[Leif's Pov—Office]
The office was cold despite the fire snapping in the hearth. Snow pressed hard against the windowpanes, a white curtain that made the world feel sealed away. I leaned over the desk, quill scratching across parchment, though my mind wasn't on the ink.
The line of villagers outside still lingered in my vision—hollow cheeks, ribs sharp beneath rags, eyes dulled from waiting for boxes that wouldn't even last a week. My hand trembled.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Alvar's voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Will you stop drinking your beer for one second? Your people are starving."
I lowered the empty bottle onto the desk with a dull clink. It joined the other two already toppled there. My face flushed with the haze of alcohol, and I slumped forward, cheek pressed against the wood.
"Don't talk to me… I'm depressed."
Alvar sighed the kind of sigh that carried a thousand winters. He dragged a chair across the floor and sat directly opposite me, his posture straight and irritatingly noble.
"Being depressed doesn't solve the food crisis, Leif."
I groaned and flopped my head to the other side of the desk, cheek now pressed to cold parchment.
"I… I know."
The fire popped. My thoughts soured further. I couldn't believe it—while the empire bathed in banquets, golden feasts and wine spilling down marble halls, my territory was starving. And the Thorenvlad family? But wasn't father supposed to protect this land? Why did he turn away?
Alvar's tone softened, though it still struck like frostbite. "The royal family… it seems they've stopped providing shelter and goods to these people."
My eyes cracked open at that. "The royal family was supposed to be handling this territory?"
His gaze slid toward the snow-choked window, jaw tight.
"Not entirely… but yes. This land was technically under their supervision. However…" He paused, his lip curling. "The Crown Prince's trading company—Velstadt Grain Company—seems like they've cut off their supplies."
"W-why?" I stammered, my whole body trembling.
Alvar gave me a look—the kind reserved for idiots who forgot their own birthdays. "You know why, Leif."
…
…
Ah! Right. How could I forget? I transmigrated into this mess halfway through the novel. The original Leif and the Crown Prince had already had their glorious soap-opera-level fallout—all thanks to that halo-polishing female lead, Elowen.
But still—
THAT FUCKING BASTARD!!!!
How...How can he do that? Crown Prince Arden Velstadt, the side character, the so-called perfect prince! The empire's golden boy! The shining jewel of the dynasty.
I pitied that bastard, okay? His mother died young; he grew up all alone, trained every day to be the flawless heir. Tragic! I even cursed that female lead Saintess Elowen—because she and that greasy little snake of a second prince (aka third male lead) conspired to snatch his throne.
Arden, that Bastard!!! He should've come to me.
But… what? He cut off the food supplies? Starving poor villagers just to take revenge on me?
The pettiest crown prince in the history of crown princes! Someone, please, carve this onto his grave: "Here lies Arden Bastard, professional grudge-holder and part-time famine enthusiast."
Alvar's voice cut in, steady as ever. "What are you thinking?"
I grinned wickedly, the kind of grin that would've gotten me locked up in a sane world. "How to commit treason: 101 ways. I'm going to write the whole book."
Alvar blinked at me, utterly baffled. "...Sure. You can write your revolutionary bestseller later. Right now we need an actual solution."
"I know...I know..." I muttered, reaching for the third bottle like a man possessed. I tilted it back and downed it in one go.
His brows shot up. "Why are you drinking again?"
I wiped my mouth dramatically. "You don't understand, Grand duke. Beer gives you brain."
There was a long pause. Alvar stared at me like I'd just declared myself the second coming of Odin. "...And? Did it?"
I slumped back in my chair like a tragic hero whose time had come, my eyes glued to the ceiling. My brain was running. Running. Running. Faster. Faster.
And then—
TA-DA! The lightbulb moment smacked me right between the eyes.
I slammed both palms on the table, nearly toppling the empty bottles. "GREENHOUSE!"
Alvar blinked. Once. Twice. Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
"...Green...house?" His brows knit together. "What in the nine realms is that supposed to be? A house that's… green?"
I snapped my fingers at him. "Bingo! Except you missed the part where it's also a miracle."
He squinted at me like I'd grown two heads. "…A miracle house?"
"Yes." Rolling my eyes, I pulled a scrap of paper from the drawer. "A house where you grow plants."
"In winter?" His voice dripped skepticism. "Leif, nothing grows in this cursed cold. Did you forget where you're standing?"
"On freezing ground, yes. But hear me out." I scribbled furiously, ink splattering as I spoke. "We can use Mana power. Walls that let in sunlight but trap warmth. Fire runes to keep the air warm, earth runes to keep soil alive. Water barrels sealed with glyphs so they don't freeze. Voila—fresh food even in snow."
Alvar's brows rose. "So… you're planning to bend magic, wood, and common sense just to make… a fancy vegetable shack?"
I slammed my palm on the table. "Exactly! A glorious vegetable shack!"
Silence followed—heavy, like stone.
"But how will we create this house?" he asked.
I stood, dragging my chair close enough to invade his personal space. My quill scratched across the page, long, confident strokes forming a frame. Slanted walls. A triangular roof angled to catch the sun. I dotted runes along the base, scribbled in barrels, and drew neat rows of soil boxes. By the time I stopped, ink blotched my hands and sleeves, but the outline stared back at me—fragile, yet burning with possibility.
Alvar leaned over, shadow swallowing the page. He smelled of steel, leather, and the faint chill of outdoors.
"…This is what you had in mind?" His voice was low, unreadable.
"Yes," I said, trying not to sound like a man who just staked his pride on a doodle.
He studied it for a long moment, then tapped the roof. "Too steep. The snow will slide, but the beams will snap under weight." His finger slid lower. "Here—fire runes at the base. Clever, but if the wood weakens… your miracle shack becomes a bonfire."
I threw my hands up. "So what—you're saying it's hopeless?"
His head snapped up, eyes sharp as blades. "No." A pause. Then, firmly: "I'm saying it must be done correctly."
Then—so faint I almost thought I imagined it—the corner of his mouth curved. A smile. A real one. "And," he added, low and sure, "there's no harm in trying it."
…
Whoa.
Wait. Hold up. Did Alvar the Ice Block just smile? And—oh gods—he looks handsome when he smiles. Like, dangerously handsome. Like, someone-hide-the-rainbow-baby-in-my-heart handsome.
...
...
Ah! Fuck!
Leif, snap out of it!!
Crisis first. Villagers are starving. Don't let your rainbow baby wake up now—especially not for this guy.
Meanwhile, Alvar leaned back, his gaze still fixed on the parchment I'd doodled like a lunatic two minutes ago. His eyes tracked the crooked lines and messy runes as if it were a battle map.
Finally, he spoke.
Alvar leaned closer, studying the scribbles. His brow furrowed, unreadable, but not dismissive. "Strange design. But practical." His eyes lifted to mine. "I'll gather the men. Show me this… greenhouse of yours, Leif—I will build it."
My throat went dry. Somehow, between beer-brain and panic-doodling, I might've just sparked something bigger than myself.
I forced a grin, though my stomach twisted nervously. "I… hope this works."
If it did, the villagers wouldn't just survive the winter—they'd thrive. No more starving. No more depending on some petty prince's whims.
For the first time that night, I felt a spark of hope. Alvar's faint smile lingered, steady and almost warm.
And me?
I wasn't sure if my heart was racing because of the plan… or because of him.