Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 111

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 111. The Emperor Is a Tyrant. The Princess Is a Budding Tyrant (3)
“Hmm, I can borrow money from Father, but where do I find people….”
As I sat at my desk, poring over various documents with deep concentration, my beloved mentor Marshmallow tapped the blackboard sharply.
“We’re in the middle of class, Your Highness. Save your bright and healthy tyranny plans for later.”
“I’m keeping up with the lesson content.”
“Then tell me the answer to the differential equation I just gave.”
“Seven or eight.”
“That’s not solving the equation—you’re just reading my question patterns!”
“So was I wrong?”
“You got it right!”
If I got it right, that’s what matters—why are you making a fuss about it! If you realize your questions have become predictable, maybe fix that!
In any case, since it wasn’t my fault, I shot back with perfect logic, and the plump Marshmallow seemed so wronged that tears even glistened in his eyes.
“Since you already know everything anyway, why don’t we help with Pisha’s plan instead?”
Shirley, you’re going to make Marshmallow actually cry. Even Croa, who was diligently working on problems over there, has his eyes wide open.
In any case, since it seemed unlikely I’d ever use advanced mathematics in my future life, I told them to continue the lesson without me, and Marshmallow pouted and approached me.
“There’s no such thing as useless learning. Let’s resolve Pisha’s business first, then continue with the material.”
“So you’re calling me Pisha too in the end….”
“Everyone calls you that anyway, so what does it matter.”
Fine, let’s go for the challenge of being called Pisha by the entire nation.
I had Shirley and Croa push their desks together so I could show everything at a glance, then spread out the documents. We decided to renovate an old building in the Printing District for the location, and settled on using the name Imperial Kisomalos Daily News.
For now we’d only service the Capital, and if things went well later, we’d expand nationwide, but finding talented writers to produce articles was proving incredibly difficult. Most capable people were already contracted with or employed by the two major newspapers that had a stranglehold on the Kisomalos Press.
“Who do I know who’s deeply interested in politics and society, has unnecessary amounts of drive and initiative, but is either unemployed or not busy with their main job!”
“Um… Your Highness.”
As I tore at my hair crying out where on earth I could find such people, Marshmallow retraced our past as if exasperated.
“Weren’t there plenty of such people in the Political Detention Center?”
“…Huh?”
Oh right? Those people were all deeply interested in politics and society, harbored resentment toward Helbatro, had unnecessary amounts of drive and initiative, went around cursing Helbatro, and got dragged in? But I want the front page to always carry heartwarming news about the Imperial Family and Vishnabel, so wouldn’t those rebellious friends be dissatisfied?
“If you prioritize hiring people with poor livelihoods, it should work out. Most worldly matters are resolved with money anyway.”
“Oh, oh….”
When the brother of the Minister of Finance—who’d been executed by quartering for nothing but embezzlement, corruption, and bribery—said such things, it carried real weight. I praised Marshmallow for accomplishing something great and asked if there was anything he wanted as a reward.
“If Your Highness would just listen carefully to my lessons going forward.”
“No way!”
“Then just for one month.”
“Hmm….”
A week or so seemed realistically manageable. When I proposed a specific timeframe, Marshmallow let out a long sigh and nodded.
“Then please listen carefully for one week starting today.”
“Fine. Differential equations seem utterly useless in life, but I’ll listen.”
“They’re useful.”
“How so.”
“University entrance exams and such.”
“The Princess doesn’t attend university.”
Marshmallow, you cunning creature—just because Shirley’s going to university, you thought you’d pressure me too? What kind of heir to the throne attends university anywhere in the world!
“But the Princess of the Astyages Empire attends university, Your Highness.”
“She must be far from the line of succession.”
“She’s the First Princess, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Crown Princes and Crown Princesses—or anyone with eyes on the throne—shouldn’t harbor such ambitions. That family’s internal strife is absolute chaos, which is why factions formed, but in any properly functioning royal family, once the legitimate heir is established, the lower-ranking members don’t covet the throne unless the primary heir dies.
And I have this obligation to live like a reckless fool, so I’m fated to never attend school diligently.
“University is quite enjoyable, Your Highness. Friends gather together and go around throwing Molotov cocktails.”
“Why would the Princess throw Molotov cocktails!”
This wretch’s adoptive father supposedly sprayed sewage when he went out in public, and now he keeps trying to drag me in that direction. Though I’ll admit, I do have a fondness for Molotov cocktails myself. The anecdote about commoners using them instead of grenades against tanks is rather impressive.
“If the Emperor strays from the path, then naturally Your Highness must take up the torch.”
“If you don’t want to be imprisoned again, keep conducting your lessons properly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Marshmallow, thanks to my brother, you escaped the Political Detention Center and landed a job as a tutor at the Imperial Palace—so show some gratitude and hide your true nature while teaching well.
I appreciate that our Marshmallow, as the Princess’s teacher, doesn’t solicit bribes by trading on that connection, but every chance he gets, he tries to shove a Molotov cocktail into my hands, which is a real problem. Well, that makes him a fellow inmate with Prisoner, I suppose.
After Marshmallow’s lesson ended, I sought out Teacher Lee, the Pankration instructor, since we had physical education next. Teacher Lee seemed pleased with how well we followed his instruction and agreed to teach us the family’s secret martial art, which he called “Jeet Kune Do”—a new martial discipline that borrows the best techniques from existing combat forms like boxing and fencing.
“Pisha and Shirley will focus primarily on leg techniques.”
“You too are calling me Pisha…”
“Lower body muscle development shows almost no difference between men and women, so this will be a truly invaluable weapon for you! A proper strike is absolutely lethal!”
Now he’s not even listening to me anymore. And I’m supposedly a princess of an entire nation.
It’s nice and endearing when someone uses a friendly nickname, but if you let the walls down too much, the other person might make a serious mistake. Well, Marshmallow and Teacher Lee are both prudent people, so they won’t overstep.
“Oh, now that I think about it, the war between Aelset and Lorowi ended ages ago—has there been no word of a new instructor?”
“Regarding that matter, the Lorowi Marquis has delegated full authority to the Emperor.”
“What? My Maternal Grandmother?”
Thinking of my Aunt, who dragged out the war with Aelset for years, brings tears to my eyes—but my Maternal Grandmother took command and had Aelset withdraw in just one month.
Her divine power is formidable, and she unleashed some devastating attacks, but she pursued the fleeing Aelset forces with such relentless determination that she either killed or captured them all, leaving Aelset with no capacity to raise an army again for years to come.
Still, she’s entrusted my entire upbringing to Father—my Maternal Grandmother must really like him. People mimic others’ ways of expressing affection, but does genuine favor actually exist beneath it all? But why does that Chamberlain like Father so much?
“Remember the footwork! Block the opponent’s advance with your foot, then strike the jaw!”
Oh, this requires rhythm—it’s a bit tricky. We let out spirited kiais as we earnestly followed Teacher Lee’s instruction.
After class, there was a peculiar and vague nap schedule. We ate an early dinner, slept for a bit, and when I woke up, the sun was setting. Rubbing my eyes and looking out the window, I saw a strangely dressed group outside making quite a commotion.
“Ende, why are you wearing hiking clothes for an outing—hiking clothes!”
“The common people wear them frequently.”
“Hahahaha! Hahahaha!”
“You have no right to laugh! Why are you wearing that quilted jacket!”
“But this is quite comfortable, I must say.”
“Chiron and his lot should all drop dead, seriously!”
Whatever’s happening, the Head Attendant Grandmother is having quite the day. As I yawned, the costume attendant Emily scooped me up and changed me into outdoor wear. Seeing the design was much more subdued than usual, I had a feeling I could piece together what was happening.
“Is there an outing planned?”
“I have nothing to report, Your Highness.”
So that’s what it meant to have my mouth sealed shut. Once Shirley and Croa had changed into fresh clothes, Father, the Chief Chamberlain, and Choco filed into my room in a line. And then they said something completely out of the blue.
“Miss Pisha, we’re heading to the Night Market right now!”
“…Why?”
The Night Market—that place that opens once a month for the Capital’s tourism industry, packed with crowds but nothing worth seeing, infested with unsanitary street vendors and illegal peddlers hawking their wares. I asked why on earth we had to go there, and the Chief Chamberlain let out a deep sigh before explaining what she’d learned from experience.
“The moment anyone in Kisomalos is old enough to walk on their own, they start throwing tantrums demanding to go to the Night Market.”
I had no idea. So our household had such a tradition.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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