The Unwanted Son of the count

Alaric stared at the mid-term testing results and allowed himself a faint smile. Average grades across the board. My dueling score is a little higher than expected, but otherwise, I'm inconspicuous. His eyes wandered to the top of the list for the first years, where two familiar names stood out. Third place: Cedric Draymont. Fourth place: Livia Draymont.

The smile vanished. Alaric frowned as his gaze drifted back to his own results. His grade in fencing was higher than he wanted, standing out more than he liked. That would have been fine—if Cedric wasn't so damn observant. He could already picture the questions, the thinly veiled accusations. This is going to be a pain, he thought, running a hand through his hair.

Lost in his thoughts, Alaric failed to notice the curious stares from a few of his classmates.

Alaric regained his train of thought and glanced around, realizing that several students were staring at him. He grimaced, the quiet whispers reaching his ears.

"Isn't that him?" one whispered. "The delinquent who pushes around weaker students while not even being that strong."

"He hides behind his father's name, but he has no chance of being the successor. I just wish someone would put him in his place already."

"He's so underwhelming, but he goes around glaring at everyone. He barely even responds when you try to speak with him."

Alaric sighed and walked away, trying to ignore the whispers trailing behind him. He had no idea how these rumors started—he had never bullied anyone. He didn't glare at people on purpose; he simply inherited his father's resting face, which seemed permanently set in a scowl. It didn't help that he didn't exactly look approachable. His jet-black hair, cold gray eyes, and unusually tall frame made him seem intimidating. And the nasty scar across his left cheek, a relic from a childhood accident, only added to the perception that he was someone to avoid.

He wished he could explain himself, but social interaction was a minefield. He was painfully awkward, unsure how to speak to others without stumbling over his words. It was an unfortunate combination—his appearance and his shyness—and one he had to live with. Besides, he thought with a small, bitter smile, the rumors would probably get worse if he ever let his true abilities show during school. Best to keep things as ordinary as possible.

Alaric started walking back to the dorms, trying to put some distance between himself and the prying eyes of the academy. But before he could take more than a few steps, a hand pressed firmly into his chest, halting his progress.

He looked down to see none other than his older brother, Cedric, standing in his path, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"So, dearest brother," Cedric said, his tone dripping with condescension, "I see your fencing grades have gone up. You wouldn't be attempting to draw attention to yourself and expose the nature of our relation, would you?"

Alaric let out a quiet sigh, making sure his face remained impassive. "Of course not," he replied, keeping his voice calm. "I just got lucky a few times in sparring, and I guess the professor thought I was improving, so he nudged me up a little. You've seen me fight—I'm hopeless with a sword."

Cedric studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp and calculating. After a long pause, he finally removed his hand from Alaric's chest, though the smirk never left his face.

"I'll let you off for now," he said, his voice darkening just slightly. "But remember what will happen if you get too much positive attention."

Alaric gave a small, nonchalant nod, already turning to walk away. He ignored his brother's veiled threat, putting it out of his mind as he finally reached the safety of the dorm.

Alaric walked into his dorm room and let out a long sigh, closing the door behind him. He sank down onto his bed, running a hand through his hair. The only reason he was so dead-set on staying under the radar in the first place was simple: he enjoyed living. He had plans to graduate from the university with as little trouble as possible and then secure a stable position as a Royal Knight, where he could be far from the suffocating expectations of his family. But that dream came with one huge obstacle—staying alive.

His father was ruthless, and if he showed too much strength or ambition, it could lead to questions about why he wasn't in the line of succession. Alaric knew the rumors had already begun to swirl. His father's refusal to acknowledge him—despite their shared blood—was a carefully constructed façade. He'd done everything in his power to keep the truth about Alaric's birth a secret.

Infidelity was a death sentence in noble circles, especially when the person involved was someone of lower status, as his mother had been. And if word ever got out about Alaric's true parentage, it could ruin his father's carefully crafted image. The last thing his father wanted was any rumors about his illegitimate son, even the possibility of one. So Alaric was forced to play the part of a dutiful, unremarkable son, hiding his strength and laying low, or risk being silenced permanently.

The only reason he was allowed to attend the university at all was because it was expected of nobles to send their children through the general education courses, even if they had no intention of actually pursuing an academic career. To anyone who asked, Alaric was simply fulfilling his duty. But in reality, it was his best chance at survival, and he had to keep it that way if he hoped to live long enough to reach his goal.

In truth, Alaric could easily be a top scorer at the university. He was highly skilled in mana manipulation and swordsmanship—his abilities far outstripped those of most students. But staying alive was much more important than showing off. So, he kept to his strategy of being the perfect average noble—decent in both skills and intelligence, blending in without drawing any attention. His plan was simple: graduate, get stationed somewhere nice, and live a quiet life far from the turmoil of his family's expectations.

Unfortunately, his carefully constructed image of the perfect average noble had begun to fall apart, and mostly due to things beyond his control. His father, for reasons Alaric couldn't fully understand, seemed to prefer the rumors about him being a rebellious troublemaker, even though Alaric had never actually bullied anyone or done anything remotely criminal. He didn't sneak off to gambling dens or visit brothels, despite the ridiculous rumors suggesting otherwise. In fact, he'd even been called to the dean's office for a "discussion about his problematic behavior," when he was completely innocent.

The truth was, Alaric didn't even get an allowance to gamble with, and he struggled with talking to people, let alone trying to interact with members of the opposite sex. Brothels were out of the question—he didn't even have a crush on anyone growing up. Yet, here he was, being dragged into rumors that painted him as some kind of delinquent. It was frustrating, to say the least. And all the while, his father's silence on the matter only seemed to fuel the fire.

Alaric sighed deeply and sank into his bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with him. With classes canceled for the day, he had no reason to stay alert. He closed his eyes, hoping for some peace. If he just kept up his routine—being a diligent student with average grades—the rumors would eventually die down on their own. It was the only strategy he had, and for now, it was all he could do.