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

After the storm had passed—
The corridor was left in stillness, strewn only with snowflakes.
Pitch-black snow drifted softly through the air.

"Haa… haa…"
At the center of it all, a girl staggered.
Her breath, drawn up to her chin, was ragged.

She had completely forgotten her usual dignity—her appearance was a wreck.
Her legs gave way beneath her.
"Ugh…"

The vain girl wavered momentarily.
In the end, her legs buckled, and she collapsed where she stood.
Luckily, I had been waiting just behind her, and caught her gently as she fell.

I didn’t want her pride to be stained with dust.
Carefully, I wrapped an arm around her waist.
"Your Highness."

"…Ugh."
Was it the backlash?
She had forcibly reached for the transcendental.

To trespass into such a realm with an ordinary body—there was always a steep price.
The girl’s mana was boiling, like it would erupt at any moment.
I quickly channeled energy into my fingertips.
"I’ll stabilize it first."

Ssshh—
I overlapped my palm against her trembling breath.
Just as I began to apply treatment—

"I… told you… didn’t I…"
A soft murmur reached my ears.
Those signature blue eyes were looking up at me—smiling.

The gentle curve of her lips resembled a crescent moon on a winter night.
Though exhausted, her smile wasn’t pitiful.
In fact, it shone brighter than any star.

In her most ragged state, the girl emitted her most radiant light.
That paradox was breathtaking.
"I said… there’s something I had to accomplish."

"…"
"I told you I’d show you… didn’t I…"
Her voice scattered faintly.

But not once did it tremble.
Her eyes shimmered with life—
As if asking for applause… or respect.

"…Pfft."
I let out a quiet laugh.
She could still act so proud, even in this state?

It was almost ridiculous—but in the end, I couldn’t help but think…
That even that vanity was just like her.
As if being dyed by her presence, I raised the corners of my lips.

Sketching out a vague smile.
"Yes… You were truly splendid."
A soft, teasing reply.

With my outstretched hand, I brushed aside her tangled hair.
Shadows coiled around her pale skin.
As if honoring the traces of her fierce struggle.

Ssshh—
Emilia quietly accepted the touch.
That warmth and closeness had become familiar by now.

We had no choice but to pause together, in this black-draped winter—
Until the girl regained her strength and came back to her senses.
"You did well."

And so, we leaned on each other.
Meanwhile—
Deron, with gaping holes in his heart and abdomen, barely clung to life.

That brilliant blow had even evaporated his internal organs.
In short, he stood at death’s door.
Blood boiled and gurgled in his throat.

"Grugh…"
Bubbling—
Bloody foam frothed gently at his lips.

Ironically, his meat-like body showed no trace of hope.
His limbs were frozen stiff, and the organs beneath his heart had been ripped away.
The fact he was breathing at all for even a few more minutes—was a miracle.

A testament, perhaps, to the caliber of a top-tier cryomancer.
Wheeeze… wheeeze—
Only his pathetic breathing echoed in the corridor.

The light in his pupils was fading rapidly.
And within that scene—
‘Hm.’

Someone watched with interest.
Eyes floating in the shadows.
A member of the cult.

‘To think… the duke would actually fall.’
Peintre.
The agent the cult had placed to monitor Deron.

He had remained melted into the darkness the entire time, quietly tracking the developments.
Part of his intel-gathering duties, perhaps.
The man clicked his tongue.

‘…He was a pretty useful piece, too.’
Deron Vanity.
A man who had both love for his family and an obsessive drive for self-improvement.

But overshadowed by a brother more talented than himself, he’d never stood in the spotlight.
He respected his kin—but also suffered from jealousy and inferiority.
A contradictory sort of love.

The cult had targeted him for that reason.
—Deron Vanity.
—We will make your desires reality.

—Devote yourself to our master.
They whispered to him.
After the death of the Duke and Duchess, Deron had been steeped in grief.

Seducing a broken man wasn’t difficult.
Especially one who’d always thirsted for recognition—trapped in a small, pathetic role.
‘A shame, really.’

Still—
He was always going to be discarded anyway.
It was unfortunate he died stupid to the very end.

‘We did it, after all. That thing.’
Exactly four years ago.
The ones who assassinated the Duke and Duchess—

Had been none other than the cult.
And Deron had joined hands with them, completely unaware of it.
Succumbing wholly to the demon’s hypnosis.

‘Guess it doesn’t matter anymore.’
Creeeak—
Peintre rose from the shadow.

Arms and legs stretched out from the darkness clinging to the floor.
He stepped into the corridor.
"Ahem."

Since things had already turned out this way, I figured I might as well go greet them.
Or perhaps wear them down a bit while I was at it.
Ssshh—

Peintre quietly slipped out from the shadow.
The sudden presence drew our eyes immediately.
Then he offered a polite bow.

"Good evening."
"…!"
The sudden appearance of a stranger.

The relaxed atmosphere immediately tensed again.
The blue-haired girl, who had been wavering, straightened her posture.
Had she already recovered?

She looked surprisingly composed.
"From… the shadows…?"
"I’d appreciate it if you weren’t too alarmed. I only came to say ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) hello."

Of course, it wasn’t exactly the usual sort of greeting.
He concealed a smirk at the corners of his lips.
And stepped forward.

"I am Peintre."
But—
He didn’t know yet.

"One of the Seven Apostles, the fifth, who follows the will of our Great Father."
The golden snake with narrow eyes—
That ominous boy had seen through it all from the beginning.

"Good evening."
The man who appeared out of nowhere.
He’d suddenly emerged from beyond the shadows.

"I am Peintre. The fifth apostle, who follows the will of our Great Father."
I stared at him without a word.
Not surprised. Not afraid.

‘So he finally shows himself.’
I’d been aware of the shadow’s presence all along.
He appeared in the original, too.

And any shallow disguise like that was laughable in my eyes.
Trying to hide in darkness before the face of night itself?
Like trying to cover the sky with your palm.

‘Peintre.’
A sentry placed to monitor House Vanity.
At the same time, one of the Seven Apostles chosen by the Demon God.

The ones who’d appeared before—the Puppeteer, the Gravedigger, the Conductor—they were all apostles like him.
The cult’s top-tier forces, so to speak. Though two of the three I just named had already been shoved straight into hell.
With a faint breath, I evaluated the situation.

"Hmm."
I had been waiting for this moment.
If he tried to aid Deron, I had every intention of stopping him.

But Peintre had only observed. He hadn’t stepped in.
Which could only mean one thing—
‘…In the end, even Vanity was just a disposable pawn.’

No different from the original storyline.
The cult would mercilessly cast aside even its allies when the time came.
Businessmen, the Vanities, underworld crime rings… they all got thrown away like trash in the end.

I stared at him with cold, sunken eyes.
He carried himself with an air of smug composure.
"It was all our doing, you know."

A tongue as light as his mood.
Maybe he just couldn’t resist.
"In the name of our Great Father, of course."

Peintre ran his mouth.
Turning toward Emilia, who was still swaying slightly.
Like a villain revealing the twist at the climax of a movie.

That sneer he pulled up—disgustingly theatrical.
"I must admit, I was quite surprised. I didn’t expect the Duke to lose."
"You were watching the whole time?"

"Pure coincidence."
"…The fact you didn’t help him means he was a discard to your group."
"Sharp of you. Deron Vanity was an excellent piece."

The man chuckled lightly.
Then added, almost as if it were an afterthought:
"He was a stupid human."

"What do you mean by stupid?"
"I told you, didn’t I? It was all our plan. We were the ones who assassinated the former Duke and Duchess, who seduced Deron Vanity in his despair, who infiltrated and seized control of House Vanity. Every part of it—our doing."
"What…?"

Blue eyes wavered.
Had she been shaken?
Emilia froze for a moment as the truth reached her ears.

Because nestled within that truth—was her parents’ death.
With a furrowed brow, the girl muttered a denial.
"You're lying."

"Hm?"
"My uncle already admitted it. That he was involved in the accident."
"I don't recall him ever saying it outright, did he? People with too much pride tend to dodge that kind of answer."

Thud, thud—
Peintre kicked Deron’s corpse, sprawled across the floor.
With each impact, blood and flesh splattered outward.

He shrugged as if it was nothing, then said:
"Pathetic, isn’t he?"
"You—!"

Emilia’s eyes flared wide.
She clenched her fists, ready to leap into action.
But Peintre seemed to find even that enjoyable, chuckling to himself.

He took a few backward steps.
"Unfortunately, I’m not looking for a fight tonight."
His sleeve shimmered.

And soon, a magic stone was clutched in his hand.
A condensed crystal of demonic energy—an awakening catalyst.
‘A familiar pattern.’

Just like in the original.
Peintre always used something as a distraction and slipped away.
This time, he intended to use Deron.

Injecting the magic stone into a heart could corrupt a living being.
He was likely planning to let Chimera-Deron run wild while he escaped the mansion at his leisure.
The bastard smiled brightly.

"Well then, I’ll be taking my leave now."
He raised his hand to act.
With a victory-assured smile firmly in place.

But—
"That’s far enough."
Why should I just let him get away?

"Bit arrogant, aren’t you?"
"W-what…?!"
Thwack—!

With a single leap, I closed the distance.
Without hesitation, I grabbed him by the collar.
The body wrapped in lies couldn’t even twitch.

The eyes that had once been so relaxed now finally showed panic.
I spoke.
"Following every cliché to the letter gets boring, don’t you think?"

Sometimes the villain should get caught before they run.
A dangerous smile curled my lips.
My half-lidded, narrow eyes gleamed faintly.

"This is a cliché-break."
And I was already plunging my hand straight into his heart.