Amidst the grandeur of the Eldora Kingdom's capital, a towering palace stood as a symbol of power and pride. Yet, behind its gilded walls, a game of politics and hidden agendas unfolded—one unknown to most.
In a secluded corner of the royal training grounds, a lone figure lingered in the shadows, observing from a distance.
Kiriya.
It had been two weeks since Ren left the capital, while he himself remained, blending into the background of the summoned heroes. In truth, he was more like a ghost—watching, gathering information, but never fully participating.
Clad in dark, lightweight clothing with a hood partially concealing his face, Kiriya resembled an assassin more than a hero. He had chosen this look deliberately—to stay unnoticed, to meld with the darkness, and to keep his distance from the others.
Since Ren's departure, his position within the group had only worsened.
The same people who once shunned Ren were now treating him the same way.
Not that it mattered.
(I never planned to stay here for long. The moment Ren comes for me, I'm leaving without a second thought.)
Kiriya furrowed his brows.
Ever since his last conversation with Ren, something had been bothering him.
If the kingdom was truly desperate, was summoning heroes really the best solution?
And more importantly—was this their first time doing it?
The goddess of this world…
He could still recall the indifferent voice they heard on the day of their summoning. The way she spoke so casually, as if this was not the first time she had brought people from another world.
(How many times have they done this?)
(And what happened to those who were summoned before us?)
Kiriya bit his lip, suppressing the frustration building within him.
He refused to be a pawn in this game.
If this was the kingdom's ploy, then he would become a parasite within it—draining every bit of information he could and using it for his own benefit.
Keeping himself hidden, Kiriya shifted his gaze back to the training grounds.
There, the remaining heroes were undergoing rigorous training under the guidance of royal knights and mages.
However, amidst the entire group, one figure stood out the most.
Since day one, this person had been idolized as the true hero. Even the princess herself seemed to favor him.
Kiriya narrowed his eyes.
(This guy… was designed to be the center of attention from the very beginning, huh?)
He wasn't sure what the bigger picture was yet, but one thing was certain—he needed to find out before it was too late.
Yosuke.
Among all the students summoned to this world, he was the most prominent.
Back in school, Yosuke had always been the center of attention—an extrovert, charismatic, and widely regarded as a "good guy" by most. He wasn't just socially adept; he was also well-rounded in non-academic fields—athletic, skilled in martial arts, and a natural leader.
With his handsome face and confident smile, Yosuke was the very definition of an ikemen—the kind of guy adored by both girls and guys alike.
However, to Kiriya, he was just someone who had mastered the art of maintaining an image.
From his vantage point in the palace courtyard, Kiriya observed Yosuke conversing with the princess.
Yosuke chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if embarrassed, speaking with a deliberately humble tone.
But Kiriya saw through the act.
It was the same rehearsed performance he had witnessed countless times before.
Like a trained actor perfecting his expressions in front of a mirror, Yosuke feigned nervousness in front of the princess, portraying himself as a reluctant young man suddenly burdened with great destiny.
Yet the moment the topic shifted to the Demon King, his demeanor changed entirely.
His voice deepened, his expression turned serious, and his gaze radiated unwavering determination.
(So dramatic…)
Kiriya clenched his sleeve tightly, resisting the urge to slap the guy then and there.
This was ridiculous.
His entire act was cringe-worthy.
While others might be mesmerized by his heroic persona, to Kiriya, it was nothing more than a poorly written script.
Yosuke wasn't just trying to be the center of attention—he was playing the role of the perfect hero that everyone wanted.
(So this is what they're after? A figure they can control and parade around as the "true hero"?)
Kiriya let out a quiet scoff, his gaze never wavering.
He refused to be deceived by this performance.
Yosuke might be able to fool everyone with his act, but Kiriya wouldn't be swayed. He had already seen too many inconsistencies since arriving in this world, and the more he observed, the clearer it became that something was deeply wrong.
His mind drifted back to the recent dungeon expedition—their first real combat training.
Many students were still inexperienced and nervous.
They might have read about monsters in books or played games, but facing them in real life was entirely different.
When a horde of monsters attacked, panic spread immediately. Some students froze, unable to react. Others stumbled, losing their footing out of sheer terror.
Then, disaster struck.
The royal soldiers accompanying them died—many of them.
Bloodshed filled the battlefield—soldiers screaming in agony as their bodies were torn apart, students struggling to fight but ultimately becoming liabilities, and the stench of blood permeating the air.
This wasn't training.
It was a massacre.
Yet instead of allowing them time to process their trauma, the kingdom pushed them forward, drilling into their heads the idea that they had to "rise and fight."
As if nothing had happened.
As if losing lives in battle was normal.
Kiriya felt a cold rage creeping through him every time he recalled that moment.
He personally had no problem fighting goblins.
He remembered killing one—maybe two—during the battle. His hands had trembled, his legs had nearly given out, but he had survived.
But afterward…
He threw up.
Because that was normal.
Taking a life wasn't something an ordinary human could just accept so easily.
Yet the kingdom didn't care. They only wanted weapons—soldiers they could mold into "heroes" without concern for their emotions or mental state.
Kiriya clenched his fists, his gaze hardening.