Chapter 3
Killian had already decided to act like this from the moment Bertholdt briefed him on today’s schedule.
Spend time idly chatting with some stranger? Everyone knew from the start how absurd that was. Yet they kept pretending otherwise, shoving one brat after another at his side.
His patience, forced again and again, had finally snapped.
‘Friends?’
All of them were dull. Childish. Noisy things that buzzed around his ears like flies. Could creatures like that even be called friends?
A friendship could only exist between equals. And there was no one in this empire who could stand on equal footing with the crown prince.
So all this talk of making friends was nothing but nonsense.
Hit me. Go on. Killian curled his lips into a faint grin, watching Roem’s trembling fist.
He had never been struck before, but honestly, it would be preferable to dealing with those idiots prattling on about his ‘qualifications as crown prince’.
At least that would put an end to this.
But instead, Roem took a slow breath.
“…My room is this way. Let’s go.”
The flush of anger faded from his face, returning to calm.
Killian’s expression darkened. He had gone through the trouble of provoking him—only for him to react so… boringly.
For some reason, that irritated him even more.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re so spineless you don’t even have any pride.”
Killian sneered. But this time, Roem didn’t waver.
“It’s not that I don’t have pride. I just don’t feel like playing along with what you want. If you’re looking to cause a scene, do it on your own. I’m not going to let you drag me down and make me look like an idiot.”
For a brief moment, Killian was taken aback.
Then it passed.
Roem’s composed, almost lofty attitude only soured his mood further, and Killian’s lips twisted into a sharp smile.
“…Right. Getting hit by someone else doesn’t really suit me anyway.”
He undid the button at his wrist and without hesitation, slammed his own fist into his face.
Thud. One side of his face swelled almost instantly.
“What are you—?!”
Roem stared at him, pale with shock. Killian smiled.
“What does it look like? Just like you said—I’m causing a scene on my own.”
His eyes gleamed coldly.
“Of course, to anyone else, it’ll look like the young master of House Eport and I got into quite a fight.”
“Y-you…!”
“What a shame. All that patience you showed is now wasted. Wouldn’t it have been better to just hit me once and get it over with?”
Even as he spoke, Killian continued to strike his own face.
Thud. Thud.
The dull sounds echoed down the corridor. Roem could only stand there, stunned, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
And then,
“Stop bullying the young master!”
A small figure suddenly darted between them. With both hands, she shoved Killian. Caught completely off guard, he stumbled backward and fell.
“…What now?”
“I saw everything! You were bullying the young master! Hitting yourself like some crazy person and trying to pin it on him—I saw it all!”
A little girl stood in front of him. Small. Frail. Almost pitifully thin.
“Adelaide!”
Roem hurried forward, pulling Adelaide protectively into his arms.
“I told you not to come out.”
“But he was—”
“I’m fine. Just go back inside.”
Flustered, Roem ushered the girl back into the room. All the while, Killian remained sprawled on the floor, still trying to process what had just happened.
When Roem returned, he quickly helped him up.
“Get up. Are you hurt?”
“…Forget it.”
Killian slapped his hand away.
As if he’d be hurt. The one who pushed him over was barely half his size. No—what bothered him was this situation itself.
The absurdity of it. The irritation.
“…What was that girl just now?”
“I’m sorry. Please, don’t tell your uncle about today. If you want to hit me, you can. As much as you like.”
Roem spoke in a rush, almost pleading with Killian.
“I said, what was she?”
“…She’s my younger sister. Please, just keep what happened with Adelaide a secret. If this gets out, the noble council will definitely use it against us.”
Adelaide. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Killian narrowed his eyes at Roem.
“The commoner, right? That was her?”
“Don’t call a person ‘that.’ And she’s not… a commoner.”
“A baronet’s daughter is basically a commoner. Didn’t her parents die, too?”
A countryside baronet whose succession wasn’t even recognized. A girl who had drifted between relatives after her parents’ sudden death. Until the countess took her in, intending to adopt her.
It was a rumor quietly known among the nobility.
“She hasn’t even passed the adoption review yet, and you’re calling her your sister? …Ah. Is that why she calls you ‘young master’?”
“…There’s still a re-evaluation. She’s been receiving etiquette training again. She’ll pass this time.”
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