After the conversation ended and Mikhail left the room, Luce let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Right… as long as he doesn’t find out I’m Adrian, there shouldn’t be any real problem.
At that moment, the dragon allowed himself to fully relax.
Instead of confessing everything to Mikhail, Luce chose the easier route: pinning the blame on some other dragon. It wasn’t just the simpler option—it was safer. The biggest concern was not knowing how Mikhail might react if he learned the truth. If it ended up interfering with the wish granted through Yong-eon’s contract, it would be a disaster.
So Luce felt perfectly content with his decision.
Mikhail’s steady footsteps echoed down the corridor.
But unlike the now-relieved dragon, Mikhail’s suspicions had only deepened after their exchange. Back in his quarters, he leaned his forehead against the door and shut his eyes tight. Something about Luce’s utterly composed expression had felt off.
“If Adrian is really a dragon, then why isn’t Luce even curious about him? Last time, he clearly seemed to care about his own kind.”
He murmured quietly to himself, still with his head bowed. Mikhail had seen it with his own eyes—the moment Luce tried to save the dying ancient dragon. Luce had even said himself, ‘That old dragon we saw last time was the first one I’d ever seen.’
And yet now, at the mention of another dragon, there had been no surprise, no intrigue—nothing. After discovering the Mirkint in the forest, Mikhail had thought that talking things through with Luce would unravel the tangled threads. But instead, it had only…
“Gotten more suspicious.”
Mikhail’s voice filled the quiet room again. The sharp clarity of his tone snapped him out of his inner turmoil.
There was something else strange too. The image of Luce casually brushing aside the topic just moments ago flickered before Mikhail’s eyes. If Adrian really was a dragon, and he had entered Basamiel Academy as part of the famed “Dragon’s Game,” then who exactly had been wandering the academy with Luce’s face?
Who was the Adrian that had spent the past year by his side at Basamiel?
The image of Adrian reading in the academy’s garden vividly resurfaced in his mind. Adrian would slowly raise his head, look at Mikhail approaching the bench, and give that familiar, enigmatic smile. And Luce—wearing that exact same face—had said,
“Besides the Mirkint, is there any other proof he was a dragon?”
Mikhail slowly opened the eyes he’d kept tightly shut. It was faint, barely there, but he’d finally found a thread. And he had no intention of letting it slip away out of ignorance.
“Other proof besides the Mirkint…”
His voice rang out through the quiet room.
***
“What would you like for your course?”
The server at the Tamarhild village restaurant asked the question as he approached the ornately designed table where Luce and Mikhail were seated. Holding a notepad in one hand, he poised a quill to take their order.
Lately, Luce had started to genuinely enjoy the act of dining. It was as if he’d decided to tour every well-known restaurant in the area. One day, he had suddenly shown up with a local food map in hand, pressing it into Mikhail’s face. Mikhail had begrudgingly nodded along and, after a bit of deliberation, recommended this particular spot.
Luce had never heard of the place before, but he wasn’t picky enough to care—so he followed Mikhail’s lead and came in without a fuss.
“I’ll have the steak.”
Luce smiled lightly as he made his selection. It was the restaurant’s signature dish. Normally, he didn’t enjoy meat much, but for some reason, he felt like trying it today. When Luce ordered steak—something he’d never done before—Mikhail raised one eyebrow in clear surprise.
“Why?”
Luce tilted his head at Mikhail’s suspicious look, but Mikhail simply shook his head without a word.
The server turned next to Mikhail, silently prompting him to choose. But Mikhail, lost in thought, didn’t seem to register the gesture.
Luce started to call out to him, then gave a small shrug. There weren’t many items on the menu to begin with, and of those, there was only one thing Mikhail was likely to order.
“We’ll have the same.”
The chef’s recommended steak. Luce pointed at the name on the menu with his index finger and answered on Mikhail’s behalf. At that, Mikhail let out a huff of irritation and leaned forward to glance at the menu himself.
“Why are you ordering for me?”
His eyes lingered on the steak Luce had indicated, and slowly, his expression began to shift.
Watching him closely, the server asked, “Would you like to change your order, sir?”
“…No.”
The order was confirmed.
Though Mikhail answered the server’s question, his eyes remained fixed on the menu. The server gave a polite nod, tidied his notepad and menu, and then stepped away.
As soon as the man left the table, Mikhail looked across at Luce, who was calmly sipping his pre-meal tea. Now that he thought about it, Adrian always insisted on having tea before meals, too.
“How did you know I was going to order the steak?”
Hm? Luce raised an eyebrow, his teacup still at his lips.
“You always order steak.”
“Hmm… Is that so.”
In that moment, Mikhail felt as if he’d just snagged a thread to a mystery that had refused to unravel. He replied with an ambiguous expression.
“…Now that I think about it, maybe I did.”
He had never ordered steak—not even once—at any restaurant he’d been to with Luce. Mikhail’s gaze sharpened as he studied the man sitting across from him. Luce took another elegant sip of his tea, wearing a bored expression like he couldn’t believe Mikhail didn’t already know.
***
“There’s somewhere I need to stop by for a moment.”
On their way back to the carriage after the meal, Mikhail pointed in another direction. Luce nodded without hesitation. As he’d said before, Mikhail didn’t need to report his every move, but he always made a point of keeping Luce informed.
“Alright. I’ll wait in the carriage.”
“Yes.”
Luce glanced sideways at Mikhail walking off, then resumed his own pace. A warm breeze and soft sunlight brushed against his skin.
Yawn… Luce stretched his arms lazily after a light yawn. The drowsy afternoon welcomed him gently.
“…If this keeps up, I’ll fall asleep the moment I get in the carriage.”
Living in a human body, even missing a little sleep had immediate consequences. He couldn’t replenish his energy through mana anymore. A human body without that option—how inconvenient.
Luce shook his head in mild exasperation as he headed toward the carriage.
***
Mikhail’s destination was the lounge situated to the side of the restaurant.
As befitted an upscale establishment, the lounge was outfitted with expensive magical artifacts for guests to freely use. One wall displayed a sprawling countryside panorama through a projection device, while on the opposite side stood a harp that played sweet melodies without a performer.
If a typical rural traveler had wandered into this space unaware, they might have frozen at the doorway, wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the lavish display. But to Mikhail—who had used artifacts personally crafted by the continent’s top artisans for a single prince since he was old enough to crawl—it all seemed crude and tacky.
He strode across the lounge as if it belonged to him and took a seat on one of the plush sofas set atop a soft carpet. Beside his seat sat a magical communication device.
He lazily spun the ornate number dial a few times with his fingers, then picked up the long, cone-shaped receiver attached by a cord.
“Yes.”
Someone on the other end seemed to greet him.
Under the glow of the overhead light, his long lashes cast delicate shadows over his face. A trace of cigarette smoke lingering faintly in the lounge made him wrinkle his nose in mild displeasure.
“There are a few things I need you to send me right away.”
His soft, low voice flowed across the polished floor like silk. A faint response buzzed from the receiver.
Mikhail smirked, curling one corner of his mouth.
“That’s right. I don’t care if you use my name. Master Declaire will listen, at least the first time, if it’s a favor from me.”
The voice on the other end asked,
“Your Highness, what exactly do you need from Basamiel?”
The prince tapped his index finger on the tabletop a few times, as if pondering.
“Nothing much. Just something inside the fountain at Basamiel—”
Mikhail’s grin sharpened like a blade.
“A pitiful little pebble.”
But in this seemingly meaningless game of tag between Mikhail and Adrian, that pitiful little pebble was about to play the biggest role of all.
