That morning, soft sunlight streamed in through the window, brushing gently across the wooden floor of the room as it began to warm. A noisy sound came from the middle of the room—the scrape of a plastic spoon against a cup of instant noodles.
Mathien sat proudly in the corner, in front of a small bowl of dry food. A soft crunch sounded each time his little fangs bit into the kibble. He chewed slowly, with an air of dignity—like the food was a royal feast instead of cat food.
But his eyes weren't on his meal.
He glanced toward the center of the room.
Hana sat cross-legged, moving in a hurry. Her long hair was a total mess, as if she'd just run a marathon—some strands covering her face, others sticking up for reasons unknown. Her school uniform was neat, tie perfectly in place, her bag ready by her side… but her face was locked in a desperate race against time, hunched over a cup of instant noodles.
"Why is it like this every single morning…" Mathien murmured under his breath, letting out a long sigh.
He stared at the girl for a while.
The plastic spoon in Hana's hand trembled as she rushed. Her hair was just a breath away from dipping into the soup, and some strands had already caught the broth.
Mathien turned his face away.
"Disgusting," he whispered.
Then he looked again—this time for longer.
"But for some reason… I can't look away."
The girl, no matter how clumsy, still carried a strange kind of light.
A light he had never seen—not in the palace, not in Valtherion, not even among the grand mages.
And when Hana glanced his way mid-chew and flashed him a smile, Mathien could only shake his head slightly before returning to his bowl.
"Commoner," he muttered, "…yet her aura is blinding."
And he went back to eating his dry food, slower this time, stealing glances at the messy girl racing against both the clock and her noodles.
Footsteps scurried from the far side of the room. Mathien lifted his head, frowning when he saw Hana hopping on one leg, trying to pull on a sock while half-running toward the door.
"Ugh! Which one's the left? Is this the right?!" Hana cried in panic, then fell to the floor with a thud. She winced, but got up right away, too rushed to care about her bruised knee.
"Quick… quick…" she muttered to herself, grabbing a small comb from the table.
She stood before the mirror fixed to the wall, trying to tame her tangled hair. But instead of neatness, her hair puffed out even more—like a lion fresh out of bed. With a frustrated sigh, she sprayed some water from a small bottle and tried to tie it with whatever hairband she could find.
Mathien watched it all from his perch on the pillow.
His gaze was blank.
Silent.
Then he said flatly, "This is chaos."
The comb slipped from Hana's hand and clattered to the floor.
"Ahhh!! I'm late!!!" she yelped, snatching up her bag and shoes, and dashing to the door—one sock still dangling from her hand.
Mathien turned slowly toward the small mirror on the table. He caught the reflection of his own face—a large orange cat, sitting in the middle of the room like a divine observer, surrounded by human disorder.
He stared into the mirror in silence.
Then whispered, "I am the prince of Valtherion. I once stood on the highest throne. And now… I live with a creature like that."
A crash sounded from outside.
"Aaaahhh I forgot my water bottle!!!" Hana's voice echoed from the front of the house.
Mathien covered his face with one paw.
"This is going to be a long day," he muttered in despair, before calmly grooming his chest fur, as if trying to soothe himself from the chaos called "Hana."
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In the classroom, filled with midday light and a low buzz of student chatter, Hana slept with her head resting on her arm. Her long hair spilled over part of her face, her breathing even, her expression deeply tired.
The teacher at the front, Mr. Giro, paused mid-step.
Usually, Hana was one of the liveliest students—sitting upright, taking notes, listening with bright eyes—though her clothes were worn and her shoes shabby. But today, since the first bell, she hadn't lifted her head once.
Mr. Giro quietly walked closer. He watched Hana for a moment, then glanced toward the back of the class, signaling a few students to stay quiet and leave her be.
He didn't wake her.
Instead, he took a slow breath and shook his head slightly. In his heart, he knew the reason.
"It must be because of the Festival last night… She must've helped sell flowers…"
Something inside him softened. He knew Hana's background well—a simple girl living with her grandmother, far from luxury. He knew every coin she earned was carefully saved. He also knew her smile was built on long, hard years… and now, for the first time, she was truly exhausted.
So he went back to his desk, continuing the lesson without a word of scolding.
The school bell rang for dismissal.
Students spilled out of the classroom—some strolling, others rushing with their bags. But in one corner, Hana still slept, her head resting on an arm that was probably going numb by now.
Until a voice—unfriendly and far too close—broke the small pocket of silence.
"Hey, wake up, flower girl."
Hana blinked. Her vision was hazy. Sunlight from the window stabbed her eyes, and the noisy chatter outside the classroom drifted faintly into her ears.
But the clearest thing was the three shadows standing before her.
Rima, Yela, and Intan. The school's resident bully trio. Arms crossed, one of them chewing gum and smirking wickedly.
Hana instantly sat up straighter. Her heartbeat quickened. Her chest tightened.
"What are you doing, sleeping at school like some homeless person?" Yela sneered, tapping Hana's desk. "Did you make a lot from selling flowers yesterday?"
Intan leaned forward, her tone sweet but venomous. "We get a share, right?"
Rima, the leader, leaned in, eyes narrowed with malice.
"Hand over the money. Just a little. So you can sleep easier tonight."
Hana's fingers clenched the hem of her skirt.
Her mind was still foggy, but she knew this scene all too well.
"I-I don't have any extra money."
"Sure about that?" Rima reached under Hana's desk for her bag and opened it without permission. "Just wanna take a look."
"Don't!" Hana said quickly, grabbing for it.
But Rima was faster. She found a small pastel wallet—worn and faded, yet clearly cared for.
She held it high. "This'll do. Just for snacks."
Hana stood up, her face pale.
"Please… not today…"
But the trio just chuckled, not a hint of guilt between them.
Meanwhile, outside the school gate, in the distance, an orange cat let out a slow breath.
His eyes narrowed. His thick tail swayed side to side.
"I knew it would come to this…"
Mathien—who had only intended to quietly pick Hana up—now stepped forward, a faint blue glow flickering in his eyes under the afternoon sun.
Hana froze.
Her hand was still in the air after reflexively smacking Yela with her worn-out bag. The sharp "thwack" echoed softly, but enough to make the bullies pause in shock.
Yela clutched her cheek.
Rima glared. "You—"
But Hana didn't wait for her to finish.
She turned, snatched up her fallen wallet, and ran as fast as she could out of the classroom. Her breathing was ragged, her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her hair had partly slipped from its tie, whipping wildly in the afternoon breeze.
She sprinted down the hallway, past a few students who glanced at the commotion. But Hana didn't care. She just wanted to run. Run far. Run before the bullies recovered and chased her.
And as she burst through the school gates—
Her eyes caught a round orange figure hidden behind the hedge.
"CHIRO?!"
Mathien, who had been standing regally among the branches, didn't have time to react.
In a flash, Hana scooped him up in one arm—an urgent, adrenaline-fueled hug—and started running again.
"We have to get out of here! They'll come after us!"
Mathien sighed, squished against her chest.
"What's going on? Why are you running like a street vendor being chased by—"
"Later!!!" Hana hissed. "Just don't meow, okay?!"
They darted into a narrow alley by the school. Hana ran without a clear direction, driven purely by instinct. Mathien, bouncing in her grip, struggled to maintain his dignity while grumbling inwardly.
"I am a prince. This is… humiliating."
Yet, quietly, something in his chest felt strange.
Warm.
Not from being held too tightly—but because the girl was brave. Reckless, maybe. But brave.
And Mathien couldn't decide whether to be impressed… or annoyed.
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