The Grand Hall of the Ducal Palace Alaric was a jewel of white marble and beaten gold. Midday light filtered through the high stained-glass windows, projecting colored splotches onto the polished floor. Alex felt like an insect under a luxury microscope.
Before him stood Duke Alaric, a man with a peppered beard and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. To his right, Aria, fully recovered. Her sapphire-blue dress matched her long violet hair, now shiny and perfumed. But the most disconcerting thing was her gaze: fixed on Alex with a devotion so intense it was almost palpable.
To Alex's left, Emi. Arms crossed, a foot tapping the floor impatiently, and one eyebrow raised in a "I'm getting really tired of this" expression.
"Alex Sasaki," began the Duke, his voice echoing in the dome. "You have shown exceptional valor and nobility in saving my only daughter. As such, I would like to offer you something more than a simple monetary reward."
Alex felt an itch on the back of his neck. That phrase never boded anything good.
"I have considered," the Duke continued, with a mischievous glint in his eye, "the possibility of uniting our houses. What would you think of a marriage engagement to my daughter, Aria?"
The silence that followed was so thick you could have cut it with the Duke's ceremonial dagger.
Alex blinked, slowly, as if his brain had disconnected.
"Engagement?" he repeated, the word tasting like nonsense. "But... I've known her since yesterday. Literally."
Aria didn't wait. She stepped forward, sliding her soft, perfectly manicured hands between Alex's, which he held rigidly at his sides.
"Time doesn't matter when destiny speaks," she whispered, her voice a spell of honey and roses. "I felt it from the moment I opened my eyes and saw you. My angel. My savior. My love."
Where does she get that this is love? Alex thought, a cold sweat running down his back. This is Stockholm syndrome with a ball gown.
Before he could articulate a rejection that wouldn't sound like a declaration of war, a voice cut through the air like a whip of light.
"He can't."
Emi stepped between them, her figure not as tall as Aria's but charged with an authority that came from having faced demons. Her gaze wasn't on Aria, but fixed on the Duke.
"Alex is a Summoned Hero. Our path is one of constant battle and danger. An engagement like that would put your daughter in the line of fire. It would be a death sentence disguised as romance."
Aria turned toward her, and her sweetness evaporated. Her violet eyes flashed.
"Do you have a personal problem with our love, heroine?" she spat the title as if it were an insult.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Emi didn't need to respond with words. The air around her began to vibrate, and a golden glow, faint but threatening, emanated from her skin. The light from the stained-glass windows seemed to lean toward her.
Aria didn't retreat. On the contrary, an aura of electric violet energy crackled from her, making the fine hairs on her head levitate slightly. The two force fields, golden and violet, clashed in the space between them with a silent, palpable crackle.
The Duke, far from being alarmed, leaned back in his throne, an open smile of amusement on his face. He seemed to be watching the most entertaining play of the century.
"Enough!"
Alex's voice sounded, more exasperated than powerful, but it managed to break the visual duel.
"Duke Alaric, with all due respect, this is..."
"Ah, but you haven't heard the best part!" interrupted the Duke with a careless gesture. "My daughter is not a helpless damsel. She is a first-class mage, graduated from the Royal Academy of Arcanum. She could accompany you without issue. And furthermore..." he made a dramatic pause, his gaze shifting from Emi to Alex with malice, "...according to the laws and customs of our kingdom, a man of heroic status can have more than one consort. The solution is simple: you marry them both."
CRACK!
The sound wasn't magical. It was the noise of Emi's ash wand, which had appeared in her hand without anyone seeing, cracking under the pressure of her fist.
Her face was a whirlwind of emotions: indignation, shame, a pinch of panic, and something deeper, wounded. The blush on her cheeks was evident.
A harem? For him? The thought shot through her mind like lightning. I'm the protagonist! If anyone should have a retinue of suitors...! But... but I don't want others. I only want...
Her gaze fixed on Alex's back, and her heart gave a painful lurch.
Alex, completely unaware of Emi's internal turmoil, shook his head vehemently.
"No, no, and a thousand times no. You don't understand, Your Grace. I'm not the hero. She is," he pointed at Emi with his thumb. "Emi is the protagonist. The summoned one. The chosen one. She's the one who should be offered harems of princes and powerful nobles. I am... the supporting character. The one who's there to deliver lines. My script doesn't include romantic subplots."
Alex's words fell in the hall like slabs of stone.
For Aria, they were a confirmation that he was rejecting the "intruder" and, by default, choosing her. A triumphant smile touched her lips.
But for Emi, it was like having a bucket of ice water thrown on her soul. "Supporting character." "Deliver lines." Her eyes filled with a brightness that wasn't golden, but pure desolation. Her wand fell to the floor with a dull thud.
"Is... is that how you see me?" her voice was a thread of sound, barely audible. "Just as the 'protagonist'?"
Alex, still in his monologue of denial, didn't hear her.
"...so, unfortunately, I cannot accept the engagement with Lady Aria. It simply doesn't fit my narrative arc."
The "simply" was the final straw.
Aria's face twisted. The sweetness shattered like a porcelain mask, revealing a proud, wounded fury.
"My love... doesn't fit your 'narrative arc'?" she whispered, and the violet aura around her burst into violent sparks.
ZAP! ZZZAP!
Two spells shot out simultaneously. One, a concentrated beam of blinding solar light from Emi, fired with blind rage. The other, a whip of corrupting violet energy from Aria, charged with spite.
Both projectiles passed inches from Alex's head, scorching the air in their wake and crashing into a marble column, which was left marked with a dual burn, gold and violet.
Alex stood frozen, a lock of his hair singed and floating gently to the floor.
"What... what did I do now?" he asked the void, genuinely perplexed.
But there was no answer. With a final choked cry of fury, Emi turned and ran out of the hall, followed closely by an Aria who shot murderous glances at her back.
The great door slammed shut, leaving Alex alone with the Duke.
Silence returned, broken only by the deep, booming laughter of Duke Alaric. He wiped a tear of happiness from the corner of his eye.
"Ah, by the ancestors! I haven't seen a show like this since the magic tournaments of my youth!" he gasped between laughs. "Alex, my boy, I envy you. Your problems are... vibrant. Full of life."
Alex looked at him, dumbfounded. Envy? This?
"Your Grace, this is a disaster."
"That's why it's wonderful!" exclaimed the Duke, calming down. "Chaos is the breeding ground of destiny. And speaking of destiny..." his smile became a bit more calculating. "My daughter isn't one to give up easily. And your companion, that 'protagonist,' has her pride wounded. This isn't over."
Alex sighed, a sound coming from the very depths of his being. He ran a hand over his face.
"Why me?" he murmured to himself. "Why do I always end up in the middle of dramas I never asked for?"
"Because, dear boy," said the Duke, standing and placing a paternal hand on his shoulder, "those who try to remain in the shadows often find that the light finds them anyway. Sometimes, in the form of two powerful, determined women." His tone lowered, becoming confidential advice. "I'll give you a day. Tomorrow, Aria will host a dinner. An 'opportunity to speak calmly.' I suggest you have an answer. A clear one. For your own good... and for the structural integrity of my palace."
The Duke withdrew, leaving Alex alone in the empty hall, with the smell of ozone and scorched marble, and the echo of two spells that had been inches from hitting him.
This wasn't just a romantic problem.
It was a diplomatic crisis with a magic wand.
And he, the "supporting character," was right at the epicenter.