Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 71: Chapter 71: President and Vice President (The Disaster Alliance)

Royal Academy Grand Hall – Sol-Regis. Midday – Announcement of the Election Results.

The Grand Hall of the Royal Academy was a place where tradition usually went to be fossilized. Towering stained-glass windows depicted the heroic deeds of the first kings, and the vaulted ceilings echoed with the whispers of past generations of high nobility. Typically, this hall was the stage for the coronation of a senior student—usually a Duke’s firstborn or a high-ranking Prince—to the position of Student Council President. It was a role dictated by bloodline and seniority, never by merit or popularity.

But today, the air in the hall was thick with a tension that threatened to shatter the very glass in the windows.

Thousands of students were packed into the tiered seating. On the right side, the high-born seniors sat with their chins high, looking bored yet expectant of their inevitable victory. On the left side, the ”Scholarship Wing” and the middle-tier nobles sat huddled together, their eyes burning with a hope they had never dared to harbor before.

Madame Seraphina, the Academy’s Headmistress and a legendary mage in her own right, stood at the mahogany podium. She unrolled a heavy parchment tied with a golden ribbon—the final tally of the first democratic vote in the school’s thousand-year history. She looked out at the sea of young faces with a gaze that was a mixture of maternal amusement and sharp, intellectual curiosity.

”Throughout the long history of this institution,” Madame Seraphina began, her voice magically amplified to resonate in the heart of every student, ”the Council of Teachers has always appointed the President from the third-year noble class. It was a tradition of stability. However, after the events of the Summer Festival... my desk was not just flooded, but buried under a mountain of petitions.”

She paused, her eyes drifting toward the first-year section, specifically toward a young man sitting with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression.

”You demanded a leader who could manage complex logistics without a single flaw. You demanded a leader who possessed the iron spine to challenge a Prince in the arena. You called him: The People’s Champion.”

The Headmistress adjusted her reading glasses, a thin smile playing on her lips.

”Based on the results of the democratic ballot... with an unprecedented eighty-five percent of the total vote...”

She raised her hand, pointing directly at the freshman rows.

”The new Student Council President for the upcoming term is... RAPHAEL SUDRATH!”

PROK! PROK! PROK!

The silence was not just broken; it was obliterated. The hall exploded into a deafening cacophony of cheers. It wasn’t the polite, measured clapping of the nobility. It was the primal, hysterical screaming of the underdogs. The scholarship students jumped onto their benches, waving their caps. The middle-tier nobles, who had long been squeezed by the arrogance of the elite, whistled and cheered. Even a few young nobles, those whom Raphael had secretly bribed with ”Premium Logistics Access,” joined in the applause.

Raphael stood up. He straightened the jacket of his black uniform, smoothed his hair, and began the walk toward the podium. His pace was steady, neither too fast nor too slow. He wore the ”Diplomat’s Smile” he had learned from Roland—a thin, polite curve of the lips that masked a mind calculating a hundred variables at once.

”Thank you,” Raphael said, leaning into the Magitech microphone. ”My vision for this Academy is simple: Efficiency, Transparency, and a Canteen that actually serves edible food. We have much work to do. Let us begin.”

Short. Concise. Arrogant in its efficiency. It was the Sudrath way.

”Wait,” Madame Seraphina interrupted, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. ”There is one further announcement.”

The hall fell into a curious silence.

”Under the new charter, the elected President has the right to appoint his own staff. However, the Royal Palace has suggested a ’Balance of Power’ to ensure the interests of the Crown are maintained during this transition.”

”Therefore, the Vice President who will serve alongside Master Raphael is...”

Every student held their breath. Who would be willing to serve as a subordinate to a first-year?

A figure in shimmering golden armor stepped out from the VIP wing. His blonde hair caught the Mana-lights, and his crimson cloak billowed with every arrogant step.

”PRINCE CAELUS SOL-REGIS!”

GASP!

The collective jaw of the entire Academy dropped. A Prince? A royal of the direct bloodline? Serving as a Vice President under the command of a Duke’s youngest son? The world hadn’t just changed; it had turned upside down.

Caelus ascended the podium, standing stiffly beside Raphael. His expression was sour, his brow furrowed, but he kept his chin raised high, maintaining his royal dignity even in this ”humiliating” position.

Raphael leaned slightly toward him, arching an eyebrow. ”Are you serious? You actually want to be my errand boy, Caelus?”

Caelus reached out and tapped the microphone switch to ’Off’ for a second. He leaned in, his voice a sharp, dangerous whisper.

”Do not flatter yourself, Sudrath. I am here to ensure you don’t turn this Academy into one of your father’s factories. I am the watchdog of tradition.”

He glanced briefly toward the audience, his gaze landing on Raveena. She was smiling warmly at them both, giving a discreet thumbs-up.

”And...” Caelus continued, his ears turning a faint shade of pink, ”...because your sister told me I needed to learn the meaning of ’True Responsibility’ if I ever wanted to be worthy of a conversation with her.”

Raphael suppressed a laugh. He flicked the microphone back on.

”Very well. Please welcome my Vice President. I believe we shall be a... dynamic team.”

The two boys shook hands. Raphael offered a cunning, shark-like grin; Caelus offered a forced, pained smile. The spectators felt a shiver run down their collective spines. The combination of Sudrath’s terrifying intellect and the King’s authority was a force that could either save the school or burn it to the ground.

The Student Council Room – One Week Later.

”WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

Caelus’s roar echoed through the luxurious wood-paneled office. He slammed a thick stack of documents onto Raphael’s desk with enough force to make the inkwells rattle.

Raphael, who was currently leaning back in the President’s chair twirling a mechanical pen between his fingers, didn’t even blink.

”That is the Club Budget Proposal for the upcoming quarter, Mr. Vice President,” Raphael said calmly. ”I require your signature for the final approval.”

”You have slashed the budget for the Royal Equestrian Club by seventy percent!” Caelus protested, his face turning red. ”That is the most elite club in the school! It consists of the children of every Duke and Count in the kingdom! They will riot!”

”They are essentially just riding horses in circles around a field, Caelus,” Raphael replied, his tone bored. ”Why do they require a budget of one thousand gold coins for ’premium grooming hay’? I’ve redirected those funds toward upgrading the library’s research materials and purchasing high-grade Mana-crystals for Sister Raveena’s advanced pyromancy lab.”

”I will not sign it!” Caelus crossed his arms defiantly. ”My friends in that club will turn against me! I have a reputation to maintain!”

”Oh? Is that so?” Raphael reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a single, high-definition Magitech photograph.

It was the photo Lily had taken—Caelus, fast asleep with his mouth open in the infirmary, his bandaged hand still clutching Raveena’s hand. He looked less like a Prince and more like a vulnerable, drooling puppy.

”Burn the photograph immediately,” Caelus said with terrifying speed, snatching the pen from Raphael’s desk. He began signing the budget forms with aggressive, jagged strokes. SRET. SRET. SRET.

”A pleasure doing business with you,” Raphael said, tucking the photo back into his locked drawer.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors to the office were thrown open. Vance, the Council Secretary, burst in, his face pale and his breathing ragged.

”Boss! We have a situation! A big one!”

”Speak, Vance,” Raphael ordered, his playful demeanor vanishing.

”The third-year seniors from the Elite Dormitory... the ’Fat Count’ Borislav and his gang... they’ve blockaded the Main Canteen! They’re refusing to let anyone in or out until the Equestrian budget is restored. They’re physically removing scholarship students who try to buy lunch!”

Raphael let out a long, tired sigh. He stood up, adjusting his sleeves.

”One week in office and we already have a coup. Spoiled nobles really are the most predictable creatures.”

Raphael turned to Caelus, a sharp glit in his eye.

”Hey, Vice President. Get to work. This is your ’constituency’ making a mess.”

”Do not order me around, Sudrath!” Caelus snapped. He stood up, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the door. ”But... how dare they cause a riot in my jurisdiction? They are making the Council look weak.”

Caelus walked over to the wall and snatched a decorative (but very sharp) ceremonial sword from its mount.

”Come, Sudrath. Let us teach them a lesson in proper etiquette.”

The Main Canteen.

The scene was one of absolute chaos. Tables had been overturned to form a barricade. A group of twenty senior nobles, led by the portly Count Borislav, stood in front of the kitchen doors, their arms crossed.

”WE ARE ON A HUNGER STRIKE UNTIL THE NORTHERN TRASH RESTORES OUR RIGHTS!” Borislav bellowed, his multiple chins quivering with indignation.

The scholarship students and commoners were huddled in the corners, looking terrified. The smell of spilled soup and burnt bread filled the air.

Suddenly, the canteen’s double doors were kicked open with a thunderous bang.

Raphael and Caelus walked in side-by-side. It was a sight that silenced the room instantly. Raphael walked with his hands casually in his pockets, while Caelus walked with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his golden aura beginning to flare with irritation.

”Attention,” Raphael said, his voice cold and echoing. ”According to Article Five of the Academy Code of Conduct, the blockading of public facilities is a Level Two disciplinary offense. The punishment is an immediate three-day suspension and a permanent mark on your record.”

”To hell with your rules, Sudrath!” Borislav shouted, though his voice wavered as he looked at Caelus. ”You’re just a freshman upstart! We are seniors! We have the backing of the high families! And we are supported by Prince Cae—”

The Count’s words died in his throat as Caelus stepped forward, his eyes burning with a murderous light.

”Prince Caelus?” Borislav stammered, confused. ”Your Highness, you’re on our side, aren’t you? The Equestrian Club is the pride of our class!”

Caelus didn’t offer a polite explanation. His royal aura—and his mounting frustration from having to work with Raphael—exploded.

”You lot...” Caelus pointed a shaking finger at the seniors. ”Are being incredibly... NOISY.”

”Do you truly believe that the Academy’s budget is your ancestors’ private treasury? That is school capital! If you wish to ride horses and feed them golden hay, buy your own damn horses!”

”B-But Your Highness...”

”SILENCE!” Caelus roared, the sound rattling the windows. ”You are a disgrace to the noble name! Throwing a tantrum over gold in front of the commoners? You look like spoiled toddlers! It is pathetic!”

Caelus turned to Raphael, his jaw tight. ”Sudrath, what is the maximum penalty for insurrection and disorderly conduct?”

Raphael pulled a small black notebook from his pocket, pretending to read while actually making it up on the spot.

”Hmm... Article Six, Section Nine: Mandatory community service. Specifically, cleaning the Salamander pits for one month. Without protective masks.”

”Carry it out,” Caelus commanded. He looked toward his personal royal guards who were standing by the door. ”Guards! Drag these ’nobles’ to the pits. Ensure they don’t miss a single pile of dung.”

”MERCY, YOUR HIGHNESS! THE SMELL OF SALAMANDER DROPPINGS NEVER LEAVES THE SKIN!”

As the rioting seniors were dragged away, kicking and screaming, the canteen returned to a stunned silence.

Raphael patted Caelus on the shoulder.

”Not bad, Your Highness. That ’outraged prince’ act was quite convincing.”

”I wasn’t acting,” Caelus snorted, smoothing his jacket and sheathing the decorative sword. ”I am genuinely furious. Because of their stupidity, my afternoon tea time has been delayed by twenty minutes.”

The two of them walked out of the canteen together. The students watched them with a mixture of awe and sheer terror. They saw the ”Good Cop” (Raphael) who used the rules as a cage, and the ”Bad Cop” (Caelus) who used terror as the lock.

It was a combination that ensured the Royal Academy entered its most orderly—and most stressful—period in its thousand-year history.

The Rear Gardens – Late Afternoon. End of Semester.

Raphael and Raveena sat on a stone bench under a leafless oak tree, waiting for the carriage that would take them to the train station for the winter break.

Caelus was standing a few yards away, ostensibly ”inspecting” a bird’s nest, though his eyes were constantly darting toward Raveena.

”So,” Raveena said, closing her textbook on Mana-dynamics. ”How does it feel to be the true ruler of the school, Raph?”

”Exhausting, Sister,” Raphael complained, leaning his head back. ”Managing idiots is a full-time job. Honestly, I’m glad I have that grumpy Vice President. He’s remarkably effective at scaring people into submission.”

Caelus, whose hearing was as sharp as a predator’s, snapped his head around. ”I heard that, Sudrath!”

”Good. It was meant for your ears,” Raphael shot back with a grin.

Raveena laughed at their interaction. ”You two are ridiculous. You’re like a cat and a dog forced to live in the same house.”

The distant, rhythmic whistle of a steam locomotive echoed through the valley.

”The train is coming,” Raphael said, standing up and hoisting his sister’s heavy trunk onto his shoulder. ”Come on, Sis. Let’s go home. Mother has been terrorizing the telegraph office asking when we’ll arrive.”

”Go on ahead, Raph,” Raveena said softly. ”I want to say a quick goodbye.”

Raphael understood. He offered a knowing smirk, then walked toward the gate, leaving his sister and the Prince alone.

Raveena walked over to Caelus.

”Your Highness. I am leaving for Northreach now.”

Caelus looked at her, his eyes betraying a profound reluctance to let her go. The winter break was three weeks long—an eternity in his current state of mind.

”Winter break is quite lengthy,” Caelus muttered. ”Three weeks of silence.”

”It is only three weeks,” Raveena smiled, her expression warm. ”We will see each other again soon.”

”Raveena,” Caelus called out, finding a sudden burst of courage. ”If... if I happen to have an official diplomatic visit to the North during the break... would it be acceptable if I stopped by?”

”To my home?”

”Yes. I mean... purely to inspect your brother’s industrial progress. It has nothing to do with wanting to see you. That would be... merely a secondary benefit.”

Raveena let out a soft, genuine laugh. ”Of course, you are welcome. The doors of House Sudrath are always open to friends. But be careful...”

”Why?”

”My brother Riven still remembers your face from the training grounds,” Raveena teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ”Make sure you bring a very sturdy helmet.”

Caelus’s face turned slightly pale at the memory of Riven’s grip, but he nodded firmly. ”I shall take that risk.”

”Until then, Caelus,” Raveena waved a hand and ran to catch up with Raphael.

Caelus stood alone in the garden, watching the Sudrath carriage disappear around the bend. He clutched his chest, the familiar feeling of loneliness returning, but this time, it was accompanied by a strange, flickering light of hope.

”Wait for me in the North,” Caelus whispered to the wind.