VI: Wanna Sell Your Soul?

I thought I would be free to return to the dining room after being measured for my suit, but oh how wrong I was. Back and forth, I was bounced from station to station, being made to look “presentable” for television. Evidently, the queen herself had put in a special request to do something about my “horrible eyes”.

For the next few hours, I had my hair washed, dried, and put into a ponytail, then had makeup slathered on my face to cover up my “imperfections”. By the time my suit was complete, I had only just enough time to put it on before I found myself being escorted by Helena to the ballroom entrance.

“I recommend bracing yourself,” the busy woman advised.

I groaned and watched as Helena pulled open the large double doors before us. The second the doors parted, a blinding flash of light caused my eyes to snap shut. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but the thick walls of the castle had done well to conceal the endless chatter of what seemed to be thousands of press, armed with microphones, cameras, and hot, beaming lights. Their sheer numbers had floored me, to say the least.

“Come on, stick close behind me,” Helena said, guiding me through a rope line that was utterly swarmed by the media.

Excuse me, what’s going through your mind right now?

How does it feel to be a hero?

Is this your first time in the castle?

An overwhelming number of voices fired off question after question, their incessance accompanied by the sounds of camera shutters going off nonstop. I could barely make out half of what was being said and I made no attempts to respond to their inquiries. Just proceeding through the line felt like I was drowning in a sea of bodies despite the guiding ropes at my sides keeping the crowd at bay.

At the end of the line, the royal family sat behind a long table on a stage set up before a massive painting. The painting encompassed much of the large wall it was hung from and depicted a hand—whose owner was just out of frame—slipping a ring onto the finger of a generic, faceless princess. Beside the king was an empty chair, which is where Helena directed me to sit.

“You clean up well, young man,” the king chuckled as I settled in the chair.

“Thanks,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the many microphones set up on the table.

On the other side of the king, Cynthia sat beside the queen, looking out into the army of reporters with a disturbed expression. I also spotted my parents and Mizuki looking up at us from a small, roped off area close to the front of the stage.

“Please, quiet down,” the king requested. The rest of the room promptly complied. “Now, I’ve requested your time and attention today to make a very special announcement. As you all know, this young man over here saved the life of my precious daughter, the princess of Steylia, Cynthia Rose von Eisenhardt.”

I tried to lower my head to avoid the oncoming stares, but the king placed his massive paw on my shoulder, prompting me to retain proper posture.

“The young man sitting beside me is Shinsuke Watanabe,” the king continued. “And, as a result of his chivalrous deed, I, King Immanuel von Eisenhardt, and my lovely wife, Queen Luitgard von Eisenhardt, have decided to invoke the White Knight Contract. That is to say, this young man will be granted my daughter’s hand in marriage!”

The room erupted into madness as more questions were hurled at the king in rapid fire fashion.

With an air of amusement, the king said, “as you all know, this changes everything in regard to Steylia’s negotiations with the other kingdoms for my daughter’s hand. I will take questions about that. But, first, I turn things over to my future son-in-law and soon to be prince of Steylia, Shinsuke Watanabe. Please, feel free to ask him anything you want.”

“What?” I barely managed before being swiftly bombarded by the armada of journalists.

The king pointed to a man sitting in the front row and said, “he’ll take your question first.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the man replied, bowing. “Edwin Gunther from Channel 10 news. Shinsuke, was it? My question is, why did you save the princess from that accident?”

You can’t be serious.

I sat quietly, staring at the bespectacled man gawking at me. I kept waiting for him to ask the “real” question, but it never came. Instead, he curved his brows and looked at the king who nudged me.

“I didn’t really have time to think about it,” I said. “I just did it.”

And what a mistake that was.

“A true hero!” the king added. “Next question, please.”

A woman in a gray suit with short hair stood up and said, “Aisha Collins from the Daily Spell. My question is, do you feel lucky to be granted the princess’ hand in marriage despite being so scrawny and unpleasant to look at?”

“Next question, please!” the king said before I could respond. The queen smirked and shifted in her chair.

More reporters stood up to ask me increasingly stupid questions one after another. With each one, my cheek had sunk increasingly further into my palm, much to the chagrin of the king who had seemingly given up on correcting my posture. I could feel both my sanity and attention slipping further into oblivion until one particular question caught my ear.

“Ulrich Haupt of Steylia News Network here. My question is, do you even want to marry the princess? You don’t look happy…”

“You know what,” I started, “you’re the first to notice that. Congratulations!”

“Shinsuke…?” the king said, curiously.

“Would you like to know what I want, Mr. Haupt?”

“Erm, yes?”

“I want to go back to my apartment and get in bed. I want to sleep for three days straight, and then sit in front of the TV with my best friend. I want to be wrapped up all cozy in my blanket and eat a pudding cup. That’s what life was like for me before this. But what am I doing now, huh? Being asked the dumbest questions imaginable by a gaggle of vultures.”

“But—”

“No,” I continued. “I don’t want to marry the princess—I never did. I never asked for any of this. So, while I have all of your attention, I have an announcement of my own to make.”

“What is he doing?” the queen whispered to her husband, irritably.

To the stunned expressions of nearly everyone in the room, I grabbed the microphone in front of me and stood up. “I’m invoking the opt-out clause of the White Knight Contract. I will compete in the gauntlet against the other marriage candidates, and I will fight my way out of this contract.”

A collective gasp sent the room spiraling into a mess of incomprehensible chatter. Meanwhile, a quick scan around me revealed the stark contrast between my parents, whose faces had turned whiter than snow, and Mizuki who had the biggest grin I’d seen her wear in my life. Cynthia’s green eyes were wider than ever, while her mother, the queen, looked furious. Most surprising of all, the king looked greatly amused.

Regardless of anyone else’s reaction, I continued. “No one is going to bully me into doing anything I don’t want to do, especially not some ridiculous marriage! So, if you want a story to air so badly, air this: I’m entering that gauntlet and I’m getting my freedom back!”

“Well now, this changes everything,” the king interjected with enthusiasm. “You heard him, the boy says he will fight!”

And with that, the king brought the press conference to an abrupt end.