekon looked around the hall, taking in the scene with fresh eyes.

Countless glances kept drifting his way. Students wanting to approach but hesitating. Waiting for an opening. Hoping for a chance to talk to the Hero.

He was still the center of attention.

Because I'm the Hero.

He smiled softly, the realization settling over him like armor.

It doesn't feel right. I don't think I should have challenged Lyralei to that Heart Duel.

It had been impulsive. Arrogant. A move based on game logic—force the event, trigger the romance flag, watch the meter rise.

But this wasn't a game anymore.

These were real people.

He couldn't abandon the path of Hero. Couldn't shed his identity as Draekon. That was his foundation, his starting point, his greatest advantage.

But he could change how he walked that path.

I'll start from what feels right to do.​

Winning meant changing. And he was ready to change, starting now.

He straightened, setting his shoulders, and made his way across the hall toward the Sun Empire heirs.

He spotted them easily.

Ignatia stood near one of the drink tables, methodically downing glass after glass of orange juice. Seven empty glasses were already lined up beside her like soldiers at attention. Her face remained perfectly composed, but the slight flush on her cheeks suggested the sugar was starting to hit.​

Darius sat at a nearby table, stuffing his face with roasted chicken meat—whole skewers disappearing into his mouth with alarming speed, grease dripping down his fingers.

Suzzy was choking on a slice of cake, eyes watering, face turning red—but she didn't stop eating. Just kept shoveling more in, like this was her last meal on earth and she intended to make it count.​

They're really going all-in on the free food, huh?

And there, standing apart from the others, was Lyralei.

She held a simple glass of water, untouched, condensation beading on the outside. Her black eyes stared out at the crowd, expression blank.

She must have felt his gaze, because her eyes shifted—just slightly—in his direction.

Michael, who'd been hovering near Ignatia trying to steal a glass of juice, suddenly moved away, giving them space.

Draekon stopped a few feet away from Lyralei.

The words died on his lips.

He cleared his throat. "I think... I came out wrong."

Lyralei's eyebrow raised slightly.

"I believe my intentions weren't clear when we first met," Draekon continued, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."

Lyralei blinked.

Then she sighed—long, slow, like she was releasing something heavy.

"What is there to discuss anymore?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the ambient noise like a blade.​

She placed her glass on the table with a soft clink.

Then she turned to face him fully, arms crossed over her chest.

"So?"

Draekon hesitated.

"If you just came to apologize," Lyralei said quietly, "you're simply in no position to do so."

Ouch.

"I got carried away," Draekon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's all."

"You're right," he added, nodding.

For a moment, Lyralei's gaze softened—just a fraction, just enough to notice. She sighed again, this time quieter.

"My intentions weren't good either when I accepted the Heart Duel," she said. Her voice was low enough that only he could hear. "So I'll let it be."​

Draekon's eyes widened. Wait—

Huh.

He hadn't expected that.

They stood there in silence, neither quite looking at each other. Draekon's gaze drifted to the side. Lyralei stared somewhere past his shoulder.

The party continued around them—laughter, music, clinking glasses—but in that small pocket of space between them, everything felt still.

Throughout the crowd, it wasn't difficult for others to notice their interaction. Or lack thereof. Students whispered, glanced over, speculated.

But neither Draekon nor Lyralei noticed.

They both missed the entrance of another person entirely.

Agni stood at the gate leading into the Grand Ceremonial Hall, chest heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, trailing down his temples, soaking into the collar of his academy uniform. His black hair clung to his skin, damp and disheveled. His black eyes—looked exhausted, bloodshot.

The uniform hung slightly loose on his frame, the fabric covering pale skin that was just a shade too off—not quite healthy, not quite sick, but in between. He'd been drained of color and vitality.​

His eyes were wide.

Fixed on two figures standing together across the hall.

Draekon.

Lyralei.

His hand tightened around the white cloth napkin he was holding with a yellow sun embroidered in the center. His knuckles went white from the pressure, fabric crumpling in his fist.

He stood there, frozen, staring.

And no one noticed.