My Beloved Princess ~The Boy Called Incompetent Rises with Only a Sword and the Princess's Devotion~

Many races existed in this world.

Humans, beastkin, elves, halflings, dwarves, giants, fairies, winged folk—the variety was vast, but among them, one race was regarded as the strongest.

—The dragonkin.

As descendants of dragons, their bodies were robust and resilient, their strength immense. Furthermore, they possessed high-level magic resistance and resistance to status ailments. In particular, their resistance to fire, cold, and poison was nearly invincible. And their appearance was remarkably close to human, with many handsome men and beautiful women.

There was an academy run by this blessed race. Its name:

—Central Dragon Emperor Academy.

“Central” indicated its location. “Dragon Emperor” denoted the rank of its administrator.

A Dragon Emperor was equivalent to a human emperor—meaning this academy was directly controlled by the emperor himself.

Central was a renowned prestigious institution, with many sons and daughters of influential noble families enrolled.

The vast academy grounds were divided into two sections, with students separated according to merit. The Upper School consisted of the top 150 students by grades, while the Lower School comprised the bottom 150, for a total enrollment of 300 students per year. As a three-year institution, the total student body numbered 900. The gender ratio was 1:5 male to female, meaning each year had 25 males in the Lower School and 25 in the Upper School, for a total of 50 males.

The academy championed meritocracy. While Upper School students enjoyed generous treatment, Lower School students faced neglect. The separation of grounds between Upper and Lower Schools was part of this educational policy, with vastly different available facilities.

This meritocratic mindset had naturally permeated the student body as well. Even within the neglected Lower School, a hierarchical pyramid existed under student leadership, with the more capable occupying higher positions and earning admiration from their peers. Meanwhile, the less capable were relegated to lower positions and became targets of contempt.

And at the very bottom of that hierarchy—the lowest rung that everyone looked down upon—at rank 300 out of 300, sat that boy.

There was no longer any trace of the boy who’d cowered before the female instructors.

The day he decided not to accept fate. The day he decided to fight fate.

From that day, the boy began to change, bit by bit.

His gentle personality gradually became more combative.

“You filthy half-dragon. Did you leave all your dragonkin talent in your mama’s belly?”

“Theories should be proven through action. If you really think that, why not test it?”

When provoked by male students, he no longer adopted a submissive attitude but responded with firm resolve. He’d learned that backing down only encouraged them further. As a result, he’d gotten into fistfights multiple times.

At other times, female instructors had made snide remarks.

“Don’t you think you should voluntarily leave the academy?”

“No, I don’t. When I fail, you can expel me then.”

He’d coolly fired back. The female instructor had ground her teeth in frustration.

And so time passed, and three months went by.

“Yes! Take that! I actually did it!”

In the small garden allocated to the Lower School.

Leaning back against a bench set among the fresh greenery, Kishō looked up at the sky in exhilaration.

Clutched in his hand was his first semester grade report.

――――――――――――――――――

First Year, First Semester Grades

〇Required Subjects

・Swordsmanship …… Excellent

・Breath…… Fail

・Archery …… Good

〇Elective Magic

▽Choose one from Single-Attribute Magic

・Fire Attribute Magic …… Fail

▽Choose two from Common Magic

・Common Magical Formula Theory …… Fail

・Common Magic (Fundamentals) …… Fail

〇Overall Evaluation …… Pass

――――――――――――――――――

Central’s grading system used five levels: Excellent, Superior, Good, Pass, and Fail.

Receiving an overall evaluation of “Fail” meant being held back and possibly expelled.

Common Magic was applied study for developing attribute magic with unique characteristics. For example, combining fire magic with barrier magic—a type of common magic—allowed one to create barriers made of flame. This was how dragonkin grew: by extending their strengths in their affinity attributes.

Unfortunately, since Kishō had no attribute affinity, he’d received “Fail” grades across the board in magic. Similarly, regarding Breath—the dragonkin’s unique technique of projecting attribute energy from mouth or palm—since he couldn’t use it, he’d also received a “Fail.”

But more noteworthy than any of that was his swordsmanship grade. “Excellent” was the highest possible evaluation, and this grade was assessed comprehensively, including the Upper School. Only the top ten could achieve “Excellent.” In other words, at least in swordsmanship, he’d been recognized as fully capable of competing even in the Upper School.

Yet even that prestigious honor didn’t particularly matter to Kishō.

What mattered most was—

“I managed to clear the advancement threshold!”

The day he’d been branded incompetent.

The six female instructors overseeing the Lower School had formally demanded that Kishō withdraw. But from the moment he’d resolved to defy fate with everything he had—if innate talent was fate—his determination had been set. No matter how despised, no matter how cursed, no matter how mocked, his spirit would never break. Even if he had to cling to rocks, he’d remain at this academy.

“I refuse. I haven’t violated any school rules that would warrant expulsion.”

The female instructors hadn’t expected the timid boy to argue back. They seemed flustered, unable to immediately respond. He heard a shrill voice screaming “Have some shame!” but Kishō ignored it.

The headmaster’s office, located in the Upper School’s main building.

That room, decorated with lavish furnishings, was filled with a hostile atmosphere.

Breaking the silence was Headmaster Seiran. She placed both elbows on the glossy executive desk, arched the backs of her clasped hands to their limit, and spoke.

“Very well. If you wish to remain, then remain. However, if you fail any courses, you will be expelled. Understood?”

From that moment, Kishō’s goal became to advance to second year without failing any courses. And now, he’d cleared the first hurdle.

“Hah! When you really try, humans can manage somehow. Well, I’m only half human, though.”

He cracked a joke to himself, but sadly, it was just a monologue.

Leaning back against the bench, he looked up at the sky once more and stretched.

The sunlight burned his eyes.

It was currently lunch break.

While most students moved in groups, Kishō maintained his solitary existence.

Here and there throughout the garden, mixed groups of boys and girls chatted while holding their lunches. In human society, it was common for boys to group with boys and girls with girls. From Kishō’s perspective, having been raised in human society, this dragonkin style seemed strange.

Kishō was born to a human father and dragonkin mother—a half-human, half-dragon hybrid. He was born in the human city of Algant. His family home was a small house on a low hill in the outskirts of Algant. His father had died before Kishō was born, so until he turned fifteen and entered the academy, he’d been raised in a single-mother household.

As such, he wasn’t accustomed to dragonkin customs, culture, or common sense.

So when he first learned about their habits, it had been quite a cultural shock. He recited it aloud to review.

“They don’t have the concept of households but live by forming packs. Young packs consist of one or two males and four or five females…”

‘Just like lions,’ he mentally added, when suddenly a breath tickled his ear. Goosebumps ran down his spine.

“Oh my~? Has Shō-kun finally decided to form a pack?”

When he turned around, there stood a girl with short chestnut hair swaying—Ōka—grinning broadly. She wore the Central uniform: the dragon robe. Also called Eastern robes, the design used red and white as its base colors with gold thread embroidery on the collar and sleeves. Compared to the Upper School version, it naturally lacked glamour.

Meanwhile, Kishō also wore a dragon robe, but the male version. Made with blue and white fabric using silver thread for embroidery. The design differed slightly from the female students’ robes—less flowing sleeves, shorter hakama—emphasizing practicality.

Ōka giggled with her white hand—peeking from her sleeve—covering her mouth. Slightly annoyed, Kishō pouted.

“I’m just a humble commoner, so I’ve got no interest in packs. Besides, who’d want to join the pack of a dropout like me?”

Ōka leaned forward, peering at him.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Then will you join, Ōka?”

“That’s a hard pass!”

With a mischievous grin, Ōka answered instantly.

It didn’t hurt his feelings. This was just how their relationship worked.

“You really are a weirdo. I hereby grant you the title of Academy’s Biggest Weirdo.”

Dragonkin females liked strong males. So logically, no female should like Kishō, who had the worst grades in the academy. In fact, males weaker than oneself were considered worthless—that was the typical dragonkin female mindset. Utterly out of the question. Not even worth exchanging words with.

“And yet Ōka keeps hanging around me every single day. Are you that bored?”

Moreover, Ōka ranked fifth among Lower School first-year females—an honor student. She definitely occupied the upper caste and had no business associating with a dropout like Kishō. She should be paired with similarly high-ranking male students.

And yet, she casually said:

“Because Shō-kun, you’d get lonely all by yourself, right?”

“No way. I was just perfectly fine being a loner.”

“Wrong answer!”

A healthy white arm emerged from her dragon robe sleeve, and a finger shot out sharply.

Kishō felt a bit guilty and casually averted his gaze.

“Well, I am grateful. Thanks to you, I pulled myself together.”

If the girl he’d met beneath the Dragon King Tree had been the catalyst for his recovery, then the one who’d provided the driving force—the energy to actually recover—was the girl standing before him: Ōka.

The two traded casual banter like this regularly, their relationship that of friends. But she was also his benefactor. Even if the world turned upside down, he could never deny that debt.

“Good, as long as you understand!”

Smiling, Ōka grabbed and tugged at his sleeve—apparently wanting him to stand.

“What now? Going to buy lunch?”

Ōka grinned like a child who’d just thought of mischief.

“The Princess came to the Lower School grounds!”