* * *
Luke Bernie—he was the true protagonist of this novel.
Though not flamboyantly striking like Marchen, he had a clean-cut, handsome appearance, a sharp and clever mind, and was the ultimate kingmaker who crowned Carlisle as emperor amidst countless political threats.
I had given Luke all the traits of an ideal hero to make readers love him, even bestowing him with archery skills that were practically a part of myself.
“Can an author ever hate the protagonist of their own story?”
If I were my usual self, I would have ensured Luke experienced pain equal to the suffering he caused by killing Lily.
But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t hate him.
Yes, it did bother me that Luke was always picking on Jeanne, but that was just survival instinct.
If possible, I actually wanted to get along with him.
Though, of course, since I was now Jeanne from Sacre, that was pretty much impossible in this lifetime.
My gaze turned distant with a touch of sadness, and Luke’s expression soured.
“What’s with that annoying look?”
“….”
Despite the lingering sentiment, fear was fear.
I quickly averted my eyes as if nothing had happened.
Luke walked over, stopping right in front of me.
With a cold look, he turned his head toward Marchen.
“Marchen, you did promise that if I win, you’d support the Flare Guild in this selection round.”
“What? I don’t remember promising anything about support…”
“Well, then I’ll stay out of the mess you’ve created.”
Luke openly despised Jeanne, and contrary to my expectation that he’d jump at the chance to compete, he was instead negotiating with Marchen in this situation.
Marchen looked stunned by Luke’s shamelessness.
As Luke turned to leave, still glaring at Marchen, who had yet to answer, Marchen hurriedly called him back to the table.
“Babe, are you really going to do this?”
“Considering the trouble you’ve caused me, I don’t see why you think I’d just go along with your plan. Are you living with an empty head because the jewelry you wear is too heavy?”
“That’s harsh!”
Marchen whined with a pitiful expression, but I barely held back laughter as I watched Luke snap back at him like a venomous snake, completely unfazed by Marchen’s antics.
After a heavy sigh, Marchen grumbled.
“Fine. If you win, I’ll support the Flare Guild.”
“Now, we’re finally talking.”
The dynamic shifted subtly, putting Luke in control, and I watched the whole thing cautiously.
Marchen, who was staring after Luke as he walked away, suddenly gripped my shoulder.
“You’ll win, right? Marchen, the fairy of victory, is cheering you on.”
“Wait, if you cheer for me, isn’t that defeating the point of this entire wager?”
Marchen started whining again, saying that supporting the Flare Guild would lead to financial ruin, or that he’d be severely scolded by the real power behind the Venus Guild, its vice-guildmaster, if he went back empty-handed.
I pushed away Marchen’s large head as he clung to me, making complaints that didn’t suit his bulky frame, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Are you an idiot? Then you should never have involved Luke in the first place!”
“But… it was our first meeting, and I wanted to make a strong impression.”
It was one of those top-three foolish answers, right after Jerome’s and Jerome Howard’s.
I’d thought Marchen had some cunning motive in involving Luke, but it turned out he just wanted to look cool.
I could almost hear the sigh of the Venus Guild’s vice-guildmaster from here as I gritted my teeth.
‘In the original story, Flare Guild won without any boosts or potions. If they get Marchen’s support now… Luna defeating Flare will be out of the question.’
At first, this might have been just between Marchen and me, but with Luke dragged into it, it was practically a battle between Flare and Luna now.
Marchen, his arm draped over my shoulder, whispered smugly.
“So, what are you going to do? Just so you know, beating Luke in archery is impossible. That guy wins the hunting tournament every year as the best marksman.”
For someone on the verge of ruin, he looked rather relaxed.
I brushed off his arm and replied in a calm tone.
“People from Sacre hunt monsters on wide-open grasslands. We’re a nomadic people.”
“…”
“The nobles’ hunting games, where servants drive the prey, are on a completely different level.”
I looked down at the bow in my hand.
Even though I’d racked up medals at youth archery tournaments, I could never enjoy archery.
The burden of making my exhausted father proud weighed heavily on my heart.
But here, there was no father, no poverty.
No grades that had to be maintained. For the first time, I could shoot for myself.
‘So this is how it feels. Even if not just for my father, I truly do love archery.’
Despite the worst-case scenario where I might be expelled from the academy, I didn’t feel anxious.
I turned to Marchen, who was watching me blankly, and smiled with confidence.
“So, it’s not impossible.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Word had spread of an upcoming duel between idol Luke and the tempestuous transfer student Jeanne, filling the grand arena with spectators.
Rumor had it that Marchen had even started another betting pool on who would win.
When I asked if anyone had bet on me, Marchen grinned, holding up two fingers.
“…What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Roughly one in ten people bet on you.”
“Then why bother holding up two fingers to confuse me?”
“Eh.”
Marchen pinched my nose with the two fingers he’d held up, grinning wildly.
I gave him a blank look before smacking the back of his head, making him clutch his head with a pout.
‘It’s a bit of a blow to see Jeanne so unpopular.’
While a bit disheartening, it wasn’t surprising.
Luke was a proven hero, while Jeanne was mostly seen as a temperamental noble with a bad reputation.
Just as I started to feel a bit down, a thought crossed my mind.
Wait a minute, if I bet on myself and win…?
‘Doesn’t that mean I take all the winnings?’
Right, there’s a saying that crisis is just another word for opportunity.
With my funds dwindling from buying crops to plant, this was a blessing.
I asked Marchen, eyes gleaming.
“Marchen, what’s the max limit for a bet?”
“Huh? One million karats.”
“Great. Then I’ll bet the whole million on myself.”
“…Well, it’s up to you. The match will be three rounds. If you want the highest payout, you’ll need to predict the outcome of each round. What’ll it be?”
Judging by his doubtful look, Marchen probably thought I was being reckless.
So, the more accurate my guesses, the higher the payout, huh?
I thought it over, then counted out my choices on my fingers.
“Then, loss, loss, win.”
“Two losses and one win? Why would you throw away a million karats like that?”
“It’s not throwing it away.”
My eyes met Luke’s as he prepared his bow.
I couldn’t afford to show all my cards before the official selection round.
So in this match, I’d have to win by the slimmest margin possible, making it look like luck, not skill, that got me the victory.
I added with a steady voice.
“I’m just setting them up to let their guard down.”
At the far end of the arena, two target boards were set up.
Luke won the coin toss and took the first turn, assuming his drawing stance with a perfect expressionless face.
‘Damn, that form is flawless.’
With meticulous precision, Luke held his stance, not a single movement out of place.
His composed form drew gasps of admiration, and I wasn’t the only one impressed; a roar erupted from the crowd.
Luke held his breath, released the drawn bowstring, and his arrow flew, drawing an arc before striking the target.
“Ten points!”
Just as everyone expected, Luke’s arrow had hit the bullseye.
Amidst the cheers, it was my turn.
With a tense expression, I bit my lower lip and released my shot, watching it veer off to the target’s edge.
“Argh, six points!”
“What a joke. Who in the world thought it’d be smart to compete with Luke?”
Instead of cheers, mocking jeers filled the stands.
Disheartened, I checked my score, and Luke chuckled.
“I guess they no longer say archery is a Sacre specialty.”
“……”
“And Jerome won’t be able to help you this time, will he? Such a pity.”
Despite his words, Luke looked anything but sympathetic as he aimed and released his second arrow, once again striking dead center.
In stark contrast, my second arrow…
“Five points!”
With our combined scores, Luke had twenty points to my eleven.
The audience was practically certain of Luke’s victory, but he calmly readied his next shot, unfazed by the crowd’s reaction.
Seizing the moment, I spoke to him.
“About Carlisle.”
Luke’s hand holding the bowstring flinched, and he exhaled as if troubled.
“Did you know he asked me to join the Flare Guild?”
“……”
“Of course, I turned him down. I wasn’t interested.”
A faint tremor crossed Luke’s otherwise calm gaze.
It was the sort of thing only a villain would do, provoking the one they liked, but I had no choice.
My goal wasn’t to play the good guy—I was here to win.
Smiling bashfully, I brought a hand to my cheek.
“I was honestly shocked. I didn’t expect a kiss in the library last time.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, Luke’s arrow missed the target.
The crowd fell silent, followed by a growing murmur of disbelief.
“No way, Luke missed?”
“What just happened?”
Luke’s expression twisted in frustration as he turned to me.
“What are you doing? That was cheap.”
“Cheap? Archery is about concentration and focus. You should’ve trained to ignore distractions.”
Unfazed by Luke’s glare, I shot back.
In Korea, archery athletes train in noisy places to handle distractions, even practicing in busy stadiums or during heavy rain.
Luke, with no such training, was thrown off by my interference. He scoffed bitterly.
“You are…”
Muttering as if in disbelief, he rubbed his mouth, looking like he’d taken a hit.
Refocusing, I recalled advice from my coach.
“Eunsoo, in archery, there’s something called a shoot-off. If there’s no clear winner after a set number of shots, it’s all down to one final arrow. In a shoot-off, think as if you’ll die if you miss that shot.”
Taking a deep breath, I prepared my final arrow.
With Luke at twenty points and me at eleven, I needed a bullseye to win by a single point.
“No turning back now.”
I aimed at the target, concentrating every nerve on my fingertips.
The crowd, which had been mocking me moments ago, held its breath, awaiting my final shot.
“I have to win.”
Feeling my pupils dilate, I released the taut bowstring.
The arrow sliced through the air, striking the target with a resounding thud.
I held my breath as the result became clear.
* * *
I hope she wins ahhhh
Our Jeanne is gonna be rich lmao
👍
Jeanne wins she shoots she scores
Thanks