It was a party held in the same banquet hall that had been used for the entrance ceremony.
From the main building’s garden directly in front of the banquet hall, a path had been magically carved out, glistening under the light. Pop—Pooof—small-scale fireworks occasionally burst in the sky. Students, holding drinks in one hand and chatting nearby, burst into laughter each time, clearly enjoying the festivities.
Walking beside Mikhail, the dragon glanced around at the scene and muttered to himself.
“Quite the extravagant affair, huh?”
The outer garden was an open space where even students without invitations could join in the fun.
It was merely the entrance leading into the main banquet, yet they had gone all out with the decorations. One could only imagine how much more lavish it must be inside where the real party was happening. The dragon clicked his tongue internally and shook his head. What a waste of money.
He had known the students of Basamiel had absurdly high standards of consumption, but he hadn’t expected a one-day party to be this over-the-top. Ah—drinks are set up over there. Just as the dragon licked his lips, imagining a cold glass of champagne…
Mikhail, who had thus far quietly walked beside him in formal attire instead of a school uniform, finally parted his lips.
“Is this enough to impress you? Is this your first time at a party like this?”
“Yeah.”
Adrian responded immediately to the prince’s sarcasm. That answer made Mikhail momentarily stiffen as he glanced sideways, checking Adrian’s expression. The blond roommate, who stood at almost the same height, wore a neutral expression as he continued speaking.
“Out of all the places I’ve ever been, this looks like the one where they spent the most money.”
The dragon replied with a nonchalant expression.
That was something Adrian would actually say. Though a commoner, he was from a branch family of a renowned merchant guild. Still, he had never once been invited to a party attended by nobles and royalty. The fact that Adrian hadn’t received an invitation to the party—despite also being a student at Basamiel Academy—was proof enough.
Typically, no matter how wealthy a person was, if they were a commoner without a title, receiving an invitation to a royal palace party was seen as a once-in-a-lifetime honor. That was why most of the students lingering outside in the garden—rather than inside the banquet hall—were commoners who hadn’t been invited.
One server slowly made his way across the garden toward the two of them. With a polished silver tray stacked with various drinks, he politely asked, “Would you care for a beverage?”
Just as Adrian reached for the blue drink that looked the coldest among the selection—
“…This is nothing compared to the parties held at the royal palace.”
The curt remark pierced his ear from right beside him. Lifting the simply adorned but elegantly designed glass to his lips, Adrian glanced sideways.
His eyes met Mikhail’s.
As he slowly sipped the drink, Adrian thought to himself, So what?
He raised one eyebrow slightly, as if trying to hear what else Mikhail had to say—but the prince’s lips remained shut tight like a clam. His expression clearly showed displeasure.
The dragon casually shrugged and focused on the drink in his hand.
Ugh, what the hell is this flavor?
He had expected something crisp and refreshing from the blue color, but instead, it tasted like carbonated water drowned in sugar syrup—cloyingly sweet, like liquid candy. It was awful.
Adrian stared at the glass in disbelief, still stunned by the lingering sugary aftertaste in his mouth. Whatever this was, he was determined never to drink it again.
Just then—
“You’ve arrived!”
Cameron, the host of the party, approached Mikhail with a bright smile and quick steps. After confirming that the prince wasn’t holding anything yet, he snapped his fingers and called over a nearby server.
“Your outfit suits you so well today. May I ask where you had it made?”
With a slick grin, Cameron acted overly familiar as he tried to cozy up to the prince. Mikhail, meanwhile, simply stared at him with his crimson eyes, clearly displeased. Perhaps it was the arrogance radiating off the noble in front of him that had soured his mood.
A server approached and respectfully offered the tray to the prince. But Mikhail simply gave a slight shake of his head and didn’t take a drink.
“You couldn’t place an order even if you wanted to. It’s the royal palace’s exclusive tailor.”
The prince’s cold reply cut through what had clearly been a polite formality.
“Ah… is that so? What a shame.”
What’s his problem?
Cameron briefly glanced at Adrian, who was standing nearby, as if to ask if he knew why the prince was acting this way. But Adrian, just as clueless, merely gave a casual shrug.
“Anyway, let’s not linger out here. Let’s head in. Everyone’s been eagerly awaiting Your Highness’s arrival.”
Cameron forced a smile and gestured toward the banquet hall building. Then he gave a subtle nod to Adrian, who stood right beside Mikhail, as if silently ordering him to escort the prince inside. It was a habit ingrained in him since childhood, coming from a noble family that rarely deigned to speak with commoners.
The dragon noticed it—but it didn’t bother him. After all, he was currently enjoying himself in the body of a commoner human. Getting upset that nobles were treating him like a commoner would’ve made no sense. Just as Adrian took a step forward—
“No.”
The prince’s pale hand abruptly snatched the glass Adrian had been holding. Huh? The dragon stared blankly at Mikhail, baffled by his sudden, strange behavior.
With a sulky expression, the prince brought the drink—Adrian’s drink—to his own lips. Rather than accept the new drink Cameron had offered, he chose to sip from the one his companion was already drinking.
“I don’t know who exactly is ‘eagerly awaiting’ me, but we’ll be heading in after we’ve enjoyed ourselves out here for a bit.”
Translated from the refined language of nobles, what the prince really meant was something along the lines of: “Your party seems painfully boring, so I’d rather hang around the entrance with the commoners.”
Cameron, quick to catch the insult, flushed slightly.
The crimson eyes of the royal family—recognized by every citizen of the Rustavaran Kingdom raised on its founding myth—gleamed ominously.
Adrian, meanwhile, simply listened quietly, pleased that Mikhail had taken the awful drink off his hands.
That stuff’s disgusting. And he’s not even flinching. The dragon marveled at the prince’s perfect poker face.
Then came the whispers—
— He just drank from someone else’s glass…
— The two of them must be really close. Or no… that’s beyond just being close…
Students who’d been observing them murmured behind their fans and glasses, shielding their mouths but unable to hide their curiosity. The gold dragon kept his gaze forward as he listened to their chatter.
— Strangely enough… that other guy’s blond too.
— Yeah, it’s odd, isn’t it…
They had no idea Adrian could hear every word. Perhaps they felt safe to gossip because a small ensemble was playing classical music in the middle of the academy garden, masking their voices.
— The Grand Mage had that same light blonde hair…
— Could Prince Mikhail really be his reincarnation? If that’s the case, we might see another Sword Master emerge in the kingdom.
— If that happens, Rustavaran will truly become the greatest nation on the continent.
Is that so?
Adrian’s lips curled sharply.
That again?
Just like Carlo. He looked the same, and the way he used Adrian’s body—it was disturbingly identical. He’d said they were friends, but the prince clearly had his own agenda. Adrian crossed his arms and tilted his head.
Cameron held Mikhail’s icy gaze for a moment before finally collecting himself. Straightening his twisted expression, he said, “…My apologies. That wasn’t my intent… Please feel free to come inside whenever you wish,” and spun on his heel.
Mikhail watched his back for a moment, then suddenly grimaced. With a loud thunk, he shoved the glass back into Adrian’s hands. He then pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed his lips with graceful precision.
Yet even that couldn’t hide the way his beautiful face twisted in disgust from the lingering sweetness.
“…You were drinking this crap? You’ve got terrible taste.”
He snapped his fingers at a nearby server and ordered a cold glass of water. Then, without a care in the world for his fine tailored suit, he flopped down onto a marble bench in the garden.
The dragon, annoyed by the insult to his taste, scowled.
“I was about to toss it. It’s disgusting.”
“Don’t lie. You were sipping it like you didn’t want it to end.”
Ugh, Mikhail shook his head in revulsion.
“…You’re really not going into the party?”
Adrian stared at the prince, who was now sulking on the bench. This can’t be what you really wanted, right? His warm brown eyes scanned Mikhail’s face, as if trying to unearth his hidden motives.
But Mikhail, looking entirely unbothered, simply tugged off the tie choking his neck and grumbled,
“Things worked out fine. I never wanted to go in to begin with.”
He answered Adrian lazily, then slowly turned his head to glance up at him. Adrian was standing before him in a rare, expensive suit he normally wouldn’t wear, wearing a curious expression—as if awaiting a particular response—while carefully observing the prince.
“…Parties like this are a regular thing at the Academy.”
That’s right—Adrian had said this was his first time at one.
“Are you disappointed?”
“…No. Not really.”
The sky had already grown dark, and the bright moon and stars sparkled against its inky backdrop. Adrian had no complaints about skipping the banquet; sitting quietly in the garden like this was far preferable.
A graceful dance tune flowed from the banquet hall. Adrian gazed at the moon and murmured,
“You’d be hopeless at ballroom dancing.”
Judging by his piano skills, anything that required timing and rhythm would be a lost cause for the prince.
“…Where the hell did that come from?” Mikhail snapped, but he didn’t argue further—perhaps because he had no real comeback.
The prince and Adrian sat in the garden for about an hour before returning to the dormitory. It hardly seemed like they’d attended the party at all.
Later, in the royal capital, Alix de Inehart heard about the events and, much like Mikhail, tossed aside a sheet of fine stationery in frustration. In his hand was a receipt from a certain shop.
An infuriatingly bad return on investment.
