Chapter 17
The Prince Starts Over After Dying!
The Third Prince stood silently by the door for a moment, then stepped into the library.
He wandered around as if he knew the place well, picked out a few books, and sat down at a table near where I was hiding.
Carefully stretching my neck out, I read the spines of the books he had chosen.
“Eek! The Demon Is Too Scary!”, “We Got a Puppy at Home!”, “Mother Duck Loves Baby Duck, Vol. 2.”
…Wait, why is that book on its second volume?
Anyway, just like Anna’s rumor said, all the books he picked were children’s picture books.
“So it really was just that he has childish taste?”
Somehow, I felt deflated.
I sighed quietly and began inching out from under the table, planning to slip out on the opposite side from the prince.
Just then, the Third Prince suddenly looked around, his eyes darting and his ears twitching like a rabbit’s.
Did he hear me?
It would be a bit embarrassing if he realized I was hiding under the table…
Flattening myself against the floor, I held my breath and erased all trace of movement.
After glancing around several more times, the Third Prince cautiously reached under the seat cushion and pulled out a thick book.
The golden letters on its cover shimmered:
“Introduction to Elementary Magic.”
“Magic? Why magic? Was the Third Prince ever supposed to learn magic?”
As far as I knew, even in this world where magical tools were fairly common, true magicians were rare.
There were only two kinds of them—those chosen by a magic stone, and descendants of witches.
Either way, meeting one was almost impossible.
Magic stones were hard to find and even harder to use.
Those few who could channel magic through them were called “the Chosen of the Magic Stones.”
Witches were rarer still.
Born with special blood, they possessed far stronger powers than any Chosen magician.
But witches lived in secluded societies, and many common folk didn’t even know they existed.
“…Oh, right! Lady Ramier was the Imperial Court Magician, wasn’t she?”
Thinking of magicians naturally reminded me of Countess Lurupel’s book, “The Biography of Lady Ramier.”
Then a realization struck me—something I hadn’t thought was important before.
Lady Ramier was one of the greatest magicians in the Empire.
“…But that doesn’t mean the Third Prince can use magic.”
This world—the setting of a third-rate romance novel—was ridiculously black and white.
Everything was split neatly into two.
For example, holy power belonged only to men, while magic belonged only to women.
All priests were men; all magicians, women.
So why was the Third Prince, a man, so intently studying a magic book?
No matter how hard he tried, he could never learn magic—unless he wasn’t really a man.
“…Wait.”
Could that be the reason he became Harriella’s puppet…?
A shocking thought crashed into my mind.
“…No, that’s absurd. The author couldn’t possibly have written such a twist.”
I quickly rejected the idea.
If I were the author, I wouldn’t saddle a perfectly decent secondary male lead with such a bizarre backstory.
Unless the writer’s secret goal was to get cursed out by readers and live a long, infamous life, that is…
No, the chances that the Third Prince was secretly a woman were basically zero.
“Then what? Why is he reading a magic book?”
He seemed so intent on hiding it—it couldn’t just be simple curiosity.
What was he plotting?
My mind started spinning.
I lay flat on my stomach and kept watching him.
The prince turned the pages with deep concentration.
Every so often, he clenched and unclenched his small hands, muttering to himself.
He seemed to be practicing the spells written in the book.
Admirable effort—but he clearly had no talent.
No matter how hard he tried, not even a spark appeared at his fingertips.
Which, of course, made sense.
“…So it doesn’t work after all?”
After countless failed attempts, the Third Prince sighed wearily and tapped his shoulders with his little fists as if to massage them.
His soft hands were no stronger than a kitten’s paws—it was useless, naturally.
Then he stretched, leaning back into the chair—
—and our eyes met.
“…What are you doing down there?”
His voice was filled with bewilderment.
“Uh…”
I didn’t know where to look. My brain creaked like a poorly oiled machine.
Somehow, I forced my broken thoughts to form words.
“Uh… maybe… hide-and-seek?”
“…Maybe hide-and-seek?”
“D-definitely hide-and-seek.”
“…I see.”
Silence filled the wide library.
The Third Prince didn’t even pretend to believe my excuse.
He just looked between me and his book several times, lips pressed tight as if deep in thought.
Finally, he sighed like an old man, closed the book, and stood up.
I felt like a misbehaving child caught red-handed.
“Haha… ow!”
I tried to laugh it off and stood up—only to slam my head against the table.
A loud crack echoed through the quiet library, like something heavy had just broken.
At that volume, either my head or the table—or both—was probably in pieces.
“…Are you all right?”
The prince’s eyes widened in alarm as he rushed over.
He crawled under the table to check on me, parting my hair to examine the damage.
His tiny hands wriggled through my hair like little worms.
I suddenly felt like a baby monkey being groomed by its mother.
…Probably just my imagination.
“It doesn’t look like you’re hurt.”
He diagnosed me like a doctor—without any kind of license.
Then he even told me the useless fact that there was no bump on my head.
Apparently, Harriella had a very sturdy skull.
When I glanced up, I saw a faint crack on the underside of the table.
“No, no, that’s just my imagination…”
If my head could actually crack wood, I shouldn’t be a count’s daughter—I should be out performing strongman shows.
Pretending not to see the damage, I stared at the table as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, the Third Prince crawled out easily.
Being short, he only had to duck a little to get out.
How unfair that being a handspan taller made things so much harder for me.
“Here, take my hand.”
He reached out to me, his small hand pale and soft—like a child who’d never worked a day in his life.
Embarrassment washed over me. I wanted to crawl into a hole.
How humiliating, needing help from a kid!
“I’m fine…”
I averted my eyes and pulled back, but he insisted.
“Take it. Quickly.”
Resigned, I took his hand. It was warm with that peculiar heat only children have.
He pulled with all his might, legs trembling as he tried to help me out.
He managed it—barely. For someone so small, that was quite an achievement.
Though honestly, it would’ve been much more impressive if he hadn’t caught me in the first place.
“Your dress is all dusty.”
The prince brushed at the dirt on my clothes with careful little hands.
He was right; while not filthy, my dress was definitely smudged in places.
“Looks like the cleaning here hasn’t been great,” I murmured.
“Well, the servants are busy these days. It’s usually spotless,” he replied.
That was a lie.
I’d only ever been in the royal library twice across all playthroughs.
As the daughter of a court noble, I couldn’t freely wander such a treasure trove of information.
Even the prince’s haughty attendant wasn’t allowed in here.
“I suppose that’s my fault,” the prince said softly, smiling faintly.
Then he guided me toward a nearby sofa.
“Here—sit down first.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and laid it neatly on the seat.
Looking up at me, he beamed proudly—like a retriever expecting praise.
No, given his size, more like… a Pomeranian.
