Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 66: Change of Strategy (The Royal Game)
Sol-Regis Royal Academy – Student Council Room. One Week After Riven’s Wedding.
The Student Council Room was a sanctuary of cold, obsidian marble and polished mahogany. Every piece of furniture in the hall felt heavy, as if weighted down by the centuries of history that the Academy prided itself on. Along the walls hung the gilded portraits of previous kings and distinguished alumni, their painted eyes seemingly judging every student who walked across the floor. This was the undisputed epicenter of student power—the place where social standing was reinforced, and where the academic fate of the lesser nobility was decided with the stroke of a fountain pen.
Prince Caelus sat in the high-backed president’s chair, which served as a miniature version of the throne he would likely never inherit.
He wasn’t practicing his swordsmanship today. Instead, he clutched a translucent porcelain tea cup, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as the liquid rippled inside. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of General Riven’s cold, shark-like smile and the crushing weight of that gauntleted hand on his shoulder returned to haunt him. The phantom pain in his collarbone made him flinch, a physical reminder that some men didn’t care about royal titles.
"My hands... they tend to slip sometimes."
Caelus slammed the cup onto the saucer with a sharp clatter that echoed through the silent hall.
"That Northern bastard..." Caelus hissed through gritted teeth. "Does he truly believe he can intimidate a Prince of the blood in his own capital? Does he think a few machines and a loud voice make him my equal?"
"Your Highness," a hulking senior student—the same one Riven had knocked senseless a week ago—entered the room. His face was still a patchwork of fading bruises and bandages. "The boys are ready. We’ve secured several iron-weighted training clubs. When should we corner Raphael again? Riven has already returned to the North, hasn’t he? There’s no one left to protect the brat."
Caelus turned his gaze toward the senior, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and absolute disgust.
"Are you an idiot? Do you have a death wish?"
"B-But, Your Highness... we can’t let that freshman walk around like he owns the place! It’s a disgrace to the senior class!"
"Listen to me," Caelus stood up, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the main training courtyard. "We will not touch a single hair on Raphael’s head. Not with our hands, at least. Riven is a mad dog. If his brother returns home with so much as a scratch, that man is liable to march a battalion of iron tanks to the school gates and claim it was a ’security exercise.’ I am arrogant, not suicidal."
"Then... we just let him win? We let him sit at the Duke’s table and mock us?"
Caelus offered a thin, calculating smile—the smile of a predator who had realized that a trap was far more effective than a direct pounce.
"Who said anything about letting him win? There are countless ways to destroy a man without shedding a drop of blood. We will use the one weapon those barbarians from the North haven’t mastered yet. A weapon that requires patience, not muscle."
Caelus picked up a heavy parchment from his desk, embossed with the crimson Royal Seal of the Student Council.
"Bureaucracy."
A dark, obsessive light flickered in Caelus’s eyes as he thought of someone else. "...And besides, every time I squeeze Raphael, his beautiful sister is forced to come to me to plead his case. I find myself... missing the sound of her voice. She has a way of looking at me that makes everyone else seem dull."
The Main Corridor – The Magical Bulletin Board. Midday.
A dense crowd of students had gathered in front of the large, flickering mana-screen that served as the Academy’s primary notice board. The air was thick with the scent of expensive parchment and the excited chatter of students anticipating the upcoming festivities.
Raphael and Vance, his tactical advisor, pushed their way through the sea of whispering nobles. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞
"What’s the commotion?" Raphael asked, his voice steady despite the uneasy feeling in his gut.
"The Summer Festival Committee appointments, Boss," Vance replied, adjusting his thick spectacles. "Usually, the leadership roles go to third-years or children of the High Council. It’s a way to pad their resumes before they enter the Ministry. But this year... there’s a strange outlier."
Raphael looked up at the glowing board. His name was shimmering in bright, magical gold at the very top of a specific, albeit unusual, section:
HEAD OF LOGISTICS, SANITATION, AND SITE MAINTENANCE:
RAPHAEL SUDRATH (1ST YEAR).
The surrounding students began to snicker, their whispers sharp and cruel.
"Head of Logistics and Sanitation? That’s just a fancy title for ’Chief Garbage Man’."
"The son of a Duke being told to manage the portable toilets and the trash bins? The Prince has a wicked sense of humor."
"I guess the Northern Lion’s roar doesn’t mean much when there’s a mop in his hand. Welcome to the working class, Sudrath."
Raphael’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain.
It wasn’t just the role itself; it was the calculated public humiliation. Forcing the youngest son of House Sudrath—the wealthiest family in the kingdom—to act as the foreman for the school’s waste management during the biggest social event of the year was a stinging slap in the face to his family’s prestige. It was a message: No matter how much gold you have, you are still the one who cleans up after us.
"Easy, Boss," Vance whispered, his hand catching Raphael’s elbow. "Don’t give them the satisfaction of an outburst. This is a trap designed to make you snap. If you refuse, it’s insubordination against the Student Council and the Crown. If you accept, you’re the ’Trash King’ of the Academy. Stay calm."
Suddenly, the sound of rhythmic, polished footsteps accompanied by the faint clinking of royal medals echoed through the hall. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, bowing as a figure approached.
Prince Caelus arrived, flanked by his council members. He wore a mask of perfectly tailored friendliness—a smile that didn’t reach his cold, calculating blue eyes.
"Congratulations, Raphael," Caelus said loudly, ensuring every ear in the corridor was listening. "The Council has recognized your... ’industrial’ background. Your family is so good at building things in the mud, we felt logistics was the perfect fit. Logistics is the heart of the festival. We trust that you will ensure the cleanliness and comfort of the Academy with the same efficiency your family uses to pave roads."
"Logistics and Sanitation?" Raphael stared Caelus down, his gaze a blade of ice that would have made a weaker man flinch. "Usually, these tasks are handled by scholarship students or the professional grounds staff. Why me, Your Highness? Surely there are seniors more suited for ’maintenance’?"
"Because you are special, Raphael," Caelus leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper meant only for the boy’s ears. "Think of it as mental conditioning. Your brother might be a General out in the mud, but in these walls... you are merely my subordinate. My janitor. Now, get to work. The rear warehouses are a disaster, and they need to be cleared by sunset."
Raphael felt the hot, familiar Sudrath rage bubbling in his chest. He wanted to swing. He wanted to feel the Prince’s jaw crack under his fist just as Riven had described in his "training sessions."
But then, he remembered Roland’s voice, echoing from a training session months ago: "If an enemy hands you a pile of trash, Raphael, you don’t throw it back. You refine it into gold, then sell it back to them at ten times the price. Control the things no one else wants to touch, and you control the foundation of their world."
Raphael took a long, slow breath, forcing the fire down into a cold, hard ember of resolve.
"Very well, Your Highness," Raphael said, his voice dropping into a chilling, polite monotone. "I accept the appointment. I will ensure... that not a single speck of dust disturbs your royal nose during the festivities. It will be a festival you will never forget."
Caelus laughed, a sound of pure triumph. "Excellent. Your duties begin immediately."
As Caelus turned to leave, a commotion broke out at the far end of the hall.
Raveena Sudrath was descending the stairs of the Magic Tower, her navy-blue cloak billowing behind her. Her face, usually a mask of calm, aristocratic poise, was clouded with worry. She had clearly heard the news through the school’s lightning-fast rumor mill.
"Raphael!" Raveena called out.
She pushed through the crowd and reached her brother, her hands immediately checking his face and shoulders for any sign of a physical altercation. "Are you alright? I heard they assigned you... that task? It’s an insult to Father!"
Caelus’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her. The bait had been taken. The "Janitor" move had served its true purpose.
"Lady Raveena," Caelus said, his tone shifting into a rehearsed, soft baritone. He adjusted his posture, smoothing his tunic and trying to look every bit the dashing prince. "What a pleasant coincidence to find you here."
Raveena turned toward the Prince. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut silk, but she maintained her flawless etiquette, performing a swift, elegant curtsy.
"Your Highness," Raveena said. "I understand you have appointed my brother to manage the festival’s sanitation? Is that not a bit excessive for a first-year student whose family contributes more to the royal treasury than half the Council combined?"
"Oh, it’s not a punishment, Lady Raveena," Caelus said, feigning an air of wounded innocence. "It is a position of immense trust. However... I do understand a sister’s concern for her younger brother’s workload. It is quite a lot for one boy to handle."
Caelus stepped closer, encroaching on Raveena’s personal space. He could smell the faint scent of lilies—the Sudrath family’s signature perfume. It made his head swim, a strange contrast to the cold logic he usually employed.
"Tell you what," Caelus suggested. "I am a reasonable man. I could easily assign Raphael an army of fifty assistants, or perhaps move the more... ’aromatic’ duties to someone else entirely."
"And the condition?" Raveena asked, her voice wary and low.
"Nothing strenuous," Caelus offered a charming, boyish grin that felt entirely out of place. "Simply... join me for tea this afternoon in the Royal Rose Garden. I find myself in need of an intelligent perspective to discuss the festival’s budget allocation. Your family is famous for its financial acumen, after all. It would be a strictly professional consultation."
Raveena went silent.
She knew exactly what this was. Caelus was using Raphael as a hostage to force her into a date. Raphael, standing behind her, was already shaking his head violently, his eyes screaming DON’T DO IT, SIS! I’LL MOP THE WHOLE DAMN ACADEMY MYSELF!
But Raveena looked at the sheer volume of tasks on the glowing mana-board. She saw the "Accidental" difficulty spikes Caelus had built into Raphael’s schedule—tasks that would take weeks for one person to finish. She couldn’t let her brother be enslaved by petty bureaucracy while he was supposed to be studying.
Besides, it was just tea. And she had the concentrated pepper spray Rhea had given her tucked into a hidden pocket in her dress. She was safe.
Raveena let out a soft sigh and offered her best "Business Mask."
"Just a discussion on the budget and a cup of tea, Your Highness?"
"You have my word as a Prince," Caelus said, his heart hammering with a excitement he hadn’t felt in years.
"Very well. I accept your invitation," Raveena replied. "For the sake of my brother’s academic focus."
"Marvelous!" Caelus looked like a child who had just been handed the sun, though he tried to maintain his ’cool’ exterior for the sake of the watching students. "I shall collect you at four o’clock from the Magic Wing dormitory."
Caelus turned to his aide, his voice regaining its command. "You heard the Lady. Assign fifty auxiliary staff members to Raphael immediately. We wouldn’t want the Young Master to be too exhausted for his studies."
Caelus walked away with a light, rhythmic step, actually whistling a small tune. His strategy was a resounding success. He had humiliated the brother and secured time with the sister.
The Logistics Warehouse – Rear Academy Grounds. One Hour Later.
Raphael kicked a heavy, empty crate across the dusty floor in a fit of absolute rage.
"Dammit! He’s using me as bait to get to my sister! That golden-haired vulture! I should have broken his nose when I had the chance!"
Vance, meanwhile, was calmly reviewing a disorganized inventory ledger. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes glinting with a sudden, sharp intelligence that reminded Raphael of Rianor.
"Boss, stop kicking the equipment. This is technically a trap, yes," Vance said. "But it is also a massive operational loophole. Caelus is so blinded by his desire to humiliate you that he forgot the first rule of warfare: never give your enemy control of your supply lines."
"Loophole? What are you talking about, Vance?" Raphael snapped. "I’m the janitor! I’m the guy who moves the toilets!"
"No, Boss," Vance said, turning the ledger toward him. "Your title is Head of Logistics. That means you hold the literal keys to the food stores, the equipment warehouses, and—most importantly—the access permits for the main stage."
Vance pointed to a specific section of the inventory.
"Prince Caelus and the Student Council need a grand stage, a premium sound system, and top-tier catering for their opening speech, don’t they? They want to impress the foreign ambassadors from the Southern Kingdoms and the Iron Empire."
"Yeah? So?"
"Well... if the Head of Logistics happens to experience a ’delivery delay’ for the microphones... or if the VIP seats are ’accidentally’ misplaced in a different warehouse five miles away... or if the Prince’s personal catering arrives ’unexpectedly’ spoiled due to a refrigeration storage malfunction..."
Raphael froze. A slow, dark grin began to spread across his face—a grin that was a perfect mirror of Roland’s whenever he was about to bankrupt a rival merchant in a trade war.
"I hold this entire event by the throat," Raphael mummured.
"Precisely," Lily, the spy, added as she emerged from behind a stack of velvet chairs. "And some extra intel, Boss: Caelus is a perfectionist. He’s obsessed with looking flawless in front of the King and the diplomats. If the lights flicker or the food is late, it won’t be the ’Janitor’ who is blamed in the royal records—it will be the Prince who failed to manage his own committee."
Raphael chuckled, his anger completely evaporated, replaced by the cold thrill of an upcoming sabotage. Caelus thought he had given Raphael the ’dirty work.’ In reality, he had just handed him the Operational Control of his own reputation.
"Alright," Raphael said, clicking his mechanical pen. "Let’s play the game."
"Vance, audit every asset. We’re going to create the most efficient logistics plan in the history of this school—but we’re going to lock every ’premium’ item behind a wall of red tape that only ’our people’ can bypass. We make them beg for every chair."
"Lily, start a rumor that Prince Caelus is planning a ’massive, secret surprise’ for the opening ceremony. Build the expectations so high that even a minor mistake will look like a catastrophic failure on his part."
Raphael looked toward the distant spires of the Rose Garden. "And as for Sister Raveena... Sis, just hold that crocodile’s attention for a little while longer. I’m going to make him regret he ever tried to use a Sudrath as a pawn."
The Royal Rose Garden – 16:00 PM.
Under a beautiful white marble gazebo draped in climbing lavender vines, Prince Caelus sat opposite Raveena Sudrath.
The table was set with the finest Earl Grey tea and an assortment of delicate, pastel-colored pastries. The garden was magically maintained; despite the coming heat of summer, the roses were in full, vibrant bloom, filling the air with a cloyingly sweet aroma that would have been romantic if the circumstances weren’t so forced.
Caelus looked impeccably groomed. He had adjusted his hair three times before leaving his room and was wearing a silk doublet that cost as much as a small farm. Opposite him, Raveena sat perfectly straight—the image of frozen, aristocratic grace. Her right hand remained close to the fold of her skirt, where her pepper spray and her telescopic staff were hidden.
"Is the tea to your liking, Lady Raveena?" Caelus asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice came out a bit stiff and rehearsed.
"It is excellent, Your Highness," Raveena replied briefly, her eyes scanning the garden for any hidden guards. "Now, regarding the budget allocation for the pyrotechnics display..."
"Ah, let us forget the numbers for a moment," Caelus waved a hand dismissively. "I simply wanted to... talk. We rarely get the chance to speak without your rather protective brother glaring at me from the shadows as if I were an assassin."
"My brother is not protective. He is attentive," Raveena corrected him smoothly, taking a measured sip of her tea.
Caelus laughed awkwardly. "Yes, yes. Attentive. A family trait, it seems."
He looked at Raveena. The afternoon sun caught the dark strands of her hair, making them shimmer with a hidden depth. His heart began to race. He was a Prince who could command thousands, a boy used to the fawning of commoners, but in front of this girl, he felt like a novice soldier facing a veteran knight.
"You know..." Caelus began, his voice dropping into a softer, more honest register that surprised even himself. "I actually envy you."
Raveena raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Envy us? House Sudrath? But you are a Prince of the realm. You have everything."
"That is exactly the problem," Caelus looked down, swirling the tea in his cup. "I am the Seventh Prince. The youngest son. My first brother is the perfect Crown Prince. My second brother is a legendary War General. My third brother is a High Archmage whose name is written in the stars."
"And me? I am the ’Spare.’ The backup for the backups. No one truly cares what I do, as long as I don’t embarrass the crown or cause a diplomatic incident. I am a ghost in my own palace, Raveena. I am surrounded by people, yet I am entirely alone."
Raveena remained silent. She was seeing a different side of the arrogant Prince—the side of a lonely child who had built towering walls of pride to hide a hollow, aching center. It reminded her of how Rianor used to be before they all bonded as a family.
"The Sudraths..." Caelus continued, his voice trembling slightly. "You protect one another with a ferocity that is... frightening. Riven came to this school just for Raphael. You are sitting here, tolerating me, just for Raphael. You are a complete unit. You are... whole."
Caelus looked into Raveena’s eyes, his gaze intense yet tinged with a deep-seated sadness.
"What does it feel like? To have someone who will come screaming in rage if you are ever hurt? To know that you aren’t just a placeholder in a dynasty?"
Raveena slowly released her grip on the hidden pepper spray in her pocket. Her heart, soft by nature despite her family’s reputation, felt a tiny prick of genuine empathy. She set her teacup down with a soft chink.
"It feels noisy, Your Highness," Raveena answered honestly, a faint, real smile touching her lips. "It is incredibly loud, inconvenient, and often incredibly embarrassing. But... it is grounding. It feels like having a foundation that no earthquake can shake. It makes the world seem less terrifying."
"Grounding," Caelus repeated the word as if it were a for
