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The Third World has transitioned into a weekday.

I got up early as usual, prepared breakfast, ate, and then took a shower. The plumbing seems to be managed by the royal family, so it surprisingly functions normally.

Anyway, after tidying up my overall appearance, I headed to school.

Days that shift from weekends to weekdays seem to bring out a lot of people wanting to die, regardless of the world.

As I walked into the classroom, I spotted some kids displaying symptoms of “Monday Hate Disease.”

I took a seat near the front. That way, people automatically fill in behind me. The classroom structure is such that the further back you sit, the higher the rank, as there’s a tendency for those of higher status to want to move up.

It’s instinctual to choose the higher ground for safety, I suppose.

Thinking this, I placed my textbook on the desk and waited quietly.

Gradually, students began to trickle into the classroom one by one.

The front seats are taken by commoners like Victoria, who either had good parents or possess some special talents that got them into this Royal Academy.

It’s not strictly by rank, as there’s a certain clustering based on factions.

Defining the order of factions within the classroom isn’t so straightforward. School factions intertwine with those of the parents as well.

There’s a separate ‘formula’ for that vicinity.

Yes.

It exists. This formula goes by the name of etiquette.

It’s a technique for protecting one’s territory and undermining newcomers.

I’ve been learning in this school for over six months, and my knowledge acquired from the high nobility is pretty detailed when it comes to knowledge.

Using it aptly is another issue, however…

I don’t intend to rise through that rank anyway, so it’s fine.

If I were to become a leader, I would have done so sooner.

I know exactly how to create a cult.

First, you create a non-existent, fictional god.

You must never become the god yourself. Separating the deity from the ruler is a key skill for long-lasting cults.

That way, you won’t be grabbed by believers demanding why you don’t grant the miracles they desire.

Such resentments are shouldered by the fictional god, while the ruler only enjoys the juicy bits. If things go well, it’s due to me; if not, it’s the fault of their lack of faith.

Simple, right?

Once you establish ranks and income through a multi-level structure, the basic framework is complete.

Afterward, you gradually increase the scale and encourage believers to marry among themselves, turning the religion into a somewhat established faith.

Then, when the numbers grow, you connect with political circles. Of course, you don’t directly interfere in politics. Initially, you just drop by events and say a few words.

It costs money each time, but those who just have to make a few casual comments for some cash tend to show up easily.

A sizable religion can wield influence over the community. It’s a powerful weapon of influence.

Then, they’ll start making requests themselves.

After a few requests from them, once you oblige, you can naturally bind them in a relationship.

By doing this, you can leverage the religion to climb up.

Moreover, I have the genuine ability to heal and empower people, a miraculous feat indeed.

Perfect for entrancing people.

However, if society recognizes it as evil, I’d end up like the Second World, so I don’t choose this path.

To do that, you’d have to lie.

Someone as naive as me would inevitably get caught.

Well, if I fail and end up dead, I can’t just run away, so I choose methods that don’t incur losses, even if they yield minimal benefits.

Besides, even minimal benefits come with infinite time.

I wish it to be finite, but at my rather flimsy age, I don’t think I’m about to kick the bucket anytime soon.

So, I attended my class.

Did you really think I wasn’t listening at all?

It’s possible if there are no limits to multitasking.

During class, oddly enough, the teacher seemed quite tense, which was a bit amusing.

Well, considering the entire royal set of this continent is in one class, it makes sense they’d be on edge.

And then lunch came.

I found myself alone.

Polaris was taking this opportunity to chat up Victoria.

However, judging by Victoria’s reaction, it felt impossible to meet and get close in just a day or two.

Unlike first year, the second-year classroom is on the second floor.

So, unlike last year, this time I headed down the central stairs of the building and made my way to the dining hall, which is a bit of a distance from the classroom in the main building.

I had lunch there.

Sitting alone, I noticed the foreign students who stood out as they entered.

They don’t just go to the food area and scoop up their meals but head directly to pre-set tables.

And only after a person from their country inspects the food do they start eating.

Next to them stands someone who is clearly not a student. That’s their escort.

I can understand their caution.

No, nearly every student here would find it hard not to understand.

Why, you ask?

Because there are students from countries with relationships as bad as bitter enemies.

If I were to compare it to a faded memory, it’s like the relationship between China and India.

They’re constantly experiencing conflicts at the border, so who wouldn’t feel anxious with an unreliable person standing right beside them?

Of course, attempting such a thing in this space would invite concentrated fire from most countries sending students to the Royal Academy.

Yet, not everyone thinks logically.

And there’s no guarantee that someone who doesn’t think logically isn’t in a high position.

As I’m eating, I secretly wish for them to be poisoned or stabbed.

Because I could just heal them instantly.

The only exception is Tiana Amphibia, but according to her memory, there’s no country with such a dire relationship as that of Moldovia.

Thus, if we were to make a prince or noble into a harvesting machine, their descendants would likely flourish.

“Excuse me, can I join you?”

Suddenly, someone spoke to me.

Looking up, I saw a person I had never seen before.

Not too tall, not too short. Their limbs are skinny, and they look scrawny. The slumped posture makes their long, black hair look as though it spilled out like ink.

Their outfit looks quite worn out. The material is decent, but overall it definitely shows signs of age and wear. The only distinguishing feature is their pronounced chest, which should be well hidden due to their hunch.

“Yes, please do.”

As I responded, she carefully sat down across from me. Looking around, I noticed there really were no seats left.

No, to be precise, there are seats available.

But those places are for individuals with specific factions or those with sufficient rank, making it hard for the girl in front of me to sit there.

It’s a traditional practice to highlight class differences while food is presented, even if the thinking is a bit impoverished.

While the great ones dine, the lowly must wait.

That’s just how it is.

I nibbled at my food, observing the girl in front of me out of sheer curiosity.

She’s probably in the first year.

She’s not of commoner origin. Just judging by the quality of her clothing, it’s certainly decent. However, the attire overall seems outdated, and although it shows some traces of having been mended to match the trends, it is likely from a year prior, so she might be from a regional noble family?

The state of her clothing seems to suggest it was inherited.

She’s adorned with accessories, but a few definitely would be categorized as for men.

But she does seem to be a citizen of this country. If she were from another country, I wouldn’t be able to analyze her this closely. I wouldn’t have any memories, after all.

A junior?

No, stop catching the light like that just because I didn’t scan her details thoroughly. Memories, listen to me!

The automatic keyword search is a bit annoying.

Anyhow.

I matched my eating pace to that of the supposed junior, getting up at a similar time.

Her name?

I don’t ask.

After all, I’ll either gain memories once she becomes a harvesting machine, or it’ll just be a mere fleeting encounter.

That’s how my lunch hour ended today.

By the way, Polaris failed to persuade Victoria.

It seems Victoria’s emotional wall runs deeper than Polaris thought.