How Could the Villainous Young Master Be a Saintess?

Ohhh—this slow-braised jade soup with tender meat, the flavor was divine. The roast duck melted in the mouth, and one bite into the leg of lamb burst forth with juices!

Vinny ate in pure bliss. If not for the setting, he might have turned into a food critic right then and there, offering commentary between bites.

Someday, once he graduated from the Academy, got picked up by a rich patron, made it big, and had money—he’d eat like this every single day, every single meal!

What? You ask if he isn’t afraid of getting fat eating like this? Pfft, he doesn’t care!

Besides, how could he possibly get fat? He’d never eaten well since childhood, his development had suffered, his height wasn’t much. This was nothing but his “second growth spurt,” replenishing the nutrients he’d missed out on. How could that make him fat??

Vinny was completely absorbed in eating. Whatever else was happening at the table—be it the lords of the great houses at the next table discussing weighty matters—none of it interested him.

And honestly, even if he had paid attention, what good would it have done? Without the identity of a Carillian Academy student, a fringe noble like him would never qualify for a royal banquet. He’d stumbled into this entirely by accident.

So why bother worrying? Just eat!

Shicodale, on the other hand, was tense. It was a foreign kingdom’s royal banquet, and he had no appetite to begin with. But seeing Vinny eating so happily, without a shred of concern even under so many eyes, he gradually worked up his courage. Unable to resist, he swallowed nervously and reached out like a timid kitten, spearing a few vegetables and picking up some fruit.

His appetite was tiny—and elves were basically vegetarians.

Compared to him, Vinny’s manner of eating looked downright bold. Not without image entirely, but certainly in line with the reputation most nobles had of him.

And Vinny didn’t care in the slightest. In his eyes, prejudice and stereotypes weren’t built in a day, and they couldn’t be undone in a day either. Even if he suddenly switched his demeanor, ate with delicate manners and poise, people might be surprised at first—but they wouldn’t abandon their prejudice. On the contrary, they’d just think he was putting on an act, that he was fake.

People only believe what they want to believe. And what they wanted to believe was that Vinny was nothing but a shameless, arrogant, talentless buffoon with no sense of propriety.

If that was the case, then words were useless.

“Your Highness, the Princess!” someone cried out just as Vinny was busy eating.

He looked up—and his eyes landed on Mirexia, emerging gracefully from the banquet’s side entrance, clad in a luxurious mermaid gown, the very image of royal elegance.

While the other young nobles were permitted to wear their Carillian uniforms, as Camella’s First Princess, Mirexia had to appear in formal royal dress.

Even for Vinny, who saw her often, her appearance tonight was breathtaking.

Her usual flowing twin golden ponytails now cascaded as wavy, waterfall-like hair, braided into a regal princess style at her crown and temples.

On her ears dangled sapphire star pendants matching her eyes. Her mermaid gown, deep blue woven with pearls, shimmered like flowing waves of light. Blue crystal heels and white silk gloves to the elbow completed the look. Tonight, Mirexia was dreamlike, stealing every eye the instant she appeared.

While the crowd was mesmerized, unable to tear their gazes away, Vinny only looked once, called out “Your Highness, the Princess,” then lowered his head back to his food—acting as if he and Mirexia weren’t acquainted at all.

No matter their private closeness, in a formal setting like this, he knew to keep his distance. It was better for her, and for him too.

No matter how good their relationship, it couldn’t overstep the bounds of lord and subject. His family wasn’t a marquis household—it had long since fallen. For him to cling to her side in public would only embarrass her.

That was exactly the mistake the old Vinny used to make—blundering about, thoughtlessly trying to latch onto Mirexia, only to cause her °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° embarrassment and rejection, sinking their relationship to an icy low.

If he wanted lasting friendship, he had to respect their stations.

On the other side, Mirexia entered and at once sought Vinny with her eyes.

For a brief instant, their gazes met—then she watched him bury his head in food, unlike any of the other nobles.

In that moment she understood exactly what he was thinking. And unbidden, she remembered how she had once publicly rejected his confession. For some reason, her heart grew heavier.

He was avoiding suspicion—for her sake, to prevent her misunderstanding.

[Virtue +200]

[Current Virtue: 5584]

But Vinny was too busy eating to notice.

“Everyone, thank you for honoring us by attending this royal banquet.” No matter what she thought within, Mirexia’s bearing as First Princess, the future Queen of Camella, was flawless. She first expressed her gratitude, then motioned for everyone to stay seated.

Good—if she hadn’t, Vinny would’ve had to stand and put down his fork, interrupting his “damage output.”

“To all who have entered Carillian Academy, you are the rising stars of our kingdom. To those who have not yet, do not be disheartened. The Goddess forever favors the devout and diligent. Do not let temporary failure discourage you. I will be waiting for you at Carillian Academy.” With that, Mirexia lifted her glass.

“Everyone—for our bright future, for the kingdom’s tomorrow, a toast.”

“To the future!”

At once, Vinny snatched up the glass in front of him. Each place had two: a tall glass of red wine and a tulip glass of passionfruit juice, to account for those who didn’t drink.

Vinny picked up the tulip glass and, as Mirexia drank her red wine, took a sip along with everyone else.

Shicodale mimicked him. But the poor fool, nervous as ever, grabbed the wrong glass. The moment the strong wine hit his tongue—never having tasted alcohol in his life—he nearly spat it out, coughing violently as he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Vinny sighed, quietly offering him a napkin to wipe his lips.

“S-sorry, Vinny...” Shicodale whispered, face scarlet, eyes darting around in panic. His voice hadn’t been exactly quiet in the hushed hall, but fortunately, everyone’s attention was fixed on the Princess. No one noticed.

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Vinny muttered. “What a heavy drinker you are, Dale—going straight for the wine.”

“Alright, enough. It’s fine. Don’t worry. Keep eating.”

“Mm...” Shicodale glanced at the napkin Vinny had just used to wipe his lips, then nodded softly.

[Virtue +120]

[Current Virtue: 5704]

Vinny set down his tulip glass and returned to his fork.

At that moment, a few nobles at the edge of the hall exchanged looks. One of them rose respectfully and walked to Mirexia.

“Your Highness. I am Valan Figgs, eldest son of the Figgs family. With your blessing, I shall take the entrance exams for Carillian Academy next year. For the martial display of this royal banquet, I request to take the first match—to bring honor and entertainment to my peers and seniors.”

His words rang out clearly, audible even to the patriarchs at the other table.

“Haha, Lord Figgs, what fortune you have—to sire such a bold and spirited son!”

“Not at all, not at all. Your son is already admitted to Carillian Academy!”

“Eh, mine was mere luck. My boy’s dull-witted, but Valan here will surely surpass him before long, haha!” The old foxes exchanged flattering words.

Mirexia glanced to King Friane V, who gave a nod. She returned her gaze to Valan.

“Then, Young Master Valan, we leave it to you.”

“By your command, Your Highness!” Valan bowed deeply, then strode to the open floor between the tables, adorned with the dragon motif.

Oh?

Vinny, chicken leg in hand, chewing busily, suddenly understood why the middle space had been left empty. So this was part of the banquet?

A Dragon-Knight stepped forward, returning Valan’s sword to him—a black-hilted rapier of fine craftsmanship.

Weapons were forbidden in the palace, but this was the exception. The knights knew of this banquet tradition and returned them at the proper time. Vinny himself had surrendered Frostfang at the gates.

As Valan stepped onto the patterned floor, the dragon sigil beneath him flared, summoning a transparent barrier of water around him, invisible until struck.

Then, before all eyes, he flourished his rapier in a dazzling display of sword-flowers.

“Good! Well done!” Young nobles cheered, patriarchs applauded.

Vinny too raised his chicken leg and shouted along, though he judged the swordplay as flashy but impractical.

In truth, not half as good as Byrne.

And yet, in secret, Valan smirked.

After his performance, he bowed to both sides.

“Then, as is the tradition of our royal banquet, the first performer may choose his opponent for a match. Which peer would volunteer?”

As several nobles prepared to step forward, Valan’s eyes slid straight to Vinny.

“Young Master Vinny—you were cheering the loudest just now. That must mean you truly recognize my swordsmanship, correct?”

“I’ve heard that your progress has been astonishing lately, that you even entered Carillian Academy ahead of me. I am humbled. Might I request your guidance, Young Master Vinny—perhaps you could teach me a little of your experience?”

At once, every gaze turned toward Vinny.

Some looked surprised. Others looked eager for a show. And a few, the rare few who had seen Vinny fight Fanny before, frowned, knowing Valan had just picked the worst possible opponent.

“Nom, nom... huh? Me?” Vinny blinked, chicken leg still in hand, utterly unwilling.

Really, brother? Couldn’t you have picked a better time? I haven’t even finished my chicken leg yet!

What a waste—it’ll be cold later!

Vinny wanted nothing to do with it, but with Mirexia and even the King watching, he couldn’t very well refuse outright.

“Er... Young Master Valan, was it? I only got in by sheer luck. If you want guidance, I’m hardly the right person.” He spread his hands helplessly.

“Heh, you’re too modest. Results are results. And Carillian Academy is hardly something one enters by luck alone. Clearly, you have great ability.” Valan smiled faintly.

Vinny said nothing. He hadn’t known this was part of the banquet. But with words pressed this far, he couldn’t refuse publicly.

Still—duel or not, there was no way he was putting down his chicken leg.

So, under the eyes of all, he walked out with the chicken still in hand.

“Young Master Vinny, is that... your weapon?” Valan joked.

“Oh, this? Well, if you want to think so, sure.” Vinny said casually, taking another bite.

Mirexia’s gaze landed on him, filled with helpless exasperation.

Across the hall, King Friane V watched him too. Seeing him stride into the duel still holding his chicken, he chuckled.

His daughter was right—Vinny really had changed.

Among the younger nobles, many sneered, mocking his foolishness.

But the old foxes at the other table smelled something different.

Anyone could see Vinny’s ease wasn’t an act.

It shocked them.

By all rights, this wastrel and his withered family should have perished with the passing of an age. There should have been no variables left.

Surely not...? Could there still be a twist of fate?

Impossible. How could a boy with only a one-star Spirit Soul ever turn the tables?

Every noble house had already written off the Facilis line. The era of the Saintess of Dawn was over. The nobles weren’t alone in this view; all the wise had abandoned any thought of supporting Vinny, unwilling to risk enmity with the Dawn Church.

Just then, a Dragon-Knight stepped forward, handing Vinny the icy crystal earring—Frostfang—back into his free hand as he chewed on his chicken.