Breaking Off the Engagement with the Demon King - Chapter 11

“Milord, if we’re talkin’ about someone bein’ thrown down the stairs… wasn’t that Donovan?”

Arviga casually tossed the comment out while shoveling a mountain of cake from a large plate into his mouth. Apparently, he’d already finished the turkey.

(Someone stop him from eating already! …No, wait, more importantly—)

The name Donovan instantly struck a chord with the audience, who mentally shouted in unison.

Donovan—once a student of the Academy—was the son of a count.

While the title of count sat somewhere in the middle of the noble hierarchy, Donovan’s father was none other than the Commander of the Royal Knights, which made his household one of the most influential in the kingdom.

He had inherited his father’s impressive physique, and his skills in both swordsmanship and academics were exceptional. With that pedigree, Donovan carried himself with considerable arrogance, and his presence at the academy had been downright oppressive.

Feared by many students and even a handful of teachers, he had nonetheless vanished one day—without warning.
When the news spread, the academy had practically erupted in joy.
Still, no one knew exactly what had happened.
Teachers kept their lips sealed, and eventually, people stopped asking questions altogether.

“Donovan…? Ah, yeah, that guy. The one who picked a fight with me.”

Shou tilted his head slightly as he recalled the name.
The gallery, once again, was thrown into an uproar.

“He what!?”

Donovan, son of the Royal Knight Commander, undoubtedly ranked high in the Academy’s social ladder.
But Shou—heir to the most powerful martial house in the kingdom—outranked him not only within the academy, but also in national status.

That Donovan had picked a fight with someone like Shou… was an unbelievable revelation.

Then again, Donovan was known for his pride.
Many could easily imagine him resenting the fact that Shou was above him in any way.

“If I remember right,” Arviga continued, mouth full of cake, “he called ya a ‘runt’ and told you to come at him any time. Then you just nailed him with a front kick, dropped him like a sack of bricks, hoisted him up, and tossed him head-first down the stairs. Wasn’t even a full minute before he was out cold.”

(Wait—one kick!? And you threw him down the stairs—head first!?)

Donovan had been a mountain of a man—at least two heads taller than Shou, with arms like tree trunks.
And Shou, who was built more on the lean side, had flattened him in seconds?

The gallery visibly shuddered.
The part about tossing him headfirst down the stairs was particularly horrifying.

“I didn’t mean to drop him head-first. I was planning to toss him so he’d land on his back. He tried to run while I was lifting him, and messed up the trajectory.”

Shou explained the mishap with a hint of frustration, shaking his head.

(You were planning to gently throw him down the stairs!? THAT’S your idea of holding back!?)

Though they were internally screaming, the audience now understood clearly:

This was why Donovan never came back to the Academy.

And if Donovan—twice Shou’s size and armed with elite training—had been so thoroughly defeated, then the idea of Strey, the delicate “string bean,” being bullied…

Didn’t hold much water.

In fact, many of them came to the same conclusion:

If Shou had really been bullying him… a guy who wet himself from a stare would’ve dropped out long ago.