Following the official announcement of Clara Smorguth's victory, the crowd's roar shook the entire exhibition hall like a massive earthquake.
It was a unified symphony of insults and jeers.
"Cheater! Cheater! Cheater!"
The audience had completely turned against Sam. No one could believe the Prince had been defeated—even if he was the fifth and weakest prince. Despite his rank, he was still royalty, far above Clara's servant. How could a prince lose? It must be cheating. Yes, he clearly used illegal moves to win.
But while it was also obvious that Edmund had cheated—and had even physically destroyed the electronic controller—the crowd's logic was twisted: This servant did not submit to the Prince and allow him to win; this is an act of defiance against authority. You must yield to the Prince's power; you do not deserve to win.
Sam, however, didn't give them a second thought, protected by the guards behind the security barriers. He glanced at Edmund, who sat looking down, appearing as though his very soul had departed.
He had lost. He had cheated, and in the end, he still lost. He had failed against this person yet again, forced to endure defeat at his hands time and time again.
Sam smirked as he looked at Edmund.
"Pathetic loser. Why don't you have Mommy and Daddy massage that loss away so you can sleep soundly tonight?"
It was as if the crowd lost their collective minds upon hearing Sam's provocation. A torrent of insults rained down, and they looked ready to tear down the barriers to get to him.
All of this unfolded under the gaze of the two girls.
Clara had won... No, Sam had won in the end. He had defeated Edmund, and he had defeated her as well. Against everyone, against all odds—simply brilliant. This short servant had done what she could not: he had reclaimed her stolen dignity and made her a true winner.
On the other side, the word "Loser" spiraled through Edmund's skull like a roller coaster. He thought he had shed that title. He thought he had finally secured what he deserved in life. What was the point of being a "Regressor" if he was still a loser? What was the point of all this effort if he remained defeated?
No. He was the winner, regardless of the game. A mere game could not dictate whether he was a victor or a failure.
Edmund rose from the sofa, his eyes burning with sparks of pure rage. Sam was already heading toward the podium alone, walking through the glares of the angry crowd as the true victor.
Edmund raised his hand.
"Organizers! How dare you ignore this insolent fool's cheating right before my eyes without taking action?! I will not let anyone leave this place. You are all accomplices in an attempt to tarnish the Royal Family's reputation!"
Everyone was stunned by Edmund's declaration; even Melisha herself felt a jolt of surprise at his words.
It was common knowledge that he was the cheater, yet here he was, attempting to twist the facts and accuse the organizers of conspiring with Sam to tarnish the Royal Family's reputation. It was blatant deception.
But guess what?
The crowd turned with him.
"Accomplices! Accomplices!" they chanted.
However, the employee with the indifferent expression responded while looking Edmund straight in the eye:
"My Lord Prince, it was you who requested to participate; we did not force you. The competition was perfectly fair. You could have withdrawn at any time, but you chose to continue. It is not our fault that you lost, and we do not bear responsibility for people's failures."
Upon hearing the employee's explanation, the crowd's jeering subsided slightly. But Edmund's retort was immediate:
"You refuse to punish this insolent brat for his blatant cheating? You are all dead men."
At that, neither Sam nor the employee could suppress their laughter. After Edmund's words, the two of them actually shook hands, laughing together at the joke.
Once the employee managed to stifle his smile, he spoke again:
"My Lord Prince, it seems you haven't read the game's rules thoroughly. Mr. Sam played a very clean game; he simply discovered a 'glitch.' According to our regulations, participants are entitled to utilize any mechanics or bugs they find within the game."
Then, he added with chilling calmness:
"As for you... you broke the rules long ago by using Mana. And yet, despite your cheating, you gained nothing but defeat."
"What.."
"How dare you, you insolent brat, call me a loser?!"
Sam, the organizers, and the guards could no longer suppress their laughter. Their desperate attempts to hold it in only fueled Edmund's rage further.
"My Lord Prince," the employee said, "I do not presume to predict the future. However, had I the power to look into the past, I would have advised you to leave earlier to avoid further embarrassing yourself. After all, a Prince has his status, and we respect that."
Edmund could not contain his fury any longer. Without another word, he simply turned away, vaulted over the barriers, and stormed out of the exhibition, with Melisha hurrying after him to calm his nerves.
Meanwhile, on the awards podium...
The employee handed the device to Sam with a smile, in full view of everyone. But Sam didn't keep it; he walked over to Clara and presented the device to her.
"My Lady, this is for you. I'm not really interested in games; it's just a hobby. You are the one who truly deserves this."
The audience was left in disbelief. All that skill... just for a hobby? Then who on earth has the right to call themselves a professional?
"No, no, Sam... this belongs to you. You're the one who earned it," Clara stammered.
He simply smiled at her and walked out of the hall without another word.
As he stepped out of the shopping mall and into the night-shrouded streets, he let out a sigh of relief. Then, with lightning speed and a clumsy, excited grin, he whipped out his phone.
He sent a message to Rolf:
["How much engagement did the event generate on your end?"]
Rolf replied with a single screenshot—one that was enough to make Sam start dancing right there in the middle of the street.
The image was crystal clear: 256 subscribers.
At first glance, the number might have seemed small, but considering there were only 766 students in the entire first-year class, the figure was nothing short of extraordinary.
In the middle of his dance, a notification appeared:
[Wow, indeed! The Pivotal Servant System congratulates the Host on his efforts in shifting the plot. Unlocking New Feature: Weekly Statistics. With this feature, the Host will receive rewards calculated over an entire week rather than a single day. These rewards are far more massive than the standard daily stats.]
As Sam looked at the notification, a strange sense of detachment washed over him.
Does this mean I've truly done something to change the future? If so... I'm one step closer to the perfect retirement.
"This is good news... Great news. I need some orange and lemon juice to celebrate all of this."
He boarded a bus and headed to a famous café. Feeling reckless and wealthy, he spent every credit in his bank account, ordering every refreshing drink on the menu. In his excitement, he nearly forgot they were alcoholic beverages—and he drank them all.
Now, he sat there, staring at the ceiling, utterly wasted.
Suddenly, a woman entered through the far door. Her features were a blur to Sam's drunken eyes at first, but as she drew closer, her silhouette became strikingly clear. She was tall, with slender legs, a perfect waistline, and a breathtaking figure. Her face was beautiful, framed by sky-blue hair.
Wearing a crimson dress, she sat down at the very same table as Sam, whose eyes were now glued to her.
"Sam Wells, isn't it?"
Sam couldn't believe this beauty was actually speaking to him.
"Pretty lady... such a pretty lady... what do you want from me?"
The woman smiled, leaning in close to his face with a light chuckle.
"I'd like to introduce myself. I am Sarah Smorguth... the aunt of Clara Smorguth, your mistress. I've heard quite a lot about you. Tell me, how would you like to become my servant instead? I can provide you with everything you could ever need."
"What.."