The room was silent—too silent.
Prince Daigo sat alone by the window, knees drawn close to his chest, fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his robe. Beyond the thick glass, the night stretched endlessly, dark clouds swallowing the moon as if even the sky feared what was coming.
War.
The word echoed in his mind again and again.
Reports from the borders replayed like a curse—armies gathering, banners rising, blood waiting to be spilled. His breath grew uneven. Every sound, every flicker of candlelight made his heart jump.
"I can't…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I can't do this…"
His hands began to shake. He pressed his palms against his face, trying to steady himself—but the fear only grew heavier. His chest tightened, his vision blurred.
Tears slipped through his fingers.
"I'm scared…" he muttered, his voice cracking.
The silence answered him with nothing.
Suddenly, Daigo straightened, wiping his face roughly. He turned toward the door, desperation flooding his expression.
"Servant!" he shouted, his voice sharp and uneven. "Servant—come here! Now!"
The door opened hurriedly, and a servant rushed in, bowing deeply, eyes fixed on the floor.
"Y-Yes, Your Highness?"
Daigo swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away.
"Bring Eirene," he said, quieter now—but firm. "Immediately."
The servant nodded and retreated without another word.
Left alone once more, Daigo sank back onto the bed, his shoulders trembling. He wrapped his arms around himself, staring at the shadows dancing on the walls.
He hated how weak he felt.
And yet… right now, Eirene was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely.
A soft knock echoed through the chamber.
Daigo stiffened, his breath catching.
"Y-Yes…?" he said hoarsely.
The door opened just enough for a gentle voice to slip through.
"May I come in, my prince?"
His heart skipped.
The door slowly creaked open, and Eirene stepped inside.
Her long dark hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, catching the candlelight like flowing silk. Her eyes—deep, calm, and impossibly beautiful—held a quiet warmth that could pull any man into them without resistance. She moved gracefully, her well-shaped figure outlined beneath simple fabric, every step unhurried, confident.
Daigo stared.
For a moment, all thoughts of war, duty, and fear vanished.
"…Eirene," he breathed, his lips parting slightly. "You're finally here…"
His gaze lingered shamelessly, as if trying to confirm she was real. The tension in his body loosened, replaced by something far more vulnerable.
Eirene closed the door behind her and approached him slowly.
Before she could speak, Daigo surged forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly—almost desperately. His grip trembled, as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.
"I missed you," he said into her shoulder, his voice breaking. "I really missed you…"
Eirene didn't pull away. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing close, allowing him to cling to her. Her presence was warm, grounding—exactly what he needed.
"I'm here now," she said softly.
Daigo buried his face against her, breathing her in, his shoulders finally relaxing. For the first time that night, the fear inside him quieted—if only a little.
And for Prince Daigo, that was enough… for now.
He felt the soft swell of her breasts against his chest, the yielding warmth of her belly. His hands, trembling moments before with fear, now found their purpose. They slid down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine, then cupped her ass, lifting her slightly, pressing her harder into him.
"You're so soft," he whispered against her ear, his breath warm on her skin. His lips moved to her neck, kissing the pulse point there, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin.
"Every curve, every inch of you… all belongs to me."
His fingers found the silk of her shift, tugging at the thin strap that held it to her shoulder. The fabric slipped, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath. He pulled back slightly, his eyes devouring the sight of her, the moonlight shift now barely clinging to her.
"Let me look at you," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.
He pushed the shift down further, letting it puddle at her feet. She stood before him, naked, her body a masterpiece of soft lines and inviting shadows.
They spent the whole night together.
Far from the candlelit chambers of the royal palace—
far from whispered fears and tangled sheets—
the scene shifted.
The familiar wooden gate of a small village came into view.
Haruto slowed his steps.
The road beneath his feet was the same one he had run across as a child—dusty, uneven, bordered by old stone markers worn smooth by time. The air carried the scent of earth and faint smoke, a warmth that felt almost unreal after everything he had been through.
Before he could take another step—
"Harutooo!"
Haruto froze.
The raspy voice echoed from the side of the road. An old roadside shop stood there, its wooden boards crooked with age, paper charms swaying gently in the breeze.
Behind the counter stood a short, hunched man with sharp eyes and a deeply wrinkled face.
"You're back?" the man squinted. "Or am I finally seeing ghosts now?"
Haruto turned, surprised—then smiled faintly.
"Old man Kenichi?"
He raised a hand lazily. "You're still alive, huh?"
Kenichi snorted. "Watch your mouth."
He leaned on the counter, studying Haruto more closely.
"…What's with those tears?"
Haruto stiffened for half a second, then quickly wiped his cheek.
"Huh? Ah—these?" He let out an awkward laugh. "Just… dust."
Kenichi wasn't convinced.
"You always come back like this," he muttered with a sigh.
Then his voice softened.
"I'm more worried about how you're going to face Hinata-san."
Haruto went rigid.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a short, confused giggle.
"Y-Yeah…"
"…I'm not sure about that either."
The door to his house creaked open.
Haruto stepped inside, warmth wrapping around him like an old memory.
"Mother… I'm ba—"
"LOVE PUNCH!"
THUD!
A fist slammed straight into his face, sending him stumbling backward.
"HARUTOOOO!"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU COME FOR THE FESTIVAL?!"
Haruto clutched his cheek, wincing.
"M-Mother—!"
Hinata stood before him, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
"You didn't even send a message," she snapped.
"Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"
Her lips trembled.
"Did you fight again?!" she demanded, her voice sharp but shaking.
"What kind of life are you living out there?!"
Haruto scratched the back of his head, forcing a nervous smile.
"I was… busy with some work. That's why I couldn't come."
She scoffed.
"Work?"
She turned away sharply.
"You call that hell of yours 'work'?"
"But don't worry," Haruto added quickly.
"I'll be here for a day."
She froze.
"…A day?"
Slowly, she turned back.
"A DAY?!"
"You think I'll let you go back there after one day?!"
Her voice rose, trembling with anger—and something deeper.
"If only you had listened to me!" she shouted.
"You could've stayed here—married a beautiful woman, had children, lived like a normal human being!"
Her fists clenched.
"But you chose that battlefield. That slaughterhouse."
She faced him fully, eyes burning.
"This time," Hinata said firmly,
"I won't let you go."
Haruto didn't answer.
The atmosphere in the house slowly softened.
A wooden table sat in the middle of the room, filled with steaming dishes. The scent of grilled fish, rice, and miso soup filled the air.
Haruto sat cross-legged on the floor, eating like a starving man.
"Mm—this is amazing!" he said with a full mouth. "I missed your cooking so much!"
Hinata sat across from him, watching quietly.
For a moment, the anger she had earlier seemed to fade. Instead, there was a faint warmth in her eyes.
Haruto shoveled another bite of rice into his mouth.
"Mother, this is seriously the best food in the world!"
Hinata sighed softly, though a small smile appeared on her face.
"You're eating like you haven't seen food in weeks."
Haruto didn't even deny it.
He quickly finished his bowl and pushed it forward.
"Seconds!"
Hinata blinked.
"…Already?"
But she stood anyway, refilling the bowl with rice.
Haruto immediately started eating again at full speed.
Just as he swallowed another mouthful—
"HARUTOOOO!"
"OI, HARUTO!"
Two voices shouted from outside the house.
Haruto froze.
His chopsticks stopped mid-air.
Then his eyes widened in shock.
"No way—"
He jumped up and ran toward the door.
The moment he stepped outside, two familiar figures stood by the gate.
A tall young man with messy hair and a cheerful grin.
And beside him, a girl with long dark hair tied into a loose ponytail.
Haruto's face lit up instantly.
"You guys?!"
"How did you know I was here?!"
The young man crossed his arms proudly.
"Heard it from Kenichi-san," he said with a grin.
Shizuka nodded beside him.
"That old man spreads news faster than the village bell."
Haruto laughed.
"Takeshi… Shizuka… it's been a long time."
He looked between them, surprised.
"Seriously… you two have grown a lot."
Takeshi smirked.
"Oh, we definitely grew."
His eyes slowly shifted sideways.
Right toward Shizuka.
Specifically… toward her breats.
A shameless grin spread across his face.
"Some of us more than others."
SMACK!
Shizuka's hand slammed into the back of his head.
"Idiot!"
Takeshi groaned, rubbing his head.
"What?! I was just pointing out facts!"
Shizuka ignored him and looked back at Haruto.
"What did you expect?" she said. "The last time you came here was three years ago."
Haruto scratched the back of his head.
"…Yeah."
He gave an awkward smile.
"Three years, huh…"
The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the village road.
Haruto walked between Takeshi and Shizuka as they strolled down the familiar dirt path. The village hadn't changed much—wooden houses lined the road, children ran around laughing, and the distant sound of a blacksmith's hammer echoed through the air.
For a moment, Haruto felt like time had gone backward.
Takeshi walked with his hands behind his head, whistling lazily.
"So," he said, glancing at Haruto, "you finally remembered this place exists?"
Haruto snorted.
"Shut up."
Shizuka crossed her arms.
"He's right though," she said. "Three years, Haruto. Three."
Haruto rubbed the back of his neck.
"…Yeah, yeah. I know."
They passed the small river where children were splashing water at each other.
Haruto stopped for a second, staring at it.
"Remember when Takeshi fell in there trying to impress the girls?" Haruto said.
Takeshi immediately protested.
"HEY! I slipped!"
"You jumped," Shizuka corrected flatly.
"And cried," Haruto added.
"I DID NOT CRY!"
Shizuka raised an eyebrow.
"You begged us not to tell anyone."
Haruto burst out laughing.
Takeshi groaned.
"You two are unbelievable."
They continued walking.
The path eventually led to a small hill overlooking the village. The view from there showed rooftops glowing under the orange sunset.
Haruto leaned against the wooden fence.
"…It really hasn't changed."
Shizuka stood beside him.
"That's because people here actually like peace."
Takeshi looked at Haruto carefully.
"So," he said casually, "what kind of mess are you involved in now?"
Haruto didn't answer immediately.
The wind moved through the tall grass around them.
"…Just work," he said finally.
Takeshi frowned.
Shizuka glanced at Haruto too, her expression quieter now.
"You know," she said softly, "your mother was worried the whole time."
Haruto looked down at the village below.
"I know."
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then Takeshi suddenly clapped his hands.
"Alright, depressing talk over!" he said. "Since you're here, we're celebrating tonight."
Haruto blinked.
"…Celebrating what?"
"Your return, obviously," Takeshi said.
Shizuka sighed.
"He just wants an excuse to drink."
"Correct."
Haruto chuckled.
"Some things really don't change."
The three of them stood there for a moment longer, watching the sun slowly sink behind the mountains.
Night slowly settled over the village.
Warm lantern light flickered along the streets, and the quiet evening air carried the sound of laughter and chatter.
The small village tavern was more lively than usual.
Inside, wooden tables were packed with villagers enjoying food and drinks. The smell of grilled meat and rice wine filled the room.
At one corner table—
Haruto sat with Takeshi and Shizuka.
Takeshi slammed a wooden mug onto the table.
"Tonight," he declared proudly, raising his drink, "we celebrate the return of the village's most irresponsible man!"
Haruto sighed.
"That's not exactly a compliment."
Shizuka rolled her eyes.
"It's the best you'll get from him."
Takeshi grinned widely.
"Drink!"
Haruto lifted his mug and clinked it against Takeshi's.
The warm rice wine burned slightly as it went down.
"Ah… I forgot how strong this stuff is," Haruto said.
Takeshi laughed loudly.
"That's because you've been living in fancy places now!"
Haruto smirked.
"You think I drink anything fancy?"
Shizuka leaned back slightly, watching the two.
"You look thinner," she said suddenly.
Haruto blinked.
"Do I?"
"Yeah," she replied calmly. "Which means you're not eating properly."
Takeshi pointed at Haruto.
"See? Even Shizuka noticed."
Haruto shrugged.
"Your cooking was better," he said casually.
Shizuka paused for a moment.
Then she quickly looked away.
"Idiot…"
Takeshi immediately leaned forward with a mischievous grin.
"Oh hooo."
Shizuka's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Takeshi smirked.
"Nothing."
Haruto looked between them, confused.
"What?"
"Nothing!" Shizuka snapped.
Takeshi burst out laughing.
A few drinks later, the mood grew louder.
Takeshi was already leaning halfway across the table, clearly drunk.
"You know," he said, pointing a finger at Haruto, "when we were kids, I thought I would be the one leaving the village to become famous."
Haruto raised an eyebrow.
"And what happened?"
Takeshi leaned back proudly.
"I realized village life is way easier."
Haruto laughed.
"That's the most honest thing you've ever said."
Shizuka shook her head.
"You two are hopeless."
Outside the tavern, the night sky stretched wide and clear.
Stars slowly filled the darkness.
Inside, the laughter continued.
For the villagers, it was just another peaceful night.
But for Haruto—
It felt like a small, fragile moment of normal life he had almost forgotten.