Chapter 12
The students laughing with the prince all came from powerful families.
Some were children of old aristocratic houses that had held wealth and prestige for generations, long before the caste system was abolished. Others were sons and daughters of newer, rising families who had become the new elite.
As nobles of the past had once bound together by lineage, so these children built ties with others of similar wealth and status.
And at the center of it all was the prince—Elenon Hermeon.
The only royal currently attending the Academy. Not a ruler with absolute power anymore, but still a symbol, still the youngest son of the royal family.
In a country that no longer judged people by bloodline, he was a contradiction—rare and fascinating.
And he was handsome, intelligent, and kind. A prince who was both charming and bright, almost as if he had stepped out of a fairy tale.
Always smiling, always humble, he was naturally popular. Admirers clustered around him wherever he went.
Children of modest families admired from afar, while those from famous houses openly sought his favor.
For years, Elenon played along. He smiled, returned their kindness, and pretended at friendship. To him, the act had become routine—so much so that it was boring.
Until…
[Whispered voices he wasn’t meant to hear]
“That prince is so fake. Am I the only one who thinks so?”
“Always pretending to be kind and generous, smiling like he’s some saint. He thinks he’s actually popular.”
“Especially with the girls. It’s pathetic, watching them throw themselves at him just because of his looks.”
“And he’s so obviously pampered. It’s exhausting to keep humoring him.”
“The royal family doesn’t even matter anymore. What makes him so different from us?”
“A monarchy in this day and age—it’s ridiculous.”
“Still, it’s not all bad. Being friends with a prince has its benefits.”
“True. That’s the only reason we keep him around anyway.”
Were we friends?
Could we really call it friendship? Can you swear there’s even a drop of truth in what you just said?
It felt like the sky collapsed. Like the ground cracked beneath him.
When Elenon overheard his classmates’ words, his chest split open with pain. He wasn’t even angry at first—just devastated.
He had always known that their friendships weren’t completely pure. He never believed they came to him without some hidden motive.
But he had hoped—just hoped—that even if not genuine, their relationships could still be pleasant. That they could laugh together, share hobbies, make memories.
He never imagined they secretly hated him.
But it made sense, didn’t it? He was royalty. They all bowed and smiled to his face. None of them dared speak harshly in front of him.
He wasn’t arrogant or spoiled. His parents had raised him strictly, teaching morality and discipline. He had worked hard to be proper, kind, and beyond reproach.
Yet he always feared that behind his back, people whispered differently. That fear drove him to smile more, to be kinder, to work harder. He didn’t want to be seen as a relic of the past, a prince drunk on privilege.
So he tried. He tried so hard. All he wanted was to be liked, to be accepted.
But those “friends” mocked him anyway—saying he only pretended to be kind, only acted noble, only pretended to care.
Yes… it was an act. A mask. I only worked so hard because I didn’t want to be hated.
He admitted it bitterly that day, clenching his fists until his nails cut into his palms.
But is that so wrong?
Was it a crime to try to be kind? Was it really so terrible to want to be liked?
His beliefs shattered. What he had built his life on collapsed into dust under the weight of their ridicule.
And then—just days later—those same classmates beamed at him during the royal spring ball, fawning as if nothing had happened.
He was disgusted.
More than anger at them, he felt ashamed of himself—for ever expecting sincerity from them.
Anger curdled into self-hatred. For all his princely image, Elenon was just an eighteen-year-old boy—fragile, glass-hearted. That night, he couldn’t hold it in.
He ran away. Hid in the palace gardens. And cried—tears he hadn’t shed even as a child.
Tears he never wanted anyone to see.
But someone did.
A girl with long brown hair tied neatly back, with eyes as green as summer leaves. She found him.
Even remembering it now, his cheeks burned with shame. And more than shame—fear.
What if she tells someone?
She wouldn’t even need to gossip loudly. All it would take was a whispered, “Hey, I saw Prince Elenon crying at the ball last night.”
And that would be enough.
That’s how rumors start.
One person tells another, who promises to keep it a secret but doesn’t. Soon everyone knows.
And rumors destroy. Lives crumble over whispers.
He needed to find her. To make sure she kept quiet.
It wasn’t a matter of national security, but if anyone reported that the second prince had been found weeping in the royal gardens during the ball—it would be humiliating.
Reporters would eat it alive.
The press would twist it into headlines, whether it deserved it or not. That’s what the public wanted: scandals, stories, gossip.
Once, royalty had been sacred. Their actions had shaped the fate of the nation.
But not anymore. Now, royals were entertainment. Their lives were public property. Their privileges came at the price of scrutiny.
I should have at least asked her name.
For a week, Elenon regretted it bitterly. But he had been too shocked then, too flustered, to think of it.
He had guided her back to the ballroom, keeping his composure as best he could. By the time he thought to ask who she was, it was too late.
He couldn’t barge into the women’s restroom, and after that, he had to endure the ball—greeting elders, chatting with peers, pretending to enjoy dances with girls who vied for his attention.
All the while, boys glared at him with envy, only to flash fake smiles when he looked their way.
The hypocrisy made him sick. But he was no different—he wore a mask too.
By dawn, the ball ended. And the girl with the green eyes was gone.
Who was she? Someone from the provinces? If she lived in the capital, I’d know her. Maybe not a noble? But anyone invited to the royal ball must belong to some influential house…
He racked his brain. He knew nearly every noble of his generation.
So if he didn’t know her, then she must have been a guest of one.
She must have come as someone’s friend.
Which meant… he had a chance of finding her.
That was why today, he joined his classmates at the tea house. Outwardly for “socializing”—but secretly, to investigate.
He sipped his tea and nibbled cake, all while subtly testing them with questions, searching for a clue to her identity.
