"It's Moen Campbell!"

Someone muttered in a low voice.

Suddenly, the crowd parted with such precision, like they had been specially trained, forming an orderly pathway instantaneously.

At the end, hidden quietly behind the crowd while trying to sneak into the academy, Moen was exposed.

"What the hell?"

Moen froze, holding a half-eaten skewer in his hand, his face a picture of bewilderment—like a thief caught red-handed under the glaring spotlight.

Who called out? Who's got such sharp eyes!

Can’t I just keep a low profile for once?

Do they not realize that showing up right now would make the situation incredibly awkward for me?

Looking at the scene unfolding before him, the standoff between Emon and Ariel, Moen felt his brain pounding, close to explosion.

Of all people, it had to be Ariel—the main character he least wanted to run into.

And of all moments, it happened to be one of those classic setups from the original book: his underling’s lackey sacrificing themselves for Ariel to flex and humiliate the antagonists.

Given the circumstances, a sudden appearance from him, the infamous blond villain, could only spell trouble.

It would definitely make Ariel think he had come intentionally, just to ridicule her, thus escalating the hostility further!

…

In truth, Moen had arrived long ago—long before Ariel did.

But he hadn't rushed into the academy directly. Instead, he wandered casually around the streets near the academy, checking things out here and there, buying some snacks and several skewers, before deciding to enter while the entrance was relatively quiet.

And then, right as he was about to step inside, Ariel climbed out of her carriage.

Emon and his dimwitted companions, conveniently, happened to block Ariel’s path.

And somehow, within mere minutes, over a hundred passersby appeared at the academy gates as spectators.

In an instant, the academy entrance got so crowded that even air couldn't seep through the throng.

Seriously, where did all these people pop out from? It was empty just moments ago!

Is this what’s known as the “protagonist aura,” where having an audience is a requirement for showing off?

Moen couldn't help but grumble internally.

Complaining aside, the instant all eyes were on him, muscle memory in this body kicked in.

Gone were the embarrassed expressions; Moen quickly composed himself, adopting a flawless, friendly smile, nodding elegantly toward the crowd as a greeting.

Yet, no matter how devastatingly handsome he thought he looked, and how devoid of malice his smile was…

At least eighty percent of the girls present averted their gazes.

"Watch out! If you lock eyes with Moen Campbell too long, you'll get pregnant!"

"Oh no, I forgot to smear soot on my face! What should I do? They say if he sets his sights on you, you'll be knocked unconscious at night, secretly taken to the duke’s mansion, and forced to do… those kinds of things!"

"Want to become the duchess? Don’t be ridiculous—he’s already engaged. If anything, he only plays around. I’ve heard his conquests are numerous enough to fill an entire classroom!"

"You know that infamous suicide dormitory in the academy? Apparently, half the jumpers were girls discarded by Moen Campbell."

"…"

Listening to the progressively absurd gossip amongst the girls, Moen's mouth twitched involuntarily.

What kind of ultimate playboy reputation was this? It sounded like he had already incensed the masses to the point where stepping outside would risk getting run over by an angry citizen in a dump truck.

While the origin Moen Campbell was indeed a scoundrel and a jerk, it couldn't be as exaggerated as this! At worst, he teased some girls occasionally.

Had he really caused such an uproar that students were driven to suicide? Even as a duke's son, the academy wouldn’t have stood idly by.

"Truly, rumors become reality when spoken enough times. Dangerous, indeed," Moen sighed, deeply aware of the uphill struggle it would take to mend his reputation.

Still, every journey starts with a single step—it had to be done.

With that resolve in mind, Moen strode forward, heading into the eye of the "storm".

…

“Well, well, Moen Campbell, you actually showed up.”

Seeing Moen, Ariel wasn’t particularly surprised—in fact, this was precisely what she expected.

As the mastermind behind it all, of course he would come to watch his plan unfold—to watch his opponent be humiliated.

Just as he had always done.

But she wouldn’t let it happen this time.

“Oh? Still resorting to your old ways, sending your mangy dogs to bite because you don’t have the guts to act yourself? You’re just the same pathetic waste as ever,” Ariel sneered coldly.

“Ouch, that’s some cutting commentary.”

“Isn't it perfectly accurate for you!”

“…Fair enough.”

Unfazed by Ariel's scorn, Moen stepped closer until he stood directly before her.

Then, placing one hand over his chest, he offered an impeccably polite smile and said, "Good morning, Miss Ariel."

“W-what?”

Ariel froze.

Her eyes widened in disbelief—like she’d seen a ghost.

What had she just witnessed? What had she just heard?

Moen Campbell, of all people, was greeting her politely. Genuinely greeting her.

He wasn’t spewing insults right off the bat, calling her names like, “filthy lowborn trash,” and ordering her to “crawl out of here.”

Am I dreaming?

Ow. That hurt. Not a dream!

Moen Campbell was actually speaking civilly!

“You seem overly surprised by my greeting,” Moen said, trying his best to suppress the twitching corners of his mouth.

“Didn’t I greet you the same way at the banquet previously?”

Ah, that’s right—he did greet her that way at the banquet.

…Which made it all the more suspicious.

What kind of prank was this supposed to be, for someone to fake their temper and mask their true nature for this long?

He had to be plotting something larger!

“What are you up to, Moen Campbell!?” Ariel demanded sternly.

“…Nothing at all. I’m simply saying good morning.”

“Don’t try to fool me—your schemes are too familiar to me!

Ah, speaking of which, at the banquet the way you looked at Lea seemed really off. You’re trying to act all nice and innocent to make me drop my guard, then go after sweet, naïve, big-chested Lea, aren’t you?

Well, I’ll tell you right now—I won’t let you succeed! Lea’s big chest belongs to me alone!”

Ariel glared fiercely at Moen, like a mother hen protecting her chick.

“I said it’s just a greeting—you’re overthinking,” Moen replied, shaking his head with a bitter smile as he turned away from the overly paranoid Ariel. His gaze now settled behind him.

"Lord Moen."

Seeing Moen turn around, Emon and a few others immediately straightened their backs, plastering flattering smiles onto their faces.

“What are you doing here?” Moen asked.

“We are challenging Ariel Bugard!” Emon announced loudly and energetically. “To reclaim the honor lost last semester!”

So you—a fourth-year—are challenging a second-year student? And that’s somehow less shameful?

Moen rubbed his forehead with a helpless smile.

He couldn’t figure out whether these fools had infected the old Moen with stupidity, or the old Moen had passed his idiocy on to them. Either way, no wonder the original Moen Campbell, despite his prestigious background, didn’t survive past twenty chapters in the book.

“Did anyone instruct you to do this?” Moen asked.

“No, we volunteered!”

Emon declared proudly, standing straight and tall.

As a viscount’s second son, Emon knew this was his only shot at making a name for himself—by latching onto Moen Campbell, the duke’s son.

And he had already resolved to be the perfect lackey.

What defines a perfect lackey? Does a perfect lackey waits for their master’s orders.

No, a great lackey anticipates their master’s intentions and initiates trouble on their own.