"Just call me by name," Prince Philip said eagerly.
"That… seems inappropriate," Zora replied, her tone politely troubled, while internally she wished she could fling him over the city walls.
"What's inappropriate? I said it's fine, so just call me that." He looked at her with an indulgent smile, as though granting her a great favor.
Her lips twitched. "Very well."
"Miss Zora," Prince Philip said softly, savoring the name, "thank you for saving my life. Without you, the physicians in the Imperial Hospital admit they could do nothing. If not for you, I fear I would have died."
He spoke as though they were already close companions. Zora nearly rolled her eyes.
Near death had really thickened this man's skin to an unnatural degree.
She nodded, "The doctors of the Imperial Hospital are highly skilled. I only recognized your illness because I've encountered something similar."
Prince Philip didn't continue the topic. Instead, he let his gaze sweep over the clinic interior, watching her apprentices working busily.
"Zora," he said gently, "isn't it tiring for a young girl to manage a medical clinic alone?"
His voice held concern—at least, concern in his imagination. In truth, the sentence was merely the opening line he had practiced repeatedly before coming here. Today, he had set his mind on making an important proposal.
He was going to take her as his woman.
As long as he uttered the words, he absolutely believed Zora would throw herself into his arms. After all, he was the Prince. Who in the world would refuse such an honor?
"It's manageable," she replied without looking at him.
White, hiding behind the counter, whispered to Xiaobai, "Is this guy watching our master?"
Black snorted. "Obviously. And I really want to see what expression he'll make when he finds out who she really is."
"He'll faint from shame!"
While they snickered in the shadows, Zora continued to walk about the clinic, arranging herbs, pretending to be too busy to hold a conversation. Her indifference couldn't have been more obvious.
But—Prince Philip never noticed.
Like a persistent fly, he trailed after her step for step. If she went left, he went left. If she paused, he paused. When she turned away, he leaned closer.
Eventually, Zora stopped and faced him, her patience worn thin.
That was when Prince Philip seized the moment.
"Zora," he declared grandly, "how about becoming my woman?"
Before she could reply, he pressed on with even more self-confidence:
"As long as you accept, I promise you a life of honor and leisure. No more tiring yourself with such trivial matters. I already understand your feelings—you went to great lengths to save me. You don't have to worry. I will treat you very well."
Prince Philip stood there, chest proudly lifted, intoxicated by the sound of his own voice. He looked as though he expected the heavens themselves to applaud his "deep affection."
Zora, however, merely lifted a brow. Her gaze drifted past Prince Philip to the figures quietly gathering behind him, and the corners of her lips curved into a subtle, playful smile.
"Prince Philip," she said mildly, "I heard your favorite woman… is the daughter of the General's Manor."
Her mind flashed back to the first day she arrived in this world—when Prince Philip had professed his feelings to her, thinking she was Luna. He had been so smug, so confident in his charm.
Truly poetic… that she was now watching the same farce unfold, only with identities reversed.
A deliciously ironic twist.
Prince Philip immediately shook his head, smiling with a kind of foolish sincerity that made the onlookers cringe.
"Miss Zora, how could Luna ever compare to you?" he said earnestly. "My fondness for her was only momentary. What I feel for you—that is true love."
He looked proud of this declaration, as if expecting the world to swoon at his romantic loyalty.
But before Zora could answer, a trembling, devastated voice cut through the air.
"Your Highness… you…"
Everyone turned.
Luna stood there, veil trembling between her fingers, her eyes wide with disbelief and agony.
"How… how can you say that?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "How can you do this to me?"
She looked utterly shattered—staring at the man she believed adored her, only to hear him confess to someone else right before her eyes. And not subtly—openly, boldly, without a shred of hesitation.
Prince Philip stiffened. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to appear. When his gaze met her scarred, swollen face, a flash of disgust passed through his eyes, sharp and undisguised.
"What exactly did I do to you?" he snapped coldly. "There is nothing between us."
Compared to the radiant, aloof beauty before him, Luna was nothing—an embarrassment he had no intention of dragging into the light.
Zora folded her arms, watching the scene with open amusement.
She had thought this might be entertaining. It was better than she imagined.
"Prince," Luna cried, stumbling toward him, "you said—you said I was the one you loved most!"
She reached for his hand in desperation.
Prince Philip recoiled immediately, stepping back as though touching her would infect him.
"Loved most?" he scoffed. "Have you seen your face? You don't even look human anymore. Why would I ever like you?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Before anyone could react further, he reached out, yanked off the veil covering her face...
And the entire street erupted.
"Ah—!"
"By the heavens!"
"That's… Luna?!"
"Is this real? This face… It's terrifying!"
Parents pulled their children behind them; several people stepped back involuntarily. What had once been beautiful was now a web of inflamed scars, twisted and raw.
Luna's hands shook violently as she grabbed the veil and pressed it back over her face, tears streaming down behind the cloth.
Ugly.
Disgusting.
Words she had once sneered at others were now being used on her.
Once, she had been a celebrated beauty. Now, she was a horror that people flinched away from.
Zora watched quietly, the faintest chill flickering in her eyes. This pain Luna felt—this humiliation—was only a fraction of what the original Zora had endured for years.
And today, it was merely a taste.
Prince Philip seized the moment to turn back toward Zora, his tone instantly gentle again.
"You see, Zora? Someone like her—how could she compare to you?"
At that, Luna snapped.
Rage drowned out her shame. With a sudden scream, she lunged at Zora.
"You fox spirit! I'll kill you!
A savage burst of force erupted from Luna as she lunged forward, eyes burning with madness. The distorted hatred on her face made her look almost unrecognizable.
She wanted to kill Zora.
She needed to kill her.
Because in her deluded heart, no one—absolutely no one—was allowed to steal "her" prince.
Her palm, filled with the vicious strength of late-phase Earth Stage, sliced through the air with a sharp, violent crack. Even the spectators instinctively flinched, feeling the oppressive pressure of the blow.
But Zora didn't retreat.
She didn't even blink.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, and a provocative smile—one meant only for a certain silent figure in the crowd—flitted across her lips. A smile no one else noticed, but one that could topple kingdoms.
"You crazy woman," she murmured coolly, "who told you to go mad here?"
Before Luna's palm could land, a faster force surged through the air.
Boom!
Prince Philip shot forward like an arrow. His fist crashed into Luna's chest before her palm could reach Zora.
The impact echoed like thunder.