I Became the Narrow-Eyed Character in the Little Prince Game

Vengeance.
Or perhaps it should be called reckoning.
The plan was executed without delay.

—All operatives are in position.
—Give the order, and we’ll move in for extermination immediately.
The operatives had gathered within just a few hours.
Everyone stood at full attention.

This mission involved extermination—toppling one of the pillars of the Empire.
As such, each pair of eyes gleamed with tension, sharp as blades.
It was the erasure of a family’s history, after all.

‘There’ll be consequences, no doubt…’
I’d already notified the Emperor.
The full account of the attempted kidnapping.

The Vanity family’s collusion with the cult.
And even their plot to overthrow the Imperial throne.
It might have sounded sudden, but if it was Valcaros, he would listen.

Especially since he still owed me a debt.
‘I cured the Rose’s incurable disease. I even restored his emotions… it’s time he repaid the favor.’
The man was quick-witted.

Even without the personal debt, the evidence I’d provided left no room for hesitation.
With Emilia’s testimony, along with numerous other signs, everything pointed to Vanity’s betrayal.
The Empire would likely act first—crushing the seeds of a coup.
‘What I asked for was the right to strike first.’

I wanted to repay this debt personally, if I could.
Besides, if the Imperial Family did step in, we’d have a two-day window.
My plan was to eliminate them during that gap.

We had no intention of being seen. The final credit would go to the Empire.
It was a game where I had nothing to lose.
[Do as you wish.]
[You are one who may soon carry a royal decree—what reason could there be to deny you?]
[Only take care not to become a liability.]

Naturally, Valcaros didn’t refuse.
In fact, he even sent a letter offering support.
There were a few strange honorifics mixed in… but I chose not to dwell on them for now.

The Vanity matter took precedence.
I finalized preparations to strike with my operatives.
And then—

"Lady Emilia."
Before putting the plan into motion—
I sought out Emilia.

She was still standing at her brother’s bedside in the infirmary.
Perhaps she hadn’t yet been able to accept his resolve.
The so-called villainess seemed unusually shaken.

"…Yuda."
"You seem troubled."
"My stomach feels sick, is all."
"I understand."
Ruska’s sacrifice.
The choice to cast himself away in order to set his sister free.

He claimed it was for Emilia’s sake.
But to her—it meant losing the one family member she had leaned on.
In some ways, his choice had been cruel.

He hadn’t considered the one who would be left behind.
"He’s an idiot."
"……"
"Thinking about dying alone, when I never asked him for that."
"I’m sure the young lord was thinking of you."

"Who ever wanted something like this? I… Ruska, he…"
"He must have agonized over it for a long time."
"…Foolish."
"Even foolishness can be love."
Ruska had been unconscious since the day before.
But he wasn’t in critical condition.

He had simply collapsed from extreme exhaustion.
Even the infirmary’s head physician had left notes reassuring us.
Emilia gripped the bedsheet with her delicate hand.

A faint ripple spread across the mattress.
"Ruska…"
The vain girl trembled weakly.

Her usual pride had vanished—only a girl remained.
Was it the shock of nearly losing family?
Or the helplessness of being unable to protect him?

I couldn’t say.
"My lady."
I spoke then, only of what came next.

"There’s something I need to tell you."
I explained it slowly to the villainess.
The eradication of the Vanity family.

The plan, under the pretext of stopping a coup.
The situation, now poised on the brink of detonation.
Emilia listened in silence.

"I’d like you to leave it to me."
I bowed my head.
Though she may have hated it at times, it was the family she’d proudly upheld her whole life.

It was also the legacy passed down from the late Duke and Duchess.
Would she be able to accept the word “eradication”?
The pride, the attachment, the vanity that made up her life—

It wouldn’t be strange if her answer was refusal.
But—
"I’ll have to decline."

Her pride, it seemed, stood a step ahead of her honor.
Her blue eyes shone clearly.
"I can’t leave something like this to someone else."

And no wonder.
It was a legacy she had been proud of all her life—her vanity.
If there was rot, corruption, betrayal—then she, herself, would take responsibility for it.

With cold, resolved eyes, the villainess declared:
That she would not remain a bystander.
"I’ll lead the way."

Transparent blue.
Emilia’s irises still trembled, but—
Her red lips, her clenched fists, held unmistakable resolve.

Even if it rotted and decayed, it would not be cowardice.
To her, that was vanity.
And it was also her name.

"Are you truly alright with this?"
"There's no reason I shouldn’t be."
"Turning your back on Vanity… that must carry great meaning for you, Your Ladyship."

"What a foolish thing to say. Tell me—who among them do you truly think is Vanity?"
"Hmm."
A voice as cold as frost pierced through the air.

The villainess spoke.
"Vanity is me."
"……"

"I am the rightful heir, the one destined to become the greatest ice-caster on the continent. As beautiful as a single blooming flower, as dignified as a winter’s day, a sentinel in harmony with the seasons. Vanity—is a name allowed only for people like that."
It was a torrent of shameless self-praise.
And yet, her uniquely imperious presence erased any trace of embarrassment.

As if saying there was no shame in speaking the truth.
It was perfect vanity.
She asked again.

This time, as if demanding the right answer.
"Say it—who is Vanity?"
"Why, Your Ladyship, of course."

"The thugs who dared harm my kin—do you believe they had any right to the name?"
"Of course not. They were far too vile to be called noble, and far too cowardly to claim pride."
"They are nothing but frauds. Wretches of low birth, daring to impersonate the name Vanity."

Emilia Vanity.
A name of pride and nobility now burned with frigid rage.
Dishonored glory was a burden she chose to shoulder.

"I will be the one to punish those impostors."
"……"
"Don’t try to stop me. This, I will not yield."

Her gaze was resolute.
Though her shoulders quivered with conflicted emotions, she wore her mask of pride without hesitation.
Seeing that image of pure vanity, I couldn’t help but smile.

My lips curled into something sly and crooked.
"You truly are magnificent."
I extended my hand.

To the girl who, for all her vanity, was the most sincere to me.
To walk with her along the path of pride.
"Then allow me to lead you."

The villainess never once let go of herself.
And so, I made up my mind.
"To the den of traitors."

To lead this wretched girl—
All the way to the stars.
***
A few hours later.

The northern territory of the Empire—the Duchy of Vanity.
A land known as the sentinels of winter was steeped in unrest.
All due to the aftermath of a certain failed "operation" the day before.

Shouts echoed from the Duke’s office.
"Wasn’t this your plan to begin with?!"
A middle-aged man roared into a communication crystal.

His blue hair marked him unmistakably by bloodline.
The man’s name: Deron Vanity.
Acting head of the duchy, and the twins’ uncle.

His voice rose with anger.
"How the hell are you going to answer for this?!"
—{My, please calm down, Duke.}

"How the hell am I supposed to stay calm?!"
—{Even we couldn’t have foreseen this failure. Who could’ve expected Vanity’s elites {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} to be wiped out… And the Oath with Young Lord Ruska—broken?!}
"Exactly! It's a goddamn disaster!"

Deron, unable to release his fury, rubbed his face and took a deep breath.
Everything he’d built was on the verge of collapse.
This failure had cut deep.

"Damn cultists… I never should’ve made a deal with filth like you."
—{You’ve certainly enjoyed our assistance. Or have you forgotten it’s thanks to us you even sit in that chair? You were nothing but a lackey before—fetching tea for the former head.}
"What the hell did you just say…"

—{Let’s end the bickering here. Now is hardly the time to be fighting amongst ourselves.}
"Shit… Did you find out who sent that message earlier?"
—{Not at all. The signal was already severed. We have no idea how they managed to send it in the first place.}

"Whoever that crazy bastard is, they're no ordinary man."
—{Agreed. To declare war on the cult, the Vanities, and the Merchant all at once…}
"They must know we’re involved."

—{Looks like you’ve been bitten by something nasty.}
A clenched fist.
Deron closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the chill from earlier—

As if murderous intent had reached him through the crystal itself.
—Let your imagination run wild.
—What price do you think you’ll pay?
Deron bit his lip.

But then he shook the thought away.
There was something more urgent at hand.
His blue brows furrowed.

"More importantly… I think the Empire’s beginning to catch a whiff of this."
—{Undoubtedly. If the young lord and lady testify, it’ll only accelerate.}
"That’s why I bound them with an Oath! Damn bastard, how did he break it?!"

—{No point agonizing now. Best find somewhere safe to lie low. We can’t afford to lose everything. The war with the Empire—our preparations aren’t done.}
"Tch… You remember the contract, right?"
—{Of course. If our patron's grace reshapes the world, we promised to crown you emperor of the new order. Even if the plan is off-course, the plan itself remains unchanged—rest assured.}

"……Fine. We’ll talk again later."
Clang—!
Deron slammed the now-dark crystal onto the desk.

Still fuming, he struck it against the table again and again.
Clang, crack, bang—!
Fractures formed across the smooth surface.

He abruptly stood, pushing back his chair.
Perhaps to collect his thoughts—
Deron left the crystal behind and exited the duke’s office.

Darkness awaited him beyond the door.
"Hoo…"
A long breath drifted into the cold air.

Deron walked through the chill.
Everything was spiraling out of control.
The mission had failed. The Empire was on the verge of sniffing out the coup.

And his so-called allies were completely unreliable.
Of course his temper was boiling.
Whiiiish—

Just then, a breeze brushed past.
He turned instinctively toward the unexpected cold of winter.
One of the corridor’s windows had been left open.

The maids clearly hadn’t checked properly.
Deron redirected his anger toward the nearest target.
"Hah… Worthless things. I’ll have to discipline them."

The maids, likely sleeping soundly, unaware.
He clicked his tongue, thinking of tomorrow.
He turned to loop back toward the office when—

He suddenly felt it.
A foreign presence behind him.
As if someone’s gaze was fixed on his back.

"……!"
Quick to react—befitting a high-level mage—Deron whipped around, mana surging.
At the edge of his vision stood two silhouettes.

"Oh dear. Looks like we’ve been spotted."
"……"
A boy and a girl standing side by side.

Both were familiar faces.
One was the target of yesterday’s operation.
The other—his own blood.

Deron stared, dazed, at the girl’s blue hair.
She was the last person he’d expected to see.
"…Emilia?"

"It’s been a while, Uncle."
A voice cold as ice answered him.
Her bloodline’s signature blue eyes glinted like blades.

"I’ve come to reclaim it.
Your name."
That winter night was mercilessly beautiful.