Harumi hummed softly to herself as she stepped down from the carriage, the sound light and almost playful despite the grandeur surrounding her. One bag after another was carefully lifted into her arms, each packed neatly with the efficiency she had honed over years of serving Rin. To anyone watching, she looked like an ordinary maid doing her duty—but her eyes kept darting around, alert, cautious.
It had been one week since the bandit incident.
And in that one week, nothing major had happened.
Which, in Harumi's experience, was exactly why she was uneasy.
The reason for today's tension stood only a few steps away from her.
Rin Sumeragi.
He stood straight, posture flawless, expression calm and composed—the very image of a noble heir. Only Harumi, who had known him since childhood and shared memories from another life, could tell how much he was groaning internally.
They were in the Imperial Capital.
And Rin had been summoned by the Emperor of the Hoshimi Empire himself.
The reason was simple, yet terrifying in its implications.
Duke Sumeragi Arata had reported Rin's completed barrier device to the court.
And not casually.
Arata, a man known throughout the empire for his calm, almost emotionless demeanor, had spoken highly of his son's work. That alone was enough to shake the Imperial Court's interest awake.
When a Sumeragi vouched for something, it was considered reliable.
When the current Duke—who was famously difficult to impress—praised his son's creation, it became impossible to ignore.
Thus, Rin had been called.
Harumi still remembered her reaction when she first heard the news.
What!? Oh no—!
They had focused too much on the consorts. On Miharu. On Crown Prince Kazuo.
They had completely neglected the Imperial Family beyond him.
That night, once preparations were finally done, Harumi had dragged Rin into an emergency discussion in his room. One character after another. Relationships, personalities, future conflicts. Rin had listened until his head hurt—not from fatigue, but from information overload.
And now—
Now, one of those characters stood right in front of them.
She wore elegant imperial attire, refined yet warm in tone. On her chest gleamed the insignia of the Hoshimi Imperial Family, unmistakable and heavy with authority.
"Welcome to the Imperial Palace," she said gently. "We have been expecting your arrival, Sir Rin Sumeragi."
Harumi stiffened internally.
There she is.
Hoshimi Aya.
The first child of the Imperial Family. The eldest sister. The First Princess of the Hoshimi Empire.
She was one year older than Crown Prince Kazuo and known throughout the empire as approachable, kind, and easy to get along with. More importantly—she was the current Student Leader of the Imperial Academy.
Today, however, the academy was on break.
Which was why she stood here, smiling warmly at Rin.
"I am honored to meet the genius son of Duke Arata," Princess Aya said as she stepped closer.
She appeared alone, but Rin could feel it.
Ever since the ambush in the forest, he had begun actively using Space Sensitivity when entering unfamiliar or high-risk areas. The spell quietly mapped positions around him—guards hidden in corridors, presence behind walls, watchers above.
His mana ticked down steadily, but he didn't care.
Never again, he thought calmly.
"I am also honored," Rin replied with a respectful bow. "To meet the current Student Leader of the Imperial Academy."
Aya's eyes brightened. "You're well-informed."
"I will be enrolling next year," Rin added. "So, you will be my senior."
"Oh?" Aya laughed softly. "Then I suppose I should behave like one."
Her gaze shifted slightly, landing on Harumi.
"And this young lady?"
Rin turned slightly. "This is Harumi. My personal maid. I trust her completely, so I often have her accompany me."
Aya nodded in understanding, offering Harumi a gentle smile. "I see. It's nice to meet you."
Harumi bowed deeply. "The honor is mine, Your Highness."
Aya then looked back at Rin, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Is it true? That you created a barrier device capable of activation without a magician?"
Rin nodded. "It is still a prototype. However, all tests so far have been positive. The remaining step is determining its durability—how much external force it can withstand."
Aya's interest was unmistakable.
In Harumi's memory of the novel, Princess Aya had always been particularly caring toward non-magicians. As Student Leader, she spent much of her time mediating conflicts at the academy—especially those between noble magicians and commoner students without magic techniques.
She hid her exhaustion behind a smile.
Later, when Kazuo's relationship with Miharu and the rivalry of the consorts spiraled out of control, Aya had been the one desperately trying to hold everything together.
And now—
She stood here, genuinely intrigued.
"You are scheduled to meet His Majesty tomorrow," Aya said gently. "For now, may I interest you in some tea? Of course, after you've settled into your room. The Imperial Family has prepared accommodations for you as our honored guest."
Rin hesitated, then smiled faintly. "There's no need to call me Sir Rin, Your Highness. Just Rin is fine. It feels… stiff otherwise."
Aya blinked.
Then smiled wider. "In that case, please call me Aya."
"That's…" Rin paused. "Alright. Princess Aya."
She pouted slightly. "You don't have to add Princess."
"I can't disrespect the Imperial Family by calling you by name alone," Rin replied honestly. "Princess Aya is the least I can do."
Aya sighed, clearly dissatisfied—but smiled anyway. "I suppose I'll accept that for now."
She turned gracefully. "Please follow me. I'll show you where you'll be staying."
And just like that—
Rin Sumeragi found himself walking through the heart of the Hoshimi Empire.
Side by side with a princess.
With the weight of the novel's future pressing silently against his back.
After leaving his bags neatly stacked in the room assigned to him, Rin found himself guided through a quiet corridor lined with pale lacquered wood and soft paper screens. The imperial palace carried a stillness that felt deliberate—as though even the air had been trained not to intrude. It was there, within a modest yet elegant tea room, that he was left alone with Princess Aya of the Hoshimi Empire.
Sunlight filtered gently through the shoji windows, casting faint geometric patterns across the tatami floor. A low table sat between them, already prepared. Aya moved with practiced grace as she poured the tea, her sleeves falling just so, each motion refined through years of instruction. Tea ceremony, etiquette, conversation with nobles—these were not mere skills to her. They were expectations woven into her identity from childhood.
"It's surprising," Aya said lightly as she lifted her cup and took a measured sip, "that you were helping your maid unpack your belongings." Her tone held curiosity rather than accusation. "Most nobles would have left such things to their servants and hurried to tea with me instead."
Rin inclined his head politely. "Forgive me, Princess Aya, if my choice seemed discourteous. I simply believe that if something is within my ability to do, I should not place the burden entirely on another." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Relying on a maid does not mean relinquishing responsibility."
Aya studied him over the rim of her cup. She did not seem offended—if anything, she appeared thoughtful. "I don't mind at all," she replied. "It's just… unusual. Many nobles I meet are quite content to let others handle even the simplest matters."
"The Sumeragi family holds a different view," Rin answered calmly. "We believe that if one cannot manage simple tasks, then one is unfit to be a noble who decides what is best for those beneath them."
The words were spoken without edge or judgment. And yet, Aya's gaze drifted away, her fingers tightening slightly around the porcelain cup.
"I see…" she murmured. A faint hurt flickered across her expression before she smoothed it away. "I suppose I've never truly considered that. I've always left such matters to the imperial servants."
Rin noticed the shift immediately. "Princess?" He tilted his head, concern touching his voice. "I apologize if my words were disrespectful. That was not my intention."
Aya blinked, startled. For a moment she simply looked at him, as though reassessing something she had taken for granted. Then she gave a small smile—gentler than before. "There's no need to apologize. I think… I learned something valuable today." She set her cup down and gestured toward his. "How is the tea? Is it to your taste?"
"It's excellent," Rin replied after a sip. "You have remarkable tea-brewing skills, Princess Aya."
She let out a soft laugh. "How plain. Are you scared of me?"
Rin met her gaze evenly. "You are a princess of the Hoshimi Empire, after all."
"And you are the heir of Duke Sumeragi," Aya countered.
Their eyes lingered on one another, the silence stretching into something awkward and oddly tangible.
At that moment, Aya came to a quiet realization: Sumeragi Rin was not what she had expected. There was no arrogance, no forced charm, no eagerness to impress. He was meek—not weak, but restrained, as though carefully holding himself back.
Rin, on the other hand, was wrestling with his own thoughts. I can't change her, he reminded himself. Not yet.
Princess Aya, as she existed now, was exactly as the novel described—distant, refined, and lonely. Harumi's words echoed faintly in his memory: She looks perfect from afar, but there's a wall you can't cross.
In the academy, Aya would eventually befriend Miharu. That bond would become pivotal, shaping her choices and her ability to accept the ending she was destined for. Until then, she was meant to remain isolated—surrounded by people, yet truly close to none.
If Rin became too familiar with her now, that future might shift.
So he stayed quiet, sipping his tea, his expression calm and unreadable.
Aya watched him from across the table. Just as Harumi had once described in the novel, she was undeniably beautiful—long dark hair neatly arranged, sharp yet gentle eyes, her posture flawless. A perfect princess. Anyone would be fortunate to stand beside her.
And yet…
She looked lonely.
Rin could sense it beneath the polish. The invisible barrier that separated her from others was not one she had built herself—it was imposed by her birth, her title, her role within the empire. Even here, in a quiet tea room, she was never just Aya. She was Princess Aya.
He had to keep his distance.
Still, he could not completely avoid her. She had been assigned to accompany him during his stay in the imperial palace. Avoidance was impossible, and outright coldness would be disrespectful.
Likewise, Aya could not ignore him, nor treat him poorly. The heir of the Sumeragi dukedom was not merely another noble guest. His family was one of the pillars that kept the Hoshimi Empire standing. Maintaining amicable relations with him was not only polite—it was politically necessary.
And so, an unspoken struggle took shape between them.
Aya leaned forward slightly, attempting to bridge the silence. "Is the palace to your liking so far, Lord Rin?"
"It is impressive," he answered, carefully neutral. "The imperial residence reflects the empire's long history and strength."
A safe response. Distant. Proper.
Aya smiled, but there was a faint tension behind it. "You speak like a court official."
"I was raised to be mindful of my words," Rin replied.
"I see," she said again, though this time the word carried a different weight. She tried another angle. "The academy term will begin soon. Are you looking forward to it?"
"It will be a valuable learning experience."
Another polite wall.
Aya rested her chin lightly against her hand, studying him. "You really don't give much away, do you?"
Rin lowered his gaze slightly. "I apologize if I seem uninteresting."
"That's not what I meant," she said quickly, then paused. "It's just… you're difficult to read."
"I could say the same of you, Princess."
She blinked, then laughed softly. "Perhaps that's true."
Thus, the pattern settled in.
Aya would reach out with courteous curiosity, attempting to draw him closer—if only a little. Rin would respond with grace and respect, yet always just distant enough to prevent familiarity. Neither could step away entirely. Neither could truly close the gap.
A battle, quiet and restrained, waged through tea cups and careful words—one seeking connection,the other guarding the future by keeping just out of reach.
At some point, Princess Aya realized she had lost.
Not in an obvious, dramatic way—but in the quiet certainty that no matter how carefully she spoke or how warmly she smiled, the distance between her and Rin remained unchanged. He did not dislike her. That much was clear. His tone was always respectful, his responses considerate, and his manners impeccable. He listened when she spoke, answered when asked, and never once showed annoyance.
And yet—
There was a wall.
A perfectly polite, invisible wall that said: I do not wish to be your friend, but I will not refuse your company.
Aya let out a small sigh as she watched Rin set his teacup down with measured calm. I really thought this might work, she thought. She had allowed herself to hope, just a little. A future junior at the academy, someone she could speak to without titles weighing every word. It would have been nice—so nice—if Rin had been the type to approach her in the academy halls with an easy smile, asking if she needed help, speaking to her not as a princess but as Aya.
Instead…
Seems like I'm going to remain alone for a while, she admitted silently.
Her gaze drifted back to him. He was handsome—there was no denying that. His features were refined but not delicate, his presence calm rather than imposing. More than that, he was kind. The way he treated his maid earlier had not been performative. There was no self-conscious attempt to appear virtuous. He simply did it, as though it were natural.
And unlike other nobles…
He did not look at her as someone to be impressed.
That alone made him different.
Rather than placing her on a pedestal, Rin looked at her as an equal—and that, somehow, hurt more than being flattered. Because even equals could be kept at arm's length.
Rin noticed her gaze lingering and tilted his head slightly. "Is there something on my face, Princess Aya?"
There it was again.
That wall.
Aya straightened, schooling her expression into something composed. Calm down, Aya, she told herself. You're overthinking. For now, the best course was to make sure he felt comfortable. Maybe—just maybe—he would open up in time.
After all… I am the perfect princess, she reminded herself with a touch of stubborn pride. I can do this.
"Tea can only do so much," Aya said aloud, standing smoothly. "Would you like a tour of the imperial palace, Lord Rin?"
Rin blinked, surprised by the sudden shift, then nodded. "If it is not a bother."
"Not at all," she replied, already moving toward the corridor. Time to show off my social skills, she thought.
Though she had no friends she could truly trust, years of conversing with nobles—smiling through veiled insults, steering conversations away from danger—had honed her ability to guide any interaction. Surely, walking through the palace together would loosen him up.
The halls of the imperial palace unfolded before them, wide and immaculate. Aya took the lead, her voice steady as she began to explain.
"This wing is primarily used for state meetings," she said, gesturing toward a series of grand doors adorned with gold inlay. "Foreign envoys are usually received here. The patterns on the ceiling depict the founding of the Hoshimi Empire."
Rin listened attentively, eyes following where she pointed. "The craftsmanship is remarkable."
Aya brightened slightly. "It is. Those carvings were restored only a decade ago. The artisans worked for three years straight."
They passed through an open courtyard where a shallow pond reflected the sky. "This garden is reserved for members of the imperial family," Aya continued. "When I was younger, I used to come here to read."
"You still could," Rin said mildly.
She hesitated. "Yes… I suppose I could."
They moved on. Aya spoke of history, of rituals, of halls rarely used except during coronations or national celebrations. Rin asked a few polite questions, responded with interest, but never let the conversation stray into anything personal.
By the time they returned to a quieter corridor, Aya felt it.
Fatigue.
Not physical—though her feet ached—but emotional. Why… she groaned internally. Why is this guy so impenetrable?
She had tried warmth, formality, shared space, even history. Nothing cracked the distance between them.
As they slowed near a set of tall windows, Aya stopped walking.
"…Hey," she said quietly.
Rin turned. "Yes, Princess?"
Her fingers clenched lightly at her sides. "Why are you so distant, Rin?"
The directness of the question hit him like a sudden strike. Rin took a half-step back before he realized it, eyes widening slightly. For once, he had no prepared answer. No careful phrasing. No safe response.
"I—" His voice caught, the word unfinished.
Aya's composure finally slipped.
Her eyes trembled, the careful mask she wore every day cracking under the weight of unspoken expectations. "I was really looking forward to meeting you," she admitted, her voice wavering. "The famous son of Duke Arata. I heard so much about you—from the duke himself."
Rin's breath hitched.
"Even without my parents telling me to get along with you," she continued, tears gathering despite her efforts, "even without the duty of accommodating you as a guest… I wanted to meet you. I wanted to be friendly. Just… as myself."
A tear slipped free, tracing a path down her cheek.
Rin's mind descended into chaos.
This wasn't supposed to happen.She's not supposed to cry.I didn't plan for this.
He stood frozen, panic tightening his chest as he faced a crying princess—someone who, in the novel, was never meant to break like this so early.
"…Princess Aya," he managed, voice strained.
She wiped at her eyes quickly, embarrassed, but the hurt lingered. "I'm sorry. That was unbecoming."
Rin opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to reconcile the future he was trying to protect with the girl standing before him now.
And for the first time since arriving at the imperial palace—
Sumeragi Rin truly didn't know what to do.
Rin's thoughts immediately went into full panic.
I just made a princess cry.
Alarm bells blared so loudly in his head that it drowned out everything else. This wasn't just an awkward social blunder—this was the kind of mistake that could ruin a reputation before it even began. A noble child might get away with it. A commoner would be destroyed by it.
But him?
Sumeragi Rin. The boy who made the perfect princess cry.
That single label would follow him everywhere. Whispers in court. Side-eyed smiles at banquets. Silent condemnation from nobles who would never say it to his face but would remember it forever. And worse—
There are people watching.
Even if he couldn't see them, Rin could feel them. The subtle distortions in space. The faint presences hidden behind walls, pillars, and shadows. Guards. Attendants. Observers whose loyalty lay solely with the imperial family.
This was bad.
Very bad.
"Ah—uh—eh…" Rin fumbled, his carefully maintained composure crumbling completely. He wanted to fix this. He had to fix this. But how was he supposed to stop a crying princess while still keeping his distance?
There was no solution that achieved both.
And so, Rin made a decision.
He abandoned distance.
Stepping closer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. His movements were slow, cautious, as though afraid she might recoil. Gently—almost hesitantly—he wiped the tears from Aya's cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice stripped of calculation. "I truly didn't mean to hurt you. I never intended to push you away that much."
Aya sniffed, her breath hitching as she tried to regain control. But instead of pulling away, she let herself lean forward slightly, allowing him to help. The warmth of his presence, the simple sincerity in his touch—it all slipped past the defenses she wore every day.
"Am I… that unpleasant?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you don't want to be friends with me?"
The question struck deeper than Rin expected.
He froze for half a second, staring into her teary eyes. She looked nothing like the flawless, untouchable princess described in the novel. Right now, she was just a lonely girl desperately wondering what was wrong with her.
This is dangerous, his mind warned him.
But his heart answered first.
"It's not like that, Princess," Rin said gently. "I have my reasons for keeping my distance. It has nothing to do with you being unfriendly."
He paused, then added honestly, "I don't hate you."
Aya blinked.
Slowly, a small smile formed as she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. "I see…"
Only then did she realize how close they were.
Too close.
Her gaze lifted, and for the first time, she truly saw his face from this distance—the sharp yet gentle lines of his features, the calm depth of his eyes now laced with concern rather than distance.
He really is handsome, she thought, her heart skipping in a way she didn't quite understand.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Aya suddenly pushed him away—not forcefully, just enough to create space—her face flushed pink as she coughed awkwardly. "A-anyway! Forget what just happened! That was unbecoming of me as a princess."
Rin stumbled back half a step, startled, but immediately nodded. "Of course."
She straightened her posture, reclaiming her composure with practiced ease. "Let's… continue the tour. We were almost done anyway."
This time, instead of walking ahead, Aya stayed close—just beside him.
Not clinging. Not distant.
Simply there.
They finished the remainder of the tour in relative silence, broken only by occasional explanations and polite responses. Rin felt a wave of relief settling in his chest. She wasn't angry. She wasn't offended. More importantly—
I survived.
Still, beneath that relief was an uneasy sensation, like a thread quietly tightening around his future.
I have a bad feeling about this, he thought.
As for Aya, she smiled and spoke as usual, but her mind kept drifting back to that brief moment—the warmth, the closeness, the expression on Rin's face when he apologized.
Get a grip, she scolded herself. It was nothing.
Yet no matter how much she tried to shake it off, the image lingered.
And somewhere deep inside, Princess Aya realized—
That wall between them had cracked.
Just a little.
Rin returned to the room prepared for him after politely saying his goodbyes to Princess Aya.
"I'll see you tomorrow then," Aya said with a bright smile, her earlier tears nowhere to be found. "You'll be meeting Father for the demonstration of your barrier device. I'm really looking forward to seeing it in action."
Rin nodded, posture straight, expression composed. "I'll do my best to present my creation properly."
The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
The moment it did, Rin's noble smile vanished without a trace.
"I survived… I survived…"
His legs gave out, and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, staring blankly ahead. His shoulders slumped, all the tension he had been holding finally spilling out.
Mentally, he was exhausted.
Not drained of mana. Not physically tired. Just… worn down.
"At the very least," he muttered to himself, "I didn't get executed."
He leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled slowly. Things hadn't gone as planned, but they hadn't gone catastrophically wrong either. He and the princess weren't exactly friends—no, that line was still blurry—but they could talk. Formally, with just a hint of informality.
A compromise.
Being too distant made her cry. Being too close would derail the future.
So this strange middle ground was the safest place to stand.
"…Still risky," Rin sighed.
"Care to explain why you look like someone who just survived a battlefield?"
Rin looked up.
Harumi stood there with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, her expression halfway between suspicion and disbelief. She had clearly been waiting for him.
"…You heard?" Rin asked weakly.
"I heard," Harumi replied flatly, "that you were 'quite friendly' with the First Princess."
Rin flinched.
"Didn't I tell you," Harumi continued, stepping closer, "that you cannot befriend her? I told you several times, Rin. At this point in the story, no one can be her friend yet."
Rin lifted his hands defensively. "I didn't plan to! She just—she cried!"
Harumi froze. "…She what?"
"She cried," Rin repeated, a little louder. "Suddenly. Out of nowhere. There were tears, Harumi. Real ones."
Harumi pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course she did…"
"I had no choice," Rin said quickly. "If I kept my distance any further, it would've turned into a political disaster. So I compromised. We're not close. Not really. Just… less distant than before."
Harumi studied him for a long moment, her sharp gaze searching his face as if checking for cracks in reality itself.
Finally, she sighed.
"…That's fine," she said. "Just keep that distance. She can't have someone she relies on yet. Anything other than friends is fine—just make sure you don't cross that line."
Rin nodded immediately. "Understood."
Then, after a short pause, he frowned.
"…What is a friend, anyway?"
Harumi blinked.
Rin stared at the ceiling, genuinely troubled. "Where does it start? Where does it end? When does someone stop being an acquaintance and start being a friend? Is it time spent together? Trust? Emotional reliance? Shared secrets?"
"…You're overthinking it again," Harumi said dryly.
"It's complicated," Rin insisted. "Lines like that are vague. Dangerous."
Harumi let out a tired sigh and walked over to him. Without warning, she grabbed the collar of his clothes and hauled him up to his feet.
"Enough thinking," she said. "Go rest."
Rin stumbled slightly. "Wait—"
She shoved him toward the bed, which looked absurdly soft and luxurious, clearly designed to impress visiting nobles.
"…You slept in the bed I was given, didn't you?" Rin asked flatly.
Harumi puffed her chest out. "I tested its quality!"
"…You slept the whole time, didn't you."
"It passed with flying colors," she declared proudly. "Excellent fluffiness. Very safe."
Rin sighed, rubbing his temples.
But then he laughed.
It was quiet at first, then a little louder—genuine, unguarded. This was the Harumi he knew. The one who joked, complained, teased, and stayed by his side no matter what role the world forced on them.
The tension in his chest loosened.
"…Thanks," Rin said softly.
"For what?" Harumi asked.
"For being normal."
She smiled at that.
Rin lay down on the bed, sinking into its softness. His body didn't need rest—thanks to the limitless buff, physical fatigue was meaningless to him. But his mind was another story.
Harumi stood beside the bed, hands on her hips. "I'll make sure you get the perfect night of rest. As always."
Rin's eyes snapped open. "Choose your words carefully."
He grabbed a pillow and threw it straight at her face.
"Out of context, Harumi!"
She caught it effortlessly, laughing. "You're the one with a dirty mind."
"…Good night," Rin muttered, turning away.
"Good night, my troublesome young master."
And just like that, the day ended.
Another crisis survived.
Another thread of fate subtly disturbed.
And tomorrow—
Tomorrow, Rin would stand before the Emperor of the Hoshimi Empire.