- 3 - Behind the Scenes with the Newcomers and the News Announcement, Part 3
It all began with a rumor—a seemingly harmless one, born from a whisper at a banquet, or perhaps a calculated whisper in the shadows of diplomacy.
The rumor that our research institute had caught the eye of the sixth-generation patriarch, a man whose gaze alone had the weight to shift entire political landscapes.
You see, the Prince of our nation—so polished, so dignified—rarely shows interest in anything outside his royal duties. But there is one exception.
One subject that stirs genuine curiosity in him as an individual rather than as a prince: magical devices.
Particularly, those tied to the fabled Lake of Wisdom, now lost to the world, existing only in fragments—ornamental relics and whispered theories.
It was common knowledge across nations: should the Lake of Wisdom be restored, prosperity would follow.
Researchers specializing in its mysteries, regardless of their common birth, were treated with unprecedented respect. In some kingdoms, paradisiacal facilities were erected to attract the gifted.
Nobles fought over them—not just to boast of their family’s brilliance, but to marry into genius, to entwine bloodlines with knowledge. Status, gold, influence—none of it was spared in this pursuit.
And so, our institute became the perfect stage.
At last year’s end-of-year celebration, our director, old as the stones but twice as stubborn, made a declaration:
“Not until death—or rather, not even then. I’ll research for ten more years at least.”
It was said half in jest, half in defiance.
But none of us—no one in that room—imagined that these words would unravel the peace.
The vice-director, always quiet, always the shadow of the institution, took the words differently.
No one noticed her shift.
No one thought anything was wrong until the news broke.
By then, it was too late.
On the morning it all began, it took three hours to reach the research institute from the city gates, the roads jammed with applicants and gawkers.
The decoding team had barely been prepared—only fragments of the ancient data had been recovered.
But panic spread like wildfire.
Order had to be maintained.
Lottery tickets were distributed for those wishing to join, but even that required two weeks and the intervention of the state’s civil forces.
Why the chaos?
Because the news spread. From bulletin to broadsheet.
From merchant to border. Hopefuls poured in from other nations, only to be met with armies stationed at the borders.
Our monarchy and government issued warnings, urging foreign powers to impose entry limits. But suspicion grew: Is our country planning to hoard this rediscovered legacy?
Tensions escalated.
War was feared.
A compromise was struck.
Rather than direct entry to the institute, preliminary screenings would be held in each country.
Only those who passed could then enter our land.
And even then, they had to sign a sacred contract—one that ensured no harm to our nation, no leaking of research, and absolute confidentiality.
Only then could they join the decoding team.
Naturally, power struggles ensued.
To prevent the corruption of the process, it was decided that nations would only send individuals with the right qualifications and sufficient backing to ensure smooth diplomacy.
Among them, a few noble daughters aspiring to marry the prince, and a handful of true researchers—selected as assistants.
Why assistants?
The reason was simple.
The prince, burdened with national duties, couldn’t participate full-time.
The noble daughters had no intention of researching unless the prince was present.
It was laughably transparent.
And yet, this was no tale born of imagination.
It had the hallmarks of a tired plotline from a dusty novel—but it was happening.
Right here, right now.
And yes, the sixth-generation patriarch’s granddaughter was among them.
In the Flame Continent, there are no monarchs, no nobles.
Power lies in the hands of the entrepreneurs.
But there were rumors—strong ones—that the current director of the Lake of Wisdom Institute hailed from the same lineage as the exiled princess of the Gentle Rain Kingdom.
In ancient times, magical devices powered by the Lake had required certain bloodlines or bonds to function.
That legacy, combined with the granddaughter’s backing, ensured her entry as an assistant—despite objections.
Naturally, the Gentle Rain Kingdom did not remain silent.
If heritage was the deciding factor, they would send someone with purer royal blood.
And so, the daughter of the very family once betrothed to the rebellious fifth-generation ancestor was dispatched.
This girl was of true royal descent—a rightful princess with a tenuous but valid claim to the throne.
Surely she would be a more fitting partner for the prince, and a better candidate for the Lake’s future.
Such battles should have stayed on the political stage.
The fact they spilled into our nation, with no regard for the chaos they’d bring, was enough to disqualify them in the eyes of those truly involved in the work. Still, no one said anything.
Everyone expected that, in time, they’d violate the sacred contract on their own.
Perhaps, they wouldn’t even realize it.
And when they did—when they inevitably crossed the line—our nation would have already negotiated advantageous diplomatic terms, securing rights to restrict entry to their researchers and barring them from our data.
We only had to outlast them.
That’s all.
This storm, too, will pass.
At least… that’s what I want to believe.
