I lunged forward without thinking and activated Furion’s ability, forcing it outward in a sharp wave.
The knights froze mid-step.
"Wh—what...?!"
"I—I can’t move my body!"
Their voices overlapped in confusion as their limbs locked in place, armor creaking faintly under the strain. I slipped past them before anyone could react, planting myself squarely in their path.
"Wait!" I shouted. "Just—wait a moment!"
My voice echoed far louder than I expected.
Gradually, the chaos settled. The shouts died down, the clamor softened, and one by one, everyone present turned to look at me.
All eyes.
Every single one of them.
In an instant, I had become the center of the scene.
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
...This is the worst.
I hate this. I hate standing out. I hate being stared at like this, like some kind of spectacle on display. My chest felt tight, my pulse loud in my ears.
So then—why did I step forward?
The answer was painfully simple.
Because everything happening right now was being broadcast live across the entire Empire.
Crystal screens. Transmission artifacts. Countless eyes watching from homes, streets, taverns—everywhere.
People had lost their minds the moment Anna was injured. Rage had spread faster than reason, feeding on fear and outrage.
But that wasn’t the real problem.
What mattered was this moment.
Right now, the entire Empire was watching how this would end.
If the knights acted rashly—if blood was spilled here—the image burned into the public’s mind would never fade. Authority crushing a wounded girl. Power silencing resistance.
And that blame would fall on Anna. On the student council. On the Academy.
...On me.
"Louis!"
A sharp, furious voice cut through the silence.
"What do you think you’re doing?!"
I turned toward Anna. She was staring at me with wide eyes, a mix of shock and anger flashing across her face. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides.
I swallowed.
"I’m stopping this from getting worse," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "If this continues, no one wins."
The knights struggled uselessly behind me, their frustration evident. One of them barked out, "Young lord, step aside immediately! This is an imperial matter!"
"I know," I replied calmly. Too calmly, even to my own ears. "That’s exactly why you need to pause."
At the same time, Anna was already being dragged outside by the knights.
She didn’t resist—just glanced back once, her expression tight, before disappearing beyond the door.
The space she left behind was immediately filled by someone else.
Professor Rachel.
I’d seen her several times before around the Academy—sharp-eyed, composed, the kind of person who never raised her voice because she never needed to.
She stepped forward and called my name.
"Louis."
But I didn’t move.
Not even an inch.
Because I knew—no, I was certain—that the moment I stepped aside, Bane would be executed on the spot.
"Everyone seems far too agitated," Professor Rachel said evenly. "Let’s all calm down first and—"
"Anyone who wounds a member of the royal family is subject to immediate execution," one of the knights interrupted coldly. "Step aside."
I felt my jaw tighten.
So that was it.
The knights weren’t on my side either.
No one here was.
These people had no intention of listening to reason, no intention of considering consequences. They just wanted blood—swift, decisive, unquestioned.
I clenched my fists.
I know. I understand.
Do they really think I’d be standing here if I didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation?
I’m not ignorant of the law.
I’m not blind to the outrage.
I know exactly what Bane did—and I know exactly what will happen if he’s killed here and now.
That’s precisely why I’m standing in front of him.
Because his death won’t end this.
It’ll ignite it.
The rumors spreading through the city aren’t just idle gossip anymore. They’re resentment given shape.
Why are nobles treated differently when they bleed the same red as commoners?
Why does one life weigh more than another just because of bloodline?
These questions don’t disappear when someone is executed.
They multiply.
I’ve seen this before. Not in this world—but in another one.
On Earth.
History repeated itself there again and again. Oppression. Resistance. Violence. Retaliation. Each side convinced they were justified, each death birthing ten more reasons to hate.
And every time, the same lesson emerged from the ashes.
Power without consent collapses.
Authority without accountability rots.
The word surfaced quietly in my mind, heavy and undeniable.
Democracy.
A system born not from idealism, but from necessity—because people will always rebel when treated as lesser beings.
If Bane dies here, he won’t be remembered as a criminal.
He’ll be remembered as a martyr.
And this fragile order everyone is desperately trying to hold together?
It won’t survive that.
It would trigger a chain of events—one no one could stop once it began.
What the common people want is painfully simple.
No special treatment for certain individuals.
Equal rights for everyone as citizens.
That’s it.
That sentiment has been simmering beneath the surface for years, and now it’s finally boiling over. A movement to abolish the class system is already taking shape, whether the nobles want to admit it or not.
And Bane’s objective, standing there with that calm, unyielding expression, is obvious.
He intends to be the spark.
The catalyst that turns dissatisfaction into action.
From our perspective, he’s a despicable criminal—someone who manipulated public sentiment, spread chaos, and nearly caused irreparable damage.
But the citizens don’t see it that way.
To them, he’s a righteous man. Someone who merely spread "rumors," exposed uncomfortable truths, and voiced things people had long felt but never dared to say aloud.
The charges against him are thin. Far too thin to justify an execution.
And yet they want to kill him.
Here.
Now.
In front of everyone.
If they execute him publicly—especially over something as minor as a shallow wound on the princess’s face—the backlash would be unimaginable.
The Empire would fracture overnight.
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