The so-called tutors, whom he had been lamenting to Hanslow Jin over drinks just moments ago, were the least of it.
I mean, at his age, did he really need to be scolded for not knowing a few words?
But... the truly severe ones made those tutors seem like mere nagging adults.
There were the unscrupulous opportunists dreaming of quick riches, the sly old foxes in Parliament, and the scheming businessmen trying to cling to him with bribes.
After the sudden death of his brother, he had abandoned the future he wanted as a naval officer and husband to his cousin Mary, and instead, embarked on this path.
But the filth that stuck to him along the way was unbearably filthy and nauseatingly excessive.
His time spent at the York Villa wasn't unrelated to these burdens.
The small refreshment in his life came from Hanslow Jin's novels, so how could he not like them?
Sure, he had complained a bit... but that's something any husband could do to the friend who made his wife cry, right?
However, even so...
"He never asked me for a single favour."
George murmured, squinting at the blinding dawn.
A man from a distant land where this dawn rises. Surely, there were many discomforts in a place that wasn't his home, yet throughout their meetings, he never once made any significant demands.
He didn't ask for money, for entry into the Royal Literary Society, or for a high position in the country...
The most he asked was for permission to feature him in a future work.
Honestly, could such a request even be called a 'demand'?
It seemed quite at odds with the general, or perhaps distorted, notions he had been familiar with.
At the very least, could he not have said something on behalf of his homeland? According to Isabella Bird Bishop's report, which he had secretly read from his grandmother, Joseon seemed to be just another medieval kingdom, not much different from China.
'Does he dislike his own country?'
George briefly considered this, but quickly dismissed the idea.
There was no sign of such feelings. The intense hatred often seen in those who despise their homeland and seek refuge elsewhere was entirely absent.
Rather, what he saw in him was...
"A pure man."
"Your Highness?"
"Purely wanting to bring joy to others. That's all I saw."
George slowly recalled their conversations.
—So, theater is nice, but it's not enough. No matter how much we popularize it, theater takes forever to prepare, and it's ridiculously expensive, right? So, movies! Filming the scenes in advance, editing the footage! Allowing everyone to watch whenever they want! Movies will become the center of media!
—Personally, I don't see much future in Art Nouveau. It's not really an art movement, more like a form of commercial art. Mass production, popularization, more visceral appeal! Why? Because metaphysical art requires a certain level of sophistication, but everyone can appreciate something that's simply pretty!
—And this, sports! You know that guy in France who wants to start the Olympics? I think it's going to be a huge hit. At the core, humans are creatures who can argue all day about whose muscles are bigger, right? But if you gather the strongest in this field to compete and see who's the strongest, who wouldn't be thrilled? It's even about national prestige, national prestige.
Of course, he still wanted personal success and commercial achievement.
But who in the world doesn't have at least that much ambition?
In a world full of people willing to trample others to make money, the desire to bring joy to others while earning a living seemed almost endearing.
Moreover, he had successfully turned that into reality, so he deserved plenty of praise.
Despite being around the same age as him, Hanslow Jin still sparkled with youthful dreams, a stark contrast to himself, covered in dust and ashes, shrouded in dull colours.
It wasn't that he was naive to the hardships of the world, yet he hadn't been swept away by them. He was a strange mix of fire and water, something paradoxical.
'Of course... that's probably why I wanted to be friends with him even more.'
As he thought this, George suddenly noticed the nameless naval officer attending him.
A man who had once been commissioned as a naval officer alongside him. But in reality, he was a watchdog of the intelligence service, an unnamed hound of the state.
When you think about it, the biggest and dirtiest dust had clung to him for a long time.
George shook his head, dispelling the thought, and slowly approached the direction of the rising sun.
The officer, startled, hurried after him.
"Please take the carriage, Your Highness."
"I'll take a walk first."
The weather is nice, isn't it?
With a fresh smile, the Crown Prince walked toward the morning of London.
And he thought about what he could possibly do for the innocent friend he had just made.
***
A strange ceiling.
I stared blankly at it, and then a thought occurred to me. Or rather, unfamiliar memories were replaying themselves on my retina.
"Seriously... this is crazy."
My tired mind, which had been swept away by whiskey, briefly returned to its senses, but when I recalled what I had done, it threatened to fly away again. It might just be the hangover, though.
Friends with the Crown Prince? So, I'm friends with the future king? Oh, yes, that's fantastic.
Honestly, I'm still bewildered as to how this happened.
Why wouldn't I be? The outcome is far too dramatic for something crafted in a duet of fatigue and intoxication.
Moreover, he's a sponsor of the Savoy Theatre, where the media mix of his work is in progress.
Thanks to that, I even secured additional support for the opera yesterday.
Well, it's all for the best.
"And... hmm."
I rummaged through the empty snack dish.
There lay a notebook I usually carried for jotting down notes, along with a fountain pen I'd never seen before.
... No, it wasn't the first time I'd seen it. It was the one I borrowed from Crown Prince George in a drunken haze. Wow, the nib is something else. Is this thing really pure gold and not just plated?
Anyway, on the notebook was my handwriting, scrawled out yesterday, clearly in my own hand.
As I read the words, the memories of yesterday, lost in a drunken fog, slowly began to resurface.
Not the details, but at least the content I had come up with while developing a character.
And after reviewing it...
"... It's definitely usable."
It would need more polishing to become a manuscript, but it seemed like something decent could come out of it.
Well, the manuscript can wait. Right now, cleaning up is the priority.
"Ugh. My head."
I need to tidy up first.
I grabbed my pounding head and looked at the empty whiskey bottles and snack plates that George and I had left behind.
Damn, how many bottles did we drink?
I'm not usually a heavy drinker, but the alcohol went down surprisingly smoothly.
I guess that means Crown Prince George is a good drinking buddy.
First, I'll gather the bottles, then stop by the store to replenish the whiskey we drank. Mr. Miller will blow a fuse if he sees this.
With thoughts of the perfect cover-up, I reached out and picked up the bottle that had fallen to the floor.
At that moment...
"Hanslow, are you there? I heard you had a rough night yesterday, but─"
"... Uh."
I locked eyes with Mr. Miller as he entered the living room.
All the whiskey bottles Mr. Miller cherished were opened on the table. The late-night snacks he had prepared were entirely consumed.
"Hanslow?"
"Uh, yes. Mr. Miller."
Stay calm, stay calm.
I've done nothing wrong. I'm not Monty, and I didn't secretly steal my father's hidden stash of alcohol.
And besides, my drinking partner was the Crown Prince.
No matter how much of a painstakingly collected, decades-old collection, this was for Mr. Miller!
If anything, I deserve praise. There's absolutely no reason for me to feel guilty!
"Hanslow."
"Mr. Miller, I can explain."
"I recommend that you do so."
Mr. Miller smiled.
But his eyes were dead, so dry they looked like they might ignite with the slightest spark.
"Otherwise... I don't know how I'll treat you."
Uh... Yes, of course.
***
"Crown Prince, you say."
As I carefully explained everything that had happened yesterday while tidying up the table, Mr. Miller quickly changed his demeanour.
And naturally, he was utterly astonished.
Even for Mr. Miller, the name Crown Prince was something to be taken seriously.
"I've heard he's a fan of yours, but to think he wanted to invite you to his estate?"
"That's right."
"Well, you're not the type to make up nonsense."
Mr. Miller stroked his chin as he spoke.
"It's too grand a story to be just a cover for stealing my liquor."
"I'm really sorry..."
"I'm joking. I was planning to drink it with you and Monty eventually anyway. I'm just a little disappointed that you drank it with someone else."
"Mr. Miller...!"
Truly a noble employer. Sniff, I'll follow you for life.
"But still, the Crown Prince, huh... He's just as frugal as the rumours say."
"Mr. Miller, you know about him?"
"Royal gossip is the highest form of social news, isn't it? The Crown Prince is known for being more sociable and gentle, but even the less sociable Prince is fairly well-known."
Huh, really?
I nodded. It's true, he didn't seem like someone who'd enjoy being the center of attention at social events.
After pondering for a moment, Mr. Miller nodded and patted me on the shoulder.
"You're lucky. Even though the royal family reigns but doesn't rule, having a connection with the Crown Prince might come in handy one day. It could be dangerous if you get greedy, but you're not the type."
"Of course, I'll be careful."
I do value my life, after all.
"Good. Then, for now."
"Yes?"
Mr. Miller pointed to the door. What? Is he really going to kick me out?
"Go wash up. You reek of sweat and booze. How much and how did you even drink?"
"... Yes."
I swallowed my sadness and nodded.
Ugh, even I can smell how bad I am. Come to think of it, I was planning to go to the bathhouse yesterday. But then the Crown Prince suddenly showed up, and that plan was cancelled.
"After your bath, don't come back here. Head straight to Bayswater. Now that your urgent matters are settled, you should join the others."
"Yes, understood. I'll do that."
With that, I packed a change of clothes and headed to the bathhouse.
This is the real problem with London.
Even in an upscale neighbourhood like the West End, there's no proper sewage system, so you have to go to a public bath to wash up.
Is this... really the heart of the empire that rules the world?
I can't help but laugh.
So, I took a different route than usual as I walked.
The bath itself was quite pleasant. The West End's bathhouse had luxurious facilities, so no one complained about the high fees, and after a refreshing wash, I felt much cleaner.
And thanks to that fresh feeling and the new route I took...
"... My goodness."
I witnessed a sight in London that I had never seen before.
What on earth... is that?