One Week Later
In just seven days, I'd learned two things about Yen: one, he was ridiculously overachieving, and two, he was the type of protagonist who made the rest of us look bad by comparison.
Every morning, he strode into Proven Academy like a man on a mission, effortlessly acing every subject as if he had the answer key in his back pocket. His classmates? Mere background noise in the drama of his life. By afternoon, he'd return to the estate, swap his pristine uniform for combat gear, and endure grueling training sessions that made me wince just watching. He sparred, dodged, and endured drills that could break an adult, all with an unnerving level of focus.
Evenings were no respite. If he wasn't buried in books that looked like they contained the secrets of the universe, he was trapped in his father's infamous private lectures. "Discreet" wasn't a word anyone in this household understood, least of all the servants, who whispered about how even the air in the master's study needed permission to breathe.
And yet, Yen wasn't a total ice block. His brothers occasionally stopped by, dragging some warmth into his otherwise Spartan life. They sparred with him, shared stories, and even taught him tricks. Yen soaked it all up like a sponge. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it felt like a rare glimpse of sunshine—fleeting, but enough to remind you he wasn't entirely made of stone.
To be honest, he was the golden child strict parents would sell their souls to raise: disciplined, polite, brilliant, and maddeningly humble. Not that he oozed charm or anything. He was more like a cold, glittering statue that somehow made you feel inadequate just by existing.
Meanwhile, life as a servant? Not as bad as I'd feared. We were fed, housed, and treated decently, provided we followed the rules—which, to be fair, were mostly "Don't bother the family" and "Don't break things you can't afford to replace." I stayed under the radar, mimicking everyone else while quietly thanking the system for the ability to understand their language. Reading their script, though? That was still unknown to me.
Oddly enough, Yen had a habit of teaching illiterate servants to read. Was it out of kindness? A sense of duty? Or sheer boredom? I couldn't tell. But it was one of those little contradictions that made him frustratingly intriguing.
The more I observed him, the more I understood him. Yen was cold, yes, but not cruel. Distant, yet quietly sincere. He carried himself like a man on a mission, though what that mission was remained a mystery.
Still, as I watched him move through life with quiet determination, I couldn't shake the question that had been nagging at me since day one: What part of this was supposed to be the story? Is it just an introduction?
-----
That night, I screwed up.
I'd forgotten to deliver Yen's freshly washed robes to his room. It was late, and I was tired, but the thought of facing the head butler's wrath in the morning was more terrifying than any ghost story.
"Just drop them off and get out," I told myself, clutching the neatly folded robes like a shield.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
No answer.
"Great," I muttered. "He's probably asleep." Or too focused in his books.
Still, I couldn't leave. Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door open. "Young master?" I whispered.
The room was dark, but moonlight spilled onto the balcony—and that's when I saw him.
Or rather, saw someone.
A tall man stood there, his dark amber hair glinting in the light, his robes flowing like something out of an epic fantasy movie. His posture was so unnervingly still I thought he might be a mannequin. But then, as if sensing my presence, he turned his head slightly. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto mine for a split second before—
He jumped.
"WHAT?!" I slapped a hand over my mouth, nearly dropping the robes as I rushed to the balcony. I leaned over, heart pounding, expecting to see… what? A body? A man sprouting wings?
There was nothing.
Just the empty courtyard below.
My brain scrambled for answers. "Was that Yen? Did he get kidnapped? Wait—no, people don't kidnap themselves! Right?!"
Still clutching the robes, I stumbled back into the room, my mind racing. If this was Yen's idea of an evening workout, someone needed to have a long talk with him. I placed the robes in his drawer, my hands trembling, and returned to the balcony, hoping for… I don't know, a sign?
"Young master?" I called weakly.
Silence.
The realization hit me like a slap: if Yen was missing and anyone found out I'd been in his room, I was done for. Forget a scolding—I'd be executed faster than I could blink.
"He'll come back," I muttered, pacing. "He's Yen. He probably does this all the time. Jumping off balconies is… totally normal, right?"
With no better plan, I decided to stay put. If anyone came by, they'd never know Yen wasn't inside. I stationed myself by the door, arms crossed, trying to look like I had everything under control.
Spoiler alert: I didn't.
-----
"Ahem."
The sound jolted me awake. My eyes flew open to find the head butler standing in front of me, his expression carved from pure disapproval.
"Good morning," I croaked, frantically wiping drool from my chin.
"Likewise."He replied curtly. "Where is the young master?"
"He's, uh…" I scrambled for an excuse. "Still asleep!"
The butler's eyes narrowed. "Move aside."
Before I could protest, the door creaked open behind me.
"I had an upset stomach." Yen's calm, indifferent voice cut through the tension. He stepped into view, fully dressed, looking as if he hadn't just defied the laws of physics hours earlier. "Is Father looking for me?"
"Yes, young master. He's waiting in the study."
Yen nodded, his expression unreadable. As he passed me, he tapped my shoulder lightly, and I swear there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
And wait. Was that… a smirk?
I watched him walk away, utterly dumbfounded.
What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?