### Chapter 40: Part 1: Fuck, I'm Depressed Both in Real Life and Novel Life, But That's Okay—Life Sucks Anyway
The manor felt achingly empty as I stepped through the grand entrance hall. The echo of my footsteps on the polished marble floor seemed to mock the emptiness left by my grandparents. The weight of their absence hung heavy in the air, and the grandeur of the Prince Manor now felt more like a vast, hollow shell.
*Sigh*
"This emptiness will take some time to get used to," I muttered to myself, a habit I'd picked up to keep from losing my mind.
The oppressive silence was only broken by the faint rustle of my robes as I wandered through the rooms or by my new semi-insane habit of talking to myself and giggling at my own bad jokes. Well, fuck you too if you think my behavior is off, or odd, or not normal.
Anyway, each corner of the manor held memories, but none stung more than when I entered my grandpa's former study, which had now become mine by virtue of my new title as Lord Prince.
Yes, yours truly is the new Lord Prince.
"What a journey! From transmigrator to poor, semi-orphaned wizard, to heir of one of the strongest families in magical Britain, to finally, Lord. But why do I feel as though it wasn't worth it?" I asked no one but myself.
As I entered the study, I was drawn to a hidden panel behind a row of old bookshelves. I'd always known something was there thanks to my map, but now I felt compelled to approach and open it. It seemed as though my Gramps had anticipated this, maybe even expecting his own death, and placed a compulsion charm beforehand.
I assumed the idea was that, in the scenario where I entered his study before he did, I'd be compelled to check out this bookshelf and find the hidden compartment behind it.
Allowing myself to be compelled, my curiosity piqued. It led me to uncover the secret hidden behind the shelf. When I tried to pull out a book, I heard a click, and the whole shelf swung open, revealing a hidden portrait of my grandparents.
In the portrait, they were hugging one another, making out like sick bastards, even after death. It depicted them both in their prime—my grandfather with his stern but amused eyes, and my grandmother with her gentle, wise smile.
"Hello there, little shite," Gramps said with a smirk.
"Hello, Severus," my grandmother greeted with her usual elegance.
I stood before the portrait for a moment, taking in their familiar faces before finally replying softly, "Hello, Gramps, Gran."
There was a comforting sense of silence as I watched them, and I couldn't help but speak up. "I wish you were here to guide me through this."
The portrait's eyes seemed to twinkle with a life of their own. "We're always here, lad," my grandfather's voice echoed softly. "Grow a pair of balls, boy. It's the unmanliest thing ever to be insecure! Do or do not, but never bitch about it."
"Old fucker! You always know what to say," I replied. After releasing a deep breath, I moved on to my grandfather's desk.
The room was filled with the scent of old parchment and the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the windows. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he had spent countless hours working, reflecting, and probably fucking.
On the desk, I found several letters laid out, brought by Hundon, my most recently acquired house-elf. After buying the hundredth one and naming it Slavdred, I was forced to change my naming conventions. So, I decided to go with Hundon, Hundto, and so on.
'I seriously need to come up with a more efficient naming convention,' I chided myself.
The little bugger's eyes eagerly followed me as I picked up the first letter, the wax seal bearing the mark of Albus Dumbledore, the gayest of them all.
"Lord Prince," it began, "I will be visiting you in the coming days to discuss recent events and accompany you to the Ministry for questioning. As a longtime friend of your late grandfather, I feel it is my duty to offer what little help and support I can muster."
"Way to go about annoying me, old man!" I muttered in annoyance. The man's presence always grated on my nerves.
The second letter was from the current Minister for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins. It was essentially about the same topic as the first one, but less personal. "Lord Prince, you are hereby requested to appear at the Ministry for questioning concerning recent developments. We look forward to your cooperation."
Reading the letters, I couldn't help but feel pissed off, though a grim sense of satisfaction also lingered. Eugenia Jenkins was a weak-willed bitch, easily swayed and ineffective in her role.
What people don't seem to see, realize, or simply speak about is the cycle of leadership. Before any crisis, we start with one or more incompetent leaders, as history tends to show us. During the crisis itself, we get a nut job who either tries to brute-force a solution or resolve the underlying cause. Finally, we get a competent and somewhat sane person. If we're lucky, we get a few of them who attempt to mitigate the impact left behind by the crisis and its handling. But eventually, we end up back with weak leadership, and so the cycle comes around again.
It's as predictable as it is frustrating. Humanity is stuck, unable to progress in this way.
As for why this is the trend, it's rooted in politics and the simple concept that humans are selfish when they're rich but charitable when they're poor, because they have the mentality of not having anything to lose.
Another reason is that, for some odd reason, they tend to become family politicians. If the father was one, the son will also enter politics, which is insane! The point of politics—at least in a democracy—is for politicians to represent the people. But that will never happen if there's a class of politicians!
Take the old Roman Empire, for example. It flourished in the beginning because the people's interests were represented, and partly because of slavery. But over time, leadership became inheritable. Senators' children were much more likely to become senators, and so on.
Eventually, they ended up with a certified dictatorship in the guise of democracy. And this is the issue in many places and countries that present themselves as democracies.
If your leadership has been in politics for generations, you're not a democracy anymore. Instead, you've managed to create a political class.
Anyway, I tend to muse over problematic stuff a lot, and these letters made me think about the nature of leadership. Weak leaders thrust us into chaos, capable ones attempt to stabilize, but in the end, it often feels like we're back to square one. The cycle is relentless, but I was about to abuse the shit out of it. See, life is never about improving anything, but rather being able to use the ongoing bullshit to your advantage. If you can, you're a winner; if you can't, you're a loser.
"Are you done? You're giving me a headache thinking about useless crap!" Eris's voice whispered in my ear, her presence as ever both calming and unsettling.
"Nobody is forcing you to read my mind!" I retorted, finally happy at having found a way to annoy her. It's the small things in life.
"Whatever! Are you ready?" she asked.
"Who knows? I don't feel ready," I replied, my voice tinged with frustration.
"Now, you understand another one of life's many truths," Eris responded with a hint of amusement. "No one is ever truly ready for what life throws at them. We prepare, but readiness itself is a myth."
I closed my eyes, leaning back against the desk. I tried to imagine what my grandfather would do in my position. I could summon him anytime with the power of the stone, but the mere idea of facing him—and his likely disappointment—unsettled me.
The letters weren't the only things weighing on my mind. I had also received a disturbing message from the Godfather some days ago. The letter mentioned my brother's captivity and issued an ultimatum, basically asking me to come alone to a certain location on a yet-to-be-specified date. It could be months away or merely days. The baseline was that I had to cooperate if I wanted him back alive and well.
But there were a few problems. First of all, I don't have any siblings. Second of all, this letter was a challenge—an open declaration of their belief in their own invincibility.
The Godfather's confidence was unnerving, and their willingness to give me time to prepare only added to my annoyance because I want to bitch-slap the heck out of them. And I will. It seems they're confident that no amount of preparation would be enough for me to put up a fight against them.
As I contemplated this load of crap, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was an opportunity here. Call it a hunch or simply my gut feeling, but I felt there was something to gain.
With a deep breath, I stood up, determined to confront the challenges life was going to throw at me head-on. The manor might be vast and empty, and my problems might be self-created and a pain in my ass, but it's still my home and my life, and I won't let it be one filled with despair.
Keep calm and stay positive!