The damp air clung to Yuuya's skin, thick with the scent of mold, sweat, and decay. His body ached from the rough treatment, every breath sending a dull, lingering pain through his ribs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the deep, throbbing pain that had settled into his bones.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The rhythmic sound of water falling from the cracked ceiling echoed in the silence. A slow, torturous reminder of how long he had been left here, forgotten. The only source of light came from a dim torch outside the iron bars, flickering weakly. Its glow barely reached the edges of the cell, leaving most of the space shrouded in darkness.
Just like him.
Yuuya sat slumped against the cold stone wall, his body unwilling to move. His arms lay limply at his sides, bruised and battered. His hands, once steady and strong, were now trembling from exhaustion. His uniform, once pristine, was now torn, stained with dirt and dried blood. His left shoulder ached where a particularly large rock had struck him.
He could still remember the jeers, the shouting.
"Monster!"
"We trusted you, and this is how you repay us?!"
Yuuya let out a slow breath, a breath that barely moves his chest, closing his eyes. The past crept in like a whisper, memories of another time, another betrayal, another false accusation, another time he had been abandoned.
He should have expected this.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, soft and dry. "So, it happens again, huh?"
Footsteps.
Slow. Hesitant.
Yuuya cracked open his eyes. Through the rusted bars, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows… Eltharion.
The knight stood rigid, his usual composed expression faltering for the first time. His eyes scanned Yuuya's state, his pale skin, the bruises littering his arms and face, the dried blood on his temple, the way he didn't even flinch when the torchlight revealed the fresh gash along his jaw.
When Eltharion enters, Yuuya doesn't react. His breathing is slow, his gaze empty. He doesn't even flinch when Eltharion speaks.
"This… this was not how Arcadia's best student should be treated."
"…Yuuya." Eltharion's voice was low, uncertain.
he tries to move his fingers but finds it pointless. He can't move his body
"Yuuya"
Yuuya finally met his gaze. Despite his broken body, his face remained calm. He smiled, a small, tired curve of his lips, as if he were the one comforting Eltharion.
"Don't look at me like that," Yuuya murmured. "I'm still here."
But then Eltharion froze… because the eyes looking at him weren't Yuuya's.
They were hollow.
Dead.
It was the gaze of someone who had given up, not on the trial, not on Arcadia, but on life itself.
Eltharion's hands clenched into fists. This wasn't right.
He turned sharply on his heel, his boots echoing in the stone hallway.
"…I will bring you out of here."
And with that promise, he disappeared into the darkness.
(What was the point? The trial was already decided. He had seen it in their eyes, there was no place for him here anymore.)
Yuuya already accept his fate as it is.
Meanwhile, on the waiting room.
CRASH!
The wooden table trembled as Leonhardt's fist slammed against it.
"You expect me to sit here and do nothing while he rots in that cell?!" His voice was raw with frustration.
Across from him, Alfir remained unmoved, his silver hair barely shifting as he leaned back in his chair. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was firm.
"We serve the kingdom, Leonhardt. We do not serve our emotions."
Leonhardt's teeth clenched. "He's innocent."
"Then let the trial prove it."
A tense silence followed. But they both knew the truth.
House Verne had already seized control of the court. This wasn't justice. It was a trap.
Leonhardt exhaled sharply and turned to leave.
Before he could step out the door, Alfir's voice stopped him.
"Be careful, Leonhardt." His tone was quieter now, almost a warning. "If you step too far, you may not be able to return."
Leonhardt didn't look back. His fists clenched as he made his decision.
The weight of frustration pushes him forward, and before he realizes it, his feet are taking him toward the training hall.
Leonhardt stormed into the training hall where Flora, Sena, and Christina were waiting. His face was tight with anger.
The moment the words left his mouth, "They arrested Yuuya," everything changed.
Flora froze, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You're lying," she said, but her voice wavered. (No, this can't be true. Yuuya... he couldn't have done this.) But even as the words left her lips, a nagging doubt crept into her mind. (Was it possible? Could he have really done it? The crime... it was too serious, too dangerous. He must have made a mistake, right? But what if... no, Yuuya wouldn't… he couldn't have done this.)
Sena slumped against the wall, whispering, "No way… this can't be happening." Her mind was racing, but there was no sign of panic. Only a quiet, underlying frustration. (I know Yuuya. He would never commit a crime like this. He's won't ever hurt someone. But what can I do? I'm just a commoner. I can't do anything... not like Flora, or Christina, or Leonhardt. If only I had the power to help him...)
But Christina didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, grabbing Leonhardt's collar and shaking him.
"You bastard!! If you're lying, I'll break your damn ribs." Christina who always smile and cheerful become crude when he angry
"I'm not."
Christina's hands tightened, but instead of throwing a punch, she let go and turned on her heel.
Without hesitation, she decided to leave.
"Where are you going?" Sena asked.
"Where else?" Christina didn't look back. Her expression was sharp, like she already had a plan in mind. "I'm sending a message to my father. I'm sure he will be a big help."
At the same time, far away in Araulia Kingdom…
A heavy incense clouded the chamber, thick and cloying, filling the air with the scent of burning spices. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, stretching like grasping fingers over the polished mahogany table. Around it sat the most influential members of the Verne Faction—powerful nobles, merchants, and military officials, all bound together by ambition, greed, and a shared hatred for those who stood in their way.
At the head of the table, Isaac von Verne leaned back in his chair, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine goblet. Before him, an ornate map of Araulia was spread out, crisscrossed with markings, borders, alliances, weak points in the kingdom's power structure. But Isaac's eyes weren't on the map. No, his gaze was filled with calculating amusement as he observed the faces of his peers.
"The trial," he began, his voice smooth, rich, like a serpent whispering in the dark, "will serve as a warning."
He lifted his goblet, swirling the dark red liquid within. A slow, confident smirk tugged at his lips.
"The royal family has protected that boy for far too long." His voice dripped with disdain as he uttered the word. "That ends now."
A murmur of agreement swept through the room. Some nodded, while others scoffed outright at the absurdity of Yuuya's continued existence in noble society.
A noblewoman, draped in silk and adorned with gleaming jewelry, let out a soft chuckle. She rested her chin on the back of her hand, her crimson-painted lips curving into a smirk. "And what if King Alfred intervenes?" she mused. "If he presides, we may lose control of the trial."
Isaac's smirk didn't falter.
"The game is already set." He took a leisurely sip of his wine before placing the goblet down with a soft clink. "There will be no fair trial."
A nobleman across the table let out a harsh laugh. "Hah! A filthy commoner like him standing trial in the royal court? It's laughable that he was ever allowed to walk among us in the first place." He sneered, his jeweled rings glinting as he gestured dismissively. "He should have known his place."
Another nobleman scoffed. "He was given privilege beyond his station, thanks to King Alfred and his sentimental softness. He dare to humiliate young master Cedric."
The noblewoman chuckled. "Perhaps we should have clipped his fangs before he got this far." she idly trace her wine goblet's rim
Isaac exhaled through his nose, amused by the growing animosity in the room. Good.
"Let the boy be torn apart," he said softly. "Let the people see what happens when a nobody reaches too high. Let it be an example to anyone who dares to believe that the royal family's favor means anything in the face of true power."
A ripple of cruel satisfaction spread through the room.
Isaac smirked. But he wasn't finished yet.
Slowly, he traced his fingers over the map, his touch lingering on a single name: Cedric von Verne.
(Cedric was always the easiest to guide. A few words, the right pressure, and he would dance to whatever tune I played.)
"While the royal family's name is dragged through the dirt, we—the Verne faction—will rise," he declared, his voice laced with triumph.
A pause.
Then, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"We will tie Cedric with Princess Flora. And by the time anyone notices what we've done… it will be too late to stop us."
The room fell into a hush. Then, as the realization of his words sank in, a slow, sinister laughter rippled through the chamber.
The pieces were moving.
And soon, the kingdom itself would be in their hands.
Elsewhere, in the Royal Castle of Arcadia Kingdom
The royal chambers were eerily silent. The heavy velvet curtains swayed slightly from the faint night breeze filtering through the open balcony. The soft glow of lanterns cast golden light over the marble floor, yet despite the warmth of the room, a suffocating chill clung to the air.
King Alfred stood before the grand window, staring down at the city. From this height, the capital of Araulia looked peaceful and calm. The streets below shimmered under the glow of lamplights, and the distant sounds of the marketplace had long since faded into the quiet hum of the night.
But the peace was an illusion.
Behind the closed doors of noble estates, schemes were unfolding. The court was divided. The people whispered, uncertain of their king's next move.
And in the heart of it all, a boy sat in a cell, awaiting judgment.
A boy that Alfred owed so much to.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his temples. His mind was clouded, his thoughts spiraling into endless calculations. What could he do? What should he do?
A king must be fair.
Or at least, that was what he had told himself for years.
The sound of light footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.
Queen Fauna stepped beside him, her delicate hands resting on the windowsill. The moonlight illuminated the soft lines of her face, but tonight, there was no warmth in her expression, only worry.
"He is just a boy, Alfred," she whispered. "One that you promised to protect. The one who saved our daughter."
Her voice was steady, but beneath it, there was something else. A plea.
Alfred inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment before responding. "And what would you have me do, Fauna?" His voice was weary, laced with an exhaustion that went beyond mere fatigue. "If I interfere too openly, the court will accuse me of favoritism."
Queen Fauna turned to him, her eyes sharp as they bore into his. "Would that be so wrong?"
Alfred tensed. He knew she was right.
The weight of the crown pressed against him. His father's teachings echoed in his mind. A king does not act on emotions. A king does not show weakness. A king must always consider the greater picture.
His father's voice had guided him for years.
But as he looked at Fauna, as he saw the raw emotion in her eyes, another voice rose in his mind, one he had buried for too long.
His own.
"The nobles are watching. The moment I take Yuuya's side, they will claim I'm overstepping my power." Alfred's fingers curled into a fist. "They will use this as proof that I have lost control of my throne."
Fauna did not look away. "And if you do nothing, what will they say then?"
Alfred remained silent.
"You worry about your reputation," she continued, voice soft but firm, "but what about Flora? What about the people? What about the boy who trusted you?"
Alfred exhaled sharply, turning from the window. "You think I do not care?" His voice was quieter now, almost pained.
Fauna studied him for a long moment, then took a step closer. Gently, she reached out, placing her hand over his.
"You have always done what is right for this kingdom," she murmured. "But you and I both know that ruling is not just about politics. A king must be fair, yes." She squeezed his hand. "But a king must also be just."
Alfred's breath hitched.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to look away from the endless weight of duty and into the eyes of the woman he loved.
Silence stretched between them before Alfred slowly pulled away. He stepped back to the window, looking down at the city once more. The capital had not changed. It still gleamed under the moonlight, still whispered in the quiet of the night.
But in his heart, something shifted.
His voice was quiet, yet resolute.
"…I will not let them destroy him."
Fauna's lips parted slightly, surprised at the quiet determination in his tone. But then, slowly, she smiled.
"Then," she whispered, "it is time to remind the nobles why you wear the crown."
Alfred closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Then, when he opened them again…
The king of Araulia had made his decision.