Otaku Translation: I! Anomaly Cleansing Agent! C161

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Chapter 161: Who’s the Real Winner?

What a reckless fool.

Seeing the solemn atmosphere in the hall and the undisguised fury on the young prince’s face, the elder of muttered an oath under his breath. He quickly stepped forward to replace the hapless house head who had just stepped on every possible landmine, offering a placating smile as he interjected:

“It’s all the same, no need to rush. Whether it’s Prince Joshua or , both are children of His Majesty and naturally represent the crown and the royal family. It is our honor today to host either of them at this ceremony.”

Chuckling warmly, he added, “Come to think of it, the last time I saw you, you were only seven or eight years old, Your Highness. Look how time flies—you’re now attending such important events on behalf of the king himself!”

Hmph. How dare you compare me to her? You decrepit old fool.

The freckled boy—his cheeks marked by two irregular patches that made him look perpetually dirty—narrowed his eyes at the elder who had rushed out to smooth things over. Before he could retort further, however, a sharp pinch at his waist stopped him.

“Your Highness,” came the low, slightly irritated whisper of his etiquette tutor.

Glancing at the alarmed expression of the woman beside him, the freckled prince clenched his teeth and swallowed the scathing words already forming in his throat. Instead, with evident impatience, he snapped, “Fine. But when will your new duke arrive? Tell him to hurry up—we don’t have all day.”

“He’ll be here soon, very soon!”

Relieved to have finally pacified the arrogant and volatile prince, the two elders of House Lion exchanged a glance before ushering the guests back to their original positions. With forced smiles, they surrounded the young prince, exchanging pleasantries until the tense atmosphere dissolved into a semblance of harmony—until the distant sound of horses neighing disrupted the calm outside the estate.

“Your Grace, you’ve finally arrived… Hmm?”

Spotting the figure they’d been waiting for, the two elders hurried forward, eager to move the stalled proceedings along. But what they saw shocked them: the duke looked nothing like he had left. Gone were the meticulously applied makeup, the ornate accessories, and even the specially tailored ceremonial attire. In their place was a soiled shirtfront and an overall disheveled appearance.

Damn it. The duke looks like he’s fled from some disaster. Is this really how handled things?

As whispers rippled through the hall and the weight of judgmental stares bore down on them, the two elders felt dizzy with dread.

“Your Grace,” the house head began, his voice tinged with disbelief and frustration. “What happened to you? Where’s your makeup? Your clothes? And where’s Old York?”

“Uh…”

Caught off guard by the despairing gazes of the two elderly men, Leon—who moments earlier had nearly sent the steward into cardiac arrest—shifted uncomfortably. “Old York… Well, he suddenly had a heart attack. I barely managed to save him, and now he’s resting in the carriage. This stain on my chest? That’s from when he foamed at the mouth…”

Oh, come on. He was perfectly fine when we last saw him. What terrible timing!

Exchanging glances filled with resignation, the two elders silently acknowledged the gravity of the situation.

“Don’t panic; there’s still a way,” the elder said, taking a deep breath. Turning to the increasingly flustered house head, he instructed, “You keep the guests occupied while I take the duke backstage to redo his makeup and change his clothes. Once we fix this, perhaps we can salvage the ceremony…”

“No need for all that trouble—I’ll just say a few words.”

Though tempted to unleash another round of his infamous ultimatums (“either… or…”), Leon refrained, considering the advanced age of the two men before him. Instead, he brushed aside the house head’s restraining hand and strode confidently toward the main stage.

“Your Grace? Wait!”

“Hold on! What do you think you’re doing?”

What else? Getting rid of this cursed title as quickly as possible.

Ignoring the frantic calls behind him, Leon pushed past the crowd of guests and ascended the platform. Addressing those gathered below, he declared, “I’m here to make an announcement. If you insist on making me the duke, then I propose using the entirety of House Lion as…”

“Insolence!”

A familiar voice cut through the air, interrupting Leon mid-sentence. A certain Count infamous in the stepped forward, gesturing toward the sullen freckled youth in the front row. With thinly veiled malice, he goaded, “You dare show up late to the investiture and waste so much of our esteemed guests’ time without even apologizing?”

Ah, Pipsqueak, isn’t it?

Recognizing the speaker by the insignia on his chest, Leon ignored him entirely but followed the gesture to glance at the “esteemed guests” being referenced. On the left stood a noblewoman in a plain gown—the prime minister’s wife, whom Leon vaguely recognized from newspaper photos. She seemed amused enough to nod politely in his direction.

On the right was the freckled teenager whose antics had drenched Leon in mud and overturned carts earlier. This brat appeared furious, glaring daggers at Leon but held back (for now) by those around him.

Good. Let him stay put—it saves me the trouble.

---

Unfortunately, even as Leon dismissed the “honored guests” with a cursory glance and prepared to wrap up the ordeal, his piercing gaze betrayed more than he intended. Eyes, after all, are windows to the soul—and Leon’s were particularly transparent. Even a fleeting glance conveyed volumes about his disdain.

“How dare you!”

Meeting Leon’s dismissive sneer, Joshua snapped. Shaking off the restraining hand of his companion, the freckled prince lifted his chin, seething with rage. “You’re nothing but a lowly commoner who got lucky enough to inherit a title. How dare you look at me like that?”

…

Are you serious?

Caught off guard by the sudden tirade, Leon didn’t even have time to feel anger. Instead, he was genuinely bewildered. Seriously? This walking caricature of petulance and entitlement should’ve been extinct decades ago—a reject even from B-tier soap opera villains. And yet here he was.

Damn it. I’ll gouge those insolent eyes out.

Watching Leon’s expression shift from disdain to surprise, then to realization, and finally settling on pity, Joshua felt another wave of humiliation crash over him. His fury surged anew.

“You lowly—”

“Prince Joshua.”

It wasn’t just Leon who was stunned by the freckled prince’s sudden outburst. As the shock faded, the etiquette tutor beside him immediately intervened, pulling him back with a tight frown and reprimanding him sternly:

“Watch your manners. Don’t disgrace the royal family—or your sister.”

“Shut up.”

Shoving the unfortunate tutor aside, the freckled prince, veins bulging in fury, stomped his foot and shouted:

“She is her, and I am me! Stop dragging Veronica’s crap onto me. I’m my own person—not some knockoff copy of hers.”

“And you.”

Glaring at the person on stage who so openly looked down on him, the freckled prince, his pride deeply wounded, stormed toward the podium, cursing furiously with each step:

“You festering, pus-covered wretch. A rotten fruit from a crooked tree. A filthy black-haired mutt from a dog’s den.”

“And you—a bastard duke raised in exile—you dare look down on me? Believe me, I’ll make sure you lose that title. By tomorrow, you and your whole bastard family will be thrown out of the capital! I’ll—ah!”

Swinging his arm in a full arc and putting all his strength into it, Leon landed a slap so loud it echoed through the hall, sending the freckled prince flying sideways.

Feeling much better after that satisfying blow, Leon straightened, grabbed Joshua by the collar, and spat directly onto his freckled cheek. Using his sleeve to wipe away the saliva, Leon realized too late that the “dirt” wasn’t dirt at all—but natural freckles. Shrugging off his mistake, he patted the rapidly swelling side of Joshua’s face.

“Make me lose this title, huh? Go ahead—prove it. Or else, you’re my grandson.”

---

I think I understand why Old York had that heart attack…

Watching their new duke spit on a prince and declare himself the king’s father, the house head felt his heart rate skyrocket, racing toward 200 beats per minute.

“Elder… Elder, please think of something!”

In this dire moment, the house head turned desperately to their final lifeline—the eldest of the three elders. But before he could finish turning…

Thud.

The elder collapsed onto the carpet, convulsing with eyes rolled back, seemingly prophesying House Lion’s impending doom.

And if that weren’t bad enough, the duke who had single-handedly driven House Lion into ruin casually tossed the trembling prince aside and addressed the stunned audience:

“Listen up. If you insist on making me the duke, I’ll use the entirety of House Lion as a dowry to propose to Princess Veronica. Worst case, we part ways cleanly…”

“Yes.”

A clear voice rang out from behind. Stepping boldly into the hall, none other than Princess Veronica herself strode forward, her eyes gleaming with delight as she answered loudly, “I accept your proposal. From this moment on, you are my prince.”

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