Chapter Four: The Two Princes, Doubt, and Two Years

Gracis Kingdom had entered the blistering heat of midsummer. Not even the royal castle could escape the oppressive temperature, save for inside its air-conditioned rooms. The glaring sun threatened to overheat anyone who passed along its hallways and grounds. Herscherik, his butler, and his knight were all getting tired of the muggy weather as they headed to the training grounds.

“It’s hot... I want to eat something nice and cool.” Herscherik trotted along, slouching and dangling his arms in front of him, taking advantage of their privacy at the moment.

“After your training,” Kuro stipulated. “I’ll make you something then.”

Oran followed his master and the butler that spoiled his master rotten with mixed emotions.

At the moment, they were en route to Herscherik’s sword and riding lessons. Hearing Kuro’s response, Herscherik’s eyes began to glimmer.

On top of his ordinary butler duties, Kuro could handle anything from secretarial work to underground espionage—even cooking. In fact, he could cook anything from the kind of fast food one could buy on any street corner to extravagant dinners that, at least to Herscherik, tasted as good as the work of professional chefs. Kuro, however, always claimed that his dishes were not up to professional standards.

Herscherik’s favorites among all of Kuro’s concoctions were desserts. Kuro had a variety of recipes in his repertoire, from baked goods like cookies and cakes to frozen treats like gelatin molds and sorbet. Herscherik often attempted to find out where his butler had acquired such techniques, but the only answer he would give was that it was a skill he learned long ago.

He already has so many irresistible traits, and now he can cook, too...? Herscherik thought. It’s unfair how skillful he is.

The castle maids had cheered on Kuro during the tryouts for Herscherik’s knight of service, but it seemed that his popularity had only grown since then. Despite all this, Kuro still showed no interest in women whatsoever, keeping them politely at a distance. Of course, he did his job perfectly, cooked masterfully, kept up a charming facade, and treated ladies with delicate respect no matter what. Herscherik couldn’t help but gaze out into the distance whenever his butler seemed to be embodying the ideal man.

As the prince, however, Herscherik also saw another side of Kuro—while he was very talented and trustworthy, he was also a young man who always nagged him like a mother. He wondered if any of the ladies who worshipped Kuro would faint from shock if they discovered the truth.

Speaking of skill... Herscherik glanced back at the young man following him. Even as he looked exasperated by the exchange between his master and the butler, Oran followed them, dressed in the simple attire of a white shirt and pants.

Oran had already received a knight of service uniform tailored to him, but in accordance with his request for more mobility, he wore his street clothes outside of special events. Herscherik permitted it, in any case, since street clothes were better suited for sneaking out into the castle town. That being said, even Oran’s clothes were still made of clean, quality material becoming of his nobility.

Noticing his master’s glance, Oran cocked his head in curiosity, but Herscherik chuckled to muddy the waters and turned his gaze forward again. Oran’s popularity among the women of the castle had also been growing rapidly since the tryouts. His modest but elegant sunset-colored hair and downturned sapphire eyes gave him an air of gentleness. He was, after all, an upper-class nobleman with a sweet face. Besides, while Oran appeared to be a scrawny young man at first glance, he was the only candidate in the tryout to best Kuro in a swordfight. What’s more, he was the third son of the Marquis Aldis, who was dearly trusted by the previous king, and the descendant of a long line of generals and royal guards. Oran had it all—impeccable looks, skill, and a family name. To top it all off, his honest personality was immediately apparent after a single interaction. It would have been bizarre for such a man to not garner popularity among the ladies.

Herscherik recently had Oran come watch his training, only to have the knight pat his head with a pitying look in his eyes. That turned out to be quite a hurtful response, since he always tried his hardest when training. The response felt familiar to Herscherik, too, and it wasn’t mere déjà vu.

This world really isn’t fair... He had been repeatedly reminded of that fact since he was three years old. He had no combat skills, athletic talent, magic, or even the kind of intelligence that would normally garner the admiration of others. He was often called beautiful, but even his looks seemed subpar when compared to his father and siblings. The only unique talent he possessed was the experiences and skills he had carried over from his previous life. While no one could have blamed Herscherik for feeling envious, he was well aware that nothing would come of wallowing in it. Because of Ryoko’s life experience, Herscherik knew how to accept himself for who he was, including all of the ways he was different from those around him. As a woman in her thirties, dealing with negative emotions was a skill that Ryoko had acquired naturally.

Just then, Herscherik heard someone inhale sharply behind him. He stopped and turned around to find Oran as the source of the sound, staring down the hallway and looking like he had just bitten into a sour lemon. Herscherik followed his gaze—someone familiar was approaching them from down the hall. The prince easily recognized the young man from a distance, with his red hair that shone like melted rubies. The man recognized Herscherik in return and raised his hand in greeting as he stopped in front of the little prince.

“Herscherik,” the man said, gently smiling as his polished-ruby eyes narrowed. His smile full of kindness strongly resembled that of Herscherik’s father. It was only natural; he was another son of the king of Gracis and Herscherik’s half brother. “It’s been a while. Are you doing all right?”

“I am. I’m glad to see you’re doing well, too, Brother Marx.”

Herscherik’s brother smiled even more brightly at this. His name was Marx Gracis, the oldest brother and the First Prince. In other words, he was next in line for the throne. While Marx was slightly shorter than Kuro or Oran, his body was toned and muscular. A simple gesture like the wave of a hand, or even just his standing posture, was exquisitely elegant.

His princely aura is blinding... Herscherik only said that in his head, of course, but even though he knew it was impossible, he couldn’t help but imagine shimmering stars around Marx and red roses blooming behind him. Herscherik always thought that if Marx had been a character in a shojo manga, his introduction panel would absolutely have to be decorated with a riot of rose blossoms. Even though Herscherik had gotten used to being around his father by now, he couldn’t help but be secretly intimidated by the beauty of his siblings whenever they were nearby. He had been a woman of average appearance in his previous life, after all.

“Are you coming out of your training with the Knights’ Order? How is work, Brother Marx?” Herscherik remembered that Marx had joined the Knight’s Order under the military branch after he graduated the academy this year. Even royalty had to find useful employment once they were of age. Most of the time, they were able to go into the department of their choosing, and talented members of the royal family were often actively recruited. Herscherik had heard through the grapevine that Marx was talented in offensive fire spells but was also decent at sword fighting. Herscherik assumed that he’d chosen close ties with the military, considering his future as the king.

Since his brother had approached from the direction of the training grounds, Herscherik could easily guess that he had just come from a training session. Herscherik usually borrowed a section of the training grounds in between the knights’ scheduled lessons.

“Yes, I just finished. I still have still much to learn, both in my training and in my work.” Marx flashed a tired smile. Even that exhausted expression was picturesque.

“It must be tough,” Herscherik chimed in. He knew that everybody struggled with their first year on the job, no matter the career path.

I remember struggling through my first year, too... Herscherik reminisced about Ryoko’s time in the workforce. At first it had been quite the rollercoaster ride. Company policy dictated that new hires put in some time in their branch locations, but around when Ryoko had gotten the job, one of the office workers in their headquarters had suddenly resigned. Since Ryoko was the new hire who lived the closest, she was assigned to company headquarters. Before she could even get used to her desk, her predecessor left the company after giving her only the bare minimum of training, leaving behind a confusing handbook and an ever increasing pile of tasks. Any time she sought advice from an older member in the department, no one had any to offer except demanding that she figure it out on her own. Her first year in the company was literal hell. She’d ended up clocking in more overtime than any of the other new hires by far—something she only realized after someone in HR informed her of it a few years later with much pity in her voice.

Even after being reincarnated, Herscherik wanted to give his past self a pat on the back. That first year helped me stick it out with that company for so long. Ryoko had contemplated quitting on a few occasions during her career but had kept telling herself that her first year was probably worse than her current situation. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, after all. That being said, Herscherik felt like he would quit on that very first day if he had to do it all again. Recalling how hard it was for Ryoko, the equivalent of a commoner in modern-day Japan, Herscherik hesitated to even compare his struggles to those of Marx, the royal heir. Surely the First Prince faced a unique set of responsibilities, and he was expected to assist his father and attend to his royal duties on top of his occupation. His schedule was packed, to say the least. Herscherik couldn’t help but be impressed that the royal heir could simply dismiss it all with a chuckle.

“Is he your knight of service?” Marx’s words pulled Herscherik out of his thoughts.

While noting that his brother’s eyes had sharpened, Herscherik turned around. At an unnaturally far distance behind Kuro, who kept directly behind Herscherik, Oran was staring into the air in such a way that he conveniently avoided Marx’s gaze. Perplexed by Oran’s uncharacteristic response, Herscherik turned back to his brother. “Yes, this is Ora—I mean, Octavian.”

“I knew it... Octa!” Marx raised his voice, in contrast to his previous tone.

Herscherik jolted in shock. He’d had a few encounters with Marx before, but he had never heard his brother raise his voice like this before.

Marx walked right past the bewildered Herscherik with large strides and approached Oran. Now, he had dropped the demeanor of a prince and looked like any other young man his age, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. He came so close to Oran that he could nearly grab him by the collar.

“Why are you Herscherik’s knight!?”

“It’s been a long time... Prince Marx.” Oran greeted him with a low monotone, in contrast to Marx’s display of anger, and took a step back to rebuild some distance between them. Herscherik had never heard Oran speak like this before, either. “I’m happy to see you well,” Oran added in the same, icy tone.

Marx’s brows raised in anger. “What’s with the formality? And you’ve always called me—” Marx lowered his voice, as if to calm an onslaught of emotions about to rain down on Oran. “You promised to be my knight. And now...!”

“A child’s promise... It meant nothing, Your Highness.” Oran raised his head from his bow, but his expression was devoid of all emotions.

“Don’t call me ‘Your Highness’!” Marx spat.

Oran stared at the First Prince with the same muted expression.

Marx looks just as handsome when he’s angry. Herscherik’s thoughts wandered off-topic, as he couldn’t keep up with all this unexpected drama. Some might have called this habit escapism, but no one there would tell Herscherik that. Oran’s pretty good looking, too. Together, they formed quite a picturesque tableau. What’s going on, anyway...? Gradually pulling his mind back from la-la land, Herscherik began to assess the situation.

Judging by the conversation so far, Marx and Oran seemed to know each other. Since they were about the same age, and since Oran mentioned knowing Marx when they were children, Herscherik wondered if they’d been classmates in the academy. In any case, they seemed to have been rather close at some point. But how’d they end up like this? Confused, Herscherik looked to his brother, his knight, and back again. Marx’s ever-so-princely face was twisted in frustration. By contrast, Oran was completely expressionless and seemed barely affected by Marx’s plea.

“I needed you...” Marx squeezed out this confession. He spoke softly, but his words came across like an agonized scream.

Herscherik felt like Marx truly did need Oran with him. As if to hammer in that impression, Marx rushed to cover his mouth with his hand after he let out that admission.

I get it! Realization struck Herscherik like a bolt of lightning as he watched Marx’s face contort in sorrow. I see it now! Now fully caught up, Herscherik looked up at the pair. In this drama, he saw an opportunity to show what an understanding boss he could be.

“Um, Brother Marx! Oran!” he called to them, hesitantly. Seeing that the two had turned their attention to him, Herscherik mustered up the courage to say: “If you two have... that kind of relationship, I’ll never stop you!” Kuro guffawed and the two young men froze as Herscherik rambled on. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with two men loving each other... Anyone can love anyone, really...” Still, Herscherik’s eyes slowly dropped to the ground, darting to and fro without focusing on anything. He twiddled his hands in front of his chest, tapping his index fingers together. Marx must have been in love with Oran all these years. But he’s the royal heir, and he couldn’t very well marry Oran, so he wanted him as his knight of service to... Herscherik nodded along with his internal monologue that was starting to resemble a runaway locomotive.

Ryoko had acquired a decent amount of knowledge in this particular department during her life. While she wasn’t drawn to the genre herself, she had acquired more knowledge about it than the average citizen, thanks to one of her few otaku comrades. Said friend had a habit of seeing sparks fly left and right, imagining couples between real-life idols, actors, and even groups of men she passed on the street, on top of any fictional characters she liked. However, she always kept a firm line between reality and her daydreaming, and she never forced anyone to share her inclinations. Ryoko would not have chosen to remain her friend otherwise.

Still, Ryoko could feel her friend’s mindset creeping in whenever she found herself imagining one of the characters in her comics or video games as a “top” or “bottom.” Of course, Ryoko never expressed those thoughts out loud.

Marx is prettier than most girls, and Oran is handsome... Just as Herscherik began to imagine which of them would most likely be on top, he violently shook the thought out of his head. While Ryoko was an old-maid otaku, she was no BL fanatic. That being said, she bore no disrespect for anyone who was. On the other hand, Ryoko was a huge fan of bromances—not that she ever expected anyone outside of her otaku circle to know the difference between the two genres. Out of all possible situations, I never expected Marx to have unreciprocated feelings for Oran, whom I practically stole from him...

At that moment, Herscherik realized that he was the “other man” in this situation. He understood full well that everyone had preferences of their own. Some people were only attracted to people of the same gender, some preferred partners a couple decades older or younger... There were as many preferences in this world as there were people. Excepting criminal behavior, of course, Herscherik never wanted to be the kind of person who discriminated against someone’s character or preferences solely because of his own feelings.

“He is my knight, but everyone deserves a private life...” Herscherik scuttled behind Kuro and watched the pair. While Kuro was silently quivering with suppressed laughter, Herscherik was too busy keeping his mind on the scene before him.

“Huh!?” Oran shrieked. Marx practically turned to stone.

His cheeks slightly reddened, Herscherik turned his gaze away from them, as if he had just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to. “So, um. Brother Marx...? Go get him,” he concluded, unsure of what to say, as he formed his tiny hand into a fist of encouragement. Kuro guffawed once more. If no one had been around, he would have started banging the walls with his palms in a fit of laughter.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Your Highness!” Oran was the one who rushed to protest.

Marx, on the other hand, was still immobilized from his youngest brother’s assumption, which was so far off base that it was practically in the outfield.

“Don’t worry about me, really!” Right, Herscherik thought. They can’t make it public. Herscherik shrunk farther behind Kuro. Even though he knew that he shouldn’t act any different toward the two of them because of their sexuality, he couldn’t help but be a little taken aback.

“Why are you hiding!?” Oran demanded. “Seriously, what do you think is happening here, Prince!?”

As Oran tried to approach Herscherik, Kuro interrupted. “Prince Hersch, it’s almost time for your training.” As they’d wasted a good amount of time here, Herscherik no longer had any chance of making his training session on time.

“Oh, you’re right.” Herscherik popped out from Kuro’s shadow and bowed. “Excuse me, Brother Marx.” He began walking away as fast as he could.

As Kuro followed the prince, he gave Oran another glance and guffaw. It was blatantly obvious how much fun he was having.

“You black dog...!” He’s enjoying this! Just because he’s not mixed up in it...! Oran turned to follow them, in an attempt to resolve Herscherik’s misunderstanding that Oran hadn’t untangled, and frankly didn’t want to.

“Octa!” Marx bitterly called out, having finally unfrozen and rebooted his brain. “Is this still because... of what happened two years ago?” he implored. “Is that why you keep avoiding me?”

Oran didn’t answer, but left to follow after his master and the butler.

After finishing his unrewarding-as-usual swordsmanship training, Herscherik finally understood that Marx and Oran were not caught in a sordid love affair, thanks to the much-too-desperate clarification. Herscherik couldn’t help but still have his suspicions precisely because of how adamantly Oran denied the idea, but he decided that it would be too cruel to voice that.

Herscherik returned to his room to find Kuro’s homemade jelly laid out for dessert. The translucently green jelly contained a piece of orange-like fruit within it. When Herscherik took a bite, the blend of refreshing mint and citrus exploded in his mouth, making him instantly forget about the summer heat.

“Mm! This is delicious! Where’d you learn to make something like this, Kuro? Seriously.” With a mouth full of jelly and a beaming smile, Herscherik asked the same question he had always asked upon tasting one of Kuro’s new specialties. But, as usual, Kuro only responded with a slight smile. Herscherik wondered if Kuro’s mysterious nature contributed to his popularity among women, even as he kept shoving more jelly into his mouth.

Having inhaled his dessert in record time, Herscherik turned to Oran, who had been rather quiet for the past few minutes. Seated in his chair, he hadn’t touched his jelly or the cup of tea before him, only staring out into the distance in silence. Herscherik had noticed that Oran seemed to zone out from time to time. His knight’s habit had first become apparent the day after they ventured into the castle town on that fateful day in early summer. Herscherik sighed, seeing a shade of deep concern somewhere in Oran’s expression. I wanted to wait until he was ready to tell me what it was about, but at this rate... Herscherik worried that tragedy could strike while Oran wasn’t looking. Moreover, he was concerned for Oran’s mental well-being. Bottling up emotions never did any good for anyone.

Herscherik made up his mind and shot Kuro a look. Seeing that Kuro saw the look and returned a shrug and a nod, Herscherik began.

“I have to apologize in advance, Oran.”

“Prince...?” Oran gave a look of suspicion at the sudden apology. He simply couldn’t figure out the intention behind the prince’s statement.

“I looked up what happened two years ago.”

“What!?” Widening his downturned eyes as far as they could go, Oran jumped out of his seat, knocking over his chair with a loud crash and gesturing wildly with his hand, turning over his cup of tea.

Kuro approached with a sigh and moved Oran’s teacup and serving of jelly away before wiping the spilled tea from the table. Still, Oran stared Herscherik down as if Kuro didn’t exist. In fact, he was facing Herscherik’s direction—but he wasn’t looking at the prince. His field of vision had closed in, the memory of that fateful day replaying in his mind. He was looking at her once again.

“Why—!?”

“Oran, I need you to calm down first... Sit down, please.” Herscherik called to his knight, raising one hand.

His master’s call didn’t seem to reach him. “Why would you— That’s a personal matter...!” Visibly shaken, Oran’s lips quivered and tried to finish his sentence, all to no avail.

Seeing the blood draining from Oran’s face, Herscherik let out a quiet sigh then clapped his hands together once. Seeing that Oran jolted in reaction to the clap, Herscherik called to him. “Oránge.” Herscherik stared straight into his eyes. “Calm down. Please, take a seat.” Despite the calm tone he employed, this was an unmistakable order. The room was permeated by an aura that prevented Oran from even thinking of defying the prince, let alone saying so out loud.

That’s not it... Oran reconsidered. Herscherik was the one who took control of the room with a single clap and a calm order. Having regained his senses, Oran steadied his breathing and picked up the chair he had knocked over before sitting on it.

After Oran was seated, Herscherik let out a long sigh. The topic had been a deeply upsetting one, as expected, but it had already been breached. He knew he had to see it through. “I’m truly sorry for digging into your past without your permission,” Herscherik apologized again from his seat.

Having regained his level head, Oran now found himself flustered by this. Come to think of it, it was only natural for the prince to research the background of whomever he was hiring. Particularly because of Oran’s troubled history at the academy, Herscherik really had no choice but to do so. And furthermore, Herscherik—a member of the royal family and Oran’s boss—apologizing to him was quite unusual in and of itself.

Herscherik looked up at Oran. “At first, I was just curious,” he started, still apologetic. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a gossip... I thought your academy grades were very suspicious.” All of a sudden, Oran’s grades had plummeted to barely passing, just as his behavior and attitude turned from model student to ultimate slacker, tarnishing his reputation among teachers and friends. Herscherik was convinced that Oran was acting that way on purpose. So, he had ordered Kuro to secretly look into Oran’s background, which yielded much more depressing results than Herscherik had expected. This information, however, perfectly explained Oran’s sudden change.

Initially, Herscherik never intended to share what he had learned... But that was no longer an option. “Do you remember what happened the first time the two of us went out into the castle town?” Herscherik asked, knowing that Oran remembered it perfectly. In fact, Oran had started to lose himself in thought after said incident. “You drew a connection between the incident and what happened two years ago, didn’t you?” Herscherik didn’t wait for an answer, but continued. “I could tell you what I’ve found out from Kuro about your past, but...”

Herscherik stared into Oran’s eyes, and the knight was taken aback. No one had ever looked at him like this before. “I want to hear about it from you, Oran,” Herscherik said. Seeing that Oran was hesitant, the prince continued. “I know it’s hard to rely on or even trust a little kid like me, but... I trust you, Oran. From the moment I decided that you would be my knight. And I want you to trust me, too...” Faintly, Herscherik added, “I never want to feel that way again.” Herscherik reflected on his words, reminded of a bitter event in the recent past. His nanny had left him the previous year, after committing a terrible crime because she could trust neither the king nor Prince Herscherik himself. Even now, Herscherik understood that the incident had been unavoidable. That being said, he didn’t intend to let it be repeated. The last thing he wanted was Oran to resort to the same course of action as his nanny had. “So—”

“All right,” Oran interrupted. He had more given up than he had actually decided to trust Herscherik. Truth be told, he was glad that the prince respected him enough to let him make the decision in the first place. “Two years ago... my fiancée died.”

Oran remembered a street painted red by the sunset, and the peaceful expression on her face. She and Oran had been betrothed by their families, and she was the daughter of a particularly old and prosperous family who had nevertheless not been blessed with a male heir. The lord of her house had asked his friend, Oran’s father, if one of his sons could marry into the family. Oran, the third son of the family, happened to be the same age as his daughter. And so, they were engaged, with the expectation that Oran would be welcomed into her family.

“At first, well, we were both embarrassed, so we butted heads a lot...” Their relationship started in their youth, with marriage looming on the horizon. As teenagers, they began to develop a real romantic relationship. There was never a time when Oran’s childhood friend and fiancée wasn’t at his side. His goal—his entire life—had become to protect her, and by extension to protect the country she lived in by becoming a knight.

“Marx—Prince Marx and I often tested each other’s strength in the sword. He was my rival... and my friend. At the time, my goal was to become a royal guard or knight of service and climb my way up to becoming a general. If possible, I wanted to remain with His Highness as his friend.” Just when it seemed like nothing could go wrong in Oran’s life, everything changed on that fateful day with the burning sunset.

At the time, Oran was at the top of his class in the knight’s curriculum, which was a testament to his enduring hard work. Unless he had other engagements, he always stayed late and trained. That day, as he was training by himself at the academy, a messenger on horseback arrived with news from his family: His fiancée was dead.

“I didn’t understand...why she had to die.”

Oran ran out of the academy straight to his fiancée’s house; Marx might have spoken to him on the way, but Oran couldn’t remember clearly.

When he arrived at his fiancée’s house, she had passed away in her own bed, as if in a peaceful slumber. She had told Oran a few days ago that she would be taking leave from the academy for a short time. “It’s the summer heat getting to me—don’t worry,” she had told him with a smile. Oran advised her to take care, gave her a tender kiss as if to cast a protective spell, and left.

That was the last time he saw her alive.

The very next day, he was planning to visit her with her favorite pastry and the handmade ribbon he had just picked up, but never again would she show him her smile or call his name. The hopelessness he’d felt on that day was still fresh in Oran’s mind. Even though their marriage had been arranged by their families, and despite their youth, Oran unmistakably loved her.

After her death, things only grew worse for Oran. One page within his fiancée’s diary, one of the keepsakes her father had given him after her death, contained an entry in her handwriting that Oran had never expected to read.

“She wrote how difficult it was to be with me.”

For their future and for her sake, Oran had kept up his training and studies, always making sure that his academy grades were impeccable. Her diary entry explained how she felt too ordinary to have a future husband that was so exceptional.

“I never thought her ordinary...”

While she was unassertive, she was a kind and caring woman. She had been working on improving her homemaking skills the best she could, and she even volunteered at an orphanage. Watching her was what gave Oran the motivation to work hard, so that she might enjoy an easy life. In the end, though, he had only ended up putting more weight on her shoulders. On top of that, she had apparently been harassed by other ladies of nobility just for being his fiancée.

Women know how to bully other women in any world... Herscherik thought. Bullying between women was much more sinister than men imagined it to be, and it was typically kept hidden from the male gaze. Oran must not have realized that any bullying was going on at all. Moreover, Herscherik imagined that his fiancée wasn’t the type who could talk about the cruelty she was suffering to Oran or her parents. Bullies always had an eye for easy prey.

“If that was all, I’d only have myself to blame. But there was another entry in her diary.” On one spring day, she confessed in her diary that she had begun using a certain drug that was gaining popularity in the underground. This drug helped her forget her worries for a moment and eased her mind. She felt more confident and could think of things in a positive light. Once the drug ran out, though, she was overcome with fear, anxiety, and unbearable guilt; she would lose control of her emotions and her tears. In order to escape that pain, she returned to the drug. When she ran out of drugs and money to buy them, she pawned her jewelry. The money went to more drugs for a temporary escape from her hardships. At the end of each cycle, she convinced herself that the next dose would be the last—to no avail.

This part of the entry was smudged with her tears. Just when she had run out of jewelry to pawn, a particular nobleman had discovered her secret and blackmailed her into breaking her engagement with Oran and marrying him instead. He threatened to divulge all of her secrets: the bullying, selling her family treasures, and finally the drugs.

“She couldn’t afford the drugs any more. Couldn’t talk to anyone. He had threatened to tell me everything unless she went to bed with him. Then... she died.” One of her household servants, concerned that she hadn’t left her room all morning, came knocking at her door—only to find Oran’s fiancée deep in eternal slumber on her own bed.

“If I hadn’t been so caught up in myself at the academy...” If only he had noticed her changes in behavior along the way, Oran thought, if only he could have been someone for her to lean on, she would still be alive. At the time, he had been too busy trying to live up to his own high expectations.

“She was essentially an invalid. A noble girl—can you believe it?” After reading her diary, Oran thought that her deterioration must have been the side effect of the illegal drug. “I’m responsible for her death and I will be judged for it. But... I understood then how dangerous that drug really was. I wanted to do something about it.”

Oran had immediately notified the constabulary. They had told him they would launch an investigation, and they eventually did, but it was short-lived. When he tried to track down the source of the drug on his own, Oran could only find rumors that it was being circulated in secret among the nobles. He also spoke to his father about the matter, but as a member of the Knights’ Order and the military, Roland couldn’t officially launch a domestic investigation on his own. As a last resort, Oran begged for Marx’s help, but nothing came of it. By that time, the drug was no longer in circulation.

“Ever since... I couldn’t find a reason to become a knight.” Oran grew to hate the government and royalty who’d turned their backs on their people, the nobles that tormented his fiancée, and most of all himself for failing the people he’d sworn to protect. He no longer felt the need to maintain his grades at the academy, and he certainly didn’t want to serve royalty after they’d failed to help him when he needed it most. He no longer saw any meaning in becoming a knight.

His fiancée’s cause of death was officially listed as illness. After that, Oran had been suspended a few times for reacting violently to his classmate’s careless insults to her honor. He knew now that all of this was only disguising the anger he felt toward himself. He’d planned to leave the country after graduating the academy, but his father had never permitted it, leading to his prolonged period of unemployment.

“It’s possible that drug from two years ago has resurfaced,” his father had recently told him. Although he was already retired, Roland used to serve in one of the most important posts in the country. One of his former subordinates who now worked in the constabulary had contacted him in secret with this harrowing information.

Both Herscherik and Kuro quietly listened to Oran until he finished his story. Once he did, awkward silence filled the room.

Herscherik took a deep breath. He had nearly forgotten to breathe from being too engrossed in Oran’s story. “Thank you for telling me all of that, Oran,” Herscherik began with gratitude. Then he bowed in apology once more. “You counted on my brother and the royal family for help, and we couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry.”

Herscherik had been only three at the time and had barely begun his studies. While it was true that he couldn’t have done anything to help Oran at the time, saying it out loud would only be an excuse. Instead, Herscherik continued, as Oran stared at the floor in silence.

“Your story backs up Kuro’s findings.” That was an important clue. “One of which is that the drug wasn’t in circulation for long.” It had only been around from spring to summer, two years ago. Usually, drugs were more profitable the longer they remained popular. While the risk of discovery also grew, generating more addicts meant more repeating buyers. Increased demand while the supply remained steady would mean a higher profit margin, too.

“Another is that the drug was only available to a small percentage of the population, mostly nobles and the wealthy within the capital.” Kuro had found that most of the users were in the capital, actually, and almost exclusively among the upper class. The drug must have seen a very limited spread. “And it’s possible that someone high up is involved.” A noble woman had died of mysterious circumstances—it didn’t make sense that the investigation was practically brushed under the rug. That suggested the presence of pressure from above their ranks. Herscherik declared this all with confidence.

Oran finally looked up from the floor and straight at Herscherik. Is he seriously five years old?

From his story alone, Herscherik had noticed many things that Oran had not even considered at the time. Herscherik no longer seemed to him like the young prince he supposedly was.

“The key to getting to the bottom of this drug mystery must be somewhere in your fiancée’s circle.” Herscherik stood. “Kuro, look into everywhere she might have gone at the time, based on what Oran has told us. We may not find out who was responsible for it two years ago, but there has to be a connection to what’s going on now.”

“Got it,” Kuro answered.

“I’m going to sneak in to see if there’s any documents from the time. Any little thing could be a lead.” Herscherik produced his silver pocket watch and checked the time; it was still far away from nightfall.

“On your own again...?” Kuro asked.

“These castle grounds are practically my backyard,” his young master said, smiling. “I can get into anywhere I want with my eyes closed. Don’t worry.” Kuro responded with a begrudging frown.

“Why...?” Oran muttered. The government of Gracis was completely unconcerned with the matter, even after the death of one of its citizens. Two years later, and this young prince was ready to take matters into his own hands.

Herscherik pinched his brows in protest. “A citizen of my country lost her life. The drug that might have caused it is coming back. You want me to stand and watch while more of my people might be killed? Have their lives ruined?” He spoke as if he was talking to a stubborn child.

“They’re all people who have nothing to do with you, Prince.”

“Nothing to do with me?” Herscherik repeated, with a touch of anger. “I am a prince of Gracis. They have everything to do with me. I have a duty to protect my people. What are you talking about?” he concluded.

Oran had no response. Herscherik had said all of that as if it was self-evident. Then, he was met with a sense of loss at how he had wasted these past two years. But he still had time, he realized. There were still things Oran could do to prevent anyone else from suffering the same fate as his fiancée. “Is there anything... I can do?”

“Of course.” Herscherik smirked. “You’re my knight, after all. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”