Chapter 40: If it were a scene from a fairy tale.

(It’s really obvious… unusually so.)

munch munch munch, gulp. munch munch munch.

Just as Gear savored the fragrance of the bread in his mouth, he also savored the rare—no, actually the first-ever—attitude his friend was displaying, forming a slightly offbeat impression.

Yulan was swinging back and forth between good mood and bad, sometimes even holding both at once. For someone who usually stayed in the exact same emotional state, this was extremely rare.

Gear remembered clearly the day he first met Yulan.

For Sheena—a kingdom with a relatively short history since adopting monarchy—studying abroad was a royal obligation. Part of it was because their own educational institutions weren’t particularly advanced. Not only Gear, but his two older brothers and even his father had all graduated from Tanzanite Academy.

When he entered middle division, he moved into the dormitory for international students. At the time, he had just graduated from elementary school in Sheena and was only twelve.

The reality that awaited him the moment he enrolled could best be described as being treated like a contagious growth.

In a sea of pale-skinned students, his brown skin stood out. In a den of refined ladies and gentlemen, a single rough-mannered boy naturally drew negative attention. His only saving grace was that he was perceptive enough to notice and thick-skinned enough not to care. Among Sheena’s bold and hearty people, the royal family was the boldest and heartiest of all.

No one approached him, and everyone kept their distance, watching from afar. He felt like a rare zoo animal.

He wasn’t fed up with academy life, nor was it fulfilling. He simply thought, “Well, this is how it is,” and remained indifferent.

“You gonna eat all that?”

“Hah?”

When he turned, he couldn’t see the face at first. Looking up, he met golden eyes staring down from high above.

The boy threw a pure, curiosity-driven question at Gear, who was giving in to his monstrous appetite as always. Not mocking—just interested.

Flat, emotionless golden eyes locked with his.

That was the singular person who completely changed Gear’s situation: Yulan.

A head taller than everyone around him, with a smile that evoked kindness and gentleness. Despite a build that could be intimidating, his features leaned more soft than sharp. Whether the word fit his age, size, or gender was debatable, but people often called Yulan “cute.”

The kind of person who drew crowds with his looks and demeanor had spoken to him. That alone was surprising, but what shocked Gear most was the complete lack of readable emotion on his face. Even without smiling, this guy had a beautiful face—he’d thought, rather inappropriately impressed.

At first it was just that one sentence. Then greetings. Occasional chats. Before he knew it, they were often together. He only realized they were friends—best friends—when others started saying so.

“You and Yulan are pretty close, huh? Didn’t expect that.”

Thanks to Yulan, more people began talking to Gear. Whether that was the reason or not, the academy gradually grew used to the foreign element that was Gear.

Of course, “used to” didn’t mean “accepted.” Only a handful truly accepted him, but to Gear it made no difference. As long as his life was comfortable and no one harmed him, he barely noticed.

To Gear, the most accurate description of Yulan was “easy to be around.” Labels like “friend” or “best friend” sounded pretty, but in reality that was all it was.

And the same went for Yulan.

Around Gear, the Yulan who always floated in a haze of soft, flower-scattering serenity often looked exasperated, and even when he smiled it was only at the corner of his nose or lips. His gentle tone carried a faint sting of sarcasm, and the air around him felt hard.

They were friends who didn’t have to tread carefully around each other. If that’s what “best friends” meant, then yes—they were best friends.

But it wasn’t anything special.

Yulan certainly valued Gear to some extent, but not to the point where losing him would cause real grief. Cutting ties would leave less than a pinprick. Gear knew that well.

To Yulan, there was only one truly special person in the world: Violet.

He called her name in the gentlest voice, as if touching fragile glasswork. Only when speaking her name did his smile spill over uncontrollably. Whenever Yulan’s face broke into uncontrollable happiness, the same person was always by his side.

So she wouldn’t break. So she wouldn’t get hurt. So he would never, ever cause her pain.

Violet was Yulan’s treasure. Even without words, it was obvious how dearly, how preciously he cherished her.

That’s why Gear knew never to step in carelessly. And Yulan knew that Gear knew.

This soft-looking, indifferent guy poured every nerve, every ounce of his soul into Violet—Yulan’s adored princess.

Gear first met Violet when his friendship with Yulan was nearing its third year.

(Guess “princess” really was right after all.)

Up close, Violet embodied the “beauty” most people imagined. Even her somewhat muted hair and eyes transformed into mysterious charm when she wore them.

As a prince, Gear had seen professional princesses from many countries and wasn’t particularly obsessed with looks, but his very first impression of Violet was still: “Holy hell, she’s stunning.”

He didn’t think Yulan judged her by appearance, but that was probably part of why he was so overprotective. Beautiful people suffered as much as they gained.

Looking at Yulan now, that overprotectiveness stood out more than ever—and his bad mood was far more obvious than usual.

“How is it? Good?”

“Worry about yourself… It’s delicious, though.”

From Gear’s vantage point—where he could see not just Yulan’s treatment of Violet but also Claudia and Mirania—it was like standing on a weather divide.

On one side: a gentle, sunny world.

On the other: a thunderstorm pouring down lightning.

How could two such opposite auras come from a single person? Even Gear, who knew Yulan well, could only sigh.

And he was just as surprised.

Yulan was normally fair to everyone, with only one exception: Violet. That “exception” was favoritism—he was extraordinarily kind and sweet to her alone, and indifferent to everyone else, adjusting his smile to match the person. With people he let in somewhat, like Gear, he was actually colder. The less interest he had, the kinder he appeared—that was Yulan’s nature.

Yet here he was, openly displaying displeasure.

The target was either Claudia or Mirania (whom Gear didn’t know). Judging by the reaction, it was Claudia.

Every time Yulan glanced at Claudia after smiling at Violet and took a bite, it was noticeably slower than his usual pace. Gear, who had eaten with him many times, knew that well.

His plate wasn’t going down. At this rate, even Gear—with his mountain that might be physically impossible to finish—would beat him to the end.

(Something… definitely happened between those two.)

The croissant in his mouth was perfectly crisp. His homeland had abundant food, but this country was large and boasted excellent ingredients and chefs alike.

Whatever was between Yulan and Claudia—he could probably find out easily if he dug. For commoners, maybe not, but between a noble and a prince, privacy was practically nonexistent. The higher you climbed, the more people mistakenly believed human rights were protected—when in reality nobles and royals just had more to hide. Everyone tried to expose their private lives, and the unrelated masses demanded they allow it. It didn’t matter if the subjects were high schoolers, newborns, men, or women. Status protected status—not the individual.

So if he poked around, truth and lies would spill out in excess… but.

Gear had no intention of doing so. No reason to.

He wasn’t uninterested, but if Yulan himself wasn’t talking, it either meant he didn’t want it known, or there was no need to know or tell.

Claudia—recognized as a troublesome enemy—was pitiable, but the fact that Yulan harbored pure hostility instead of mere indifference or politeness meant Claudia was, in a way, significant.

Either way, there was only one reason Yulan’s heart ever moved.

“…Vio-san’s got it rough too, huh.”

“Eh…?”

“What’s with you all of a sudden? Did you eat so much your brain broke?”

“It didn’t… And you’re one to talk—Yulan hasn’t finished either.”

“I’m average in both quantity and speed.”

Liar. Even Violet knew he’d barely touched his food because he kept staring at her. He’d been scolded multiple times and just laughed it off, but apparently Violet was soft on Yulan too.

When Violet smiled, Yulan’s heart danced with joy.
When Claudia saw it, he looked away as if biting down on something bitter.
Yulan glanced at him, expression blank, then turned back to Violet with a fresh smile.

The only reason Yulan’s heart ever moved—the only cause—was always Violet.

(I hope nothing happens…)

His few friends, his princess, and if possible even the prince he barely knew—
He hoped no one got hurt, that everyone could just reach a happy ending filled only with joy.

It was an uncharacteristic wish for a future he couldn’t even picture.