The dragon’s clothes fluttered in the warm breeze, swaying gently. A golden haze shimmered and danced around his body, rippling like flowing currents.
His tousled blond hair slowly settled down, and his eyes—which had appeared as if they were staring off into the distance—began to slowly scan the room.
His lair, which he hadn’t returned to in quite a while, was still warm and cozy. Perhaps it was thanks to the spell cast to maintain its current state at all times, but in any case, a space that was wholly and entirely “one’s own” held special meaning—not only for humans, but for dragons as well.
The dragon ran a palm over his disheveled hair, roughly smoothing it down, and let out a quiet sigh.
After indulging in a diversion, it always took some time to return to reality. He was no longer Adrian Heather.
He slowly unwound the clumsily wrapped bandage from around his leg. Beneath it, his skin was unblemished, not a single scar in sight. His clothes, stained from clinging to a cliff face, turned pristine in an instant with a light wave of the dragon’s hand—looking as if nothing had ever happened.
The coffee cup he’d left on the table before departing for Basamiel was still sitting right where he left it. Steam rose from the cup as if the coffee had just been freshly brewed. Adrian picked it up and took a light sip. The temperature was still perfect for drinking.
Krrng!
Just then, a large wolf burst through the door like it owned the place and bounded in quickly. It leapt up high like a rabbit, tail wagging nonstop with excitement.
“Oh, you’ve been well?”
The dragon offered a faint smile and rubbed the wolf’s forehead.
“The place you hurt back then looks all healed now. Good job.”
The grayish fur of the wolf was plush—perfect for stroking. It felt like just yesterday he’d rescued it from a human trap, groaning in pain. But now, soft fur had grown over where the wound once was. The dragon’s golden eyes gleamed warmly, like sunlight, as he gazed at the wolf.
***
Mikhail stood in the center of the headmaster’s office, glaring at Headmaster Declaire. Outside, preparations were underway for a funeral—a ceremony to mourn a student who had died unexpectedly during the school term. Though the mood was chaotic and emotions were turbulent, everyone was earnestly doing their part to give the young man a proper farewell.
But Mikhail, who had been the closest to Adrian, was in a state completely opposite to that atmosphere.
“Headmaster, I told you—please hold off on the funeral just a little longer!”
“I believe I already told you the matter was settled. And I also told you not to call me ‘Headmaster’ in the Academy. So why are you here in my office? From what I understand, you’re supposed to be busy preparing the memorial speech.”
She looked at Mikhail with a detached expression, unfazed. Mikhail bit down on his lip for a moment and growled his reply.
“It’s not… it’s not time for the funeral yet.”
At his words, the headmaster’s gaze turned sharp.
“Is that so? It’s not time yet? Then when is the right time for a funeral?”
“In any case, not now.”
The headmaster leaned forward slightly over the table and stared Mikhail down. He stood with his fists clenched tight, trembling faintly. She understood. This wasn’t resilience—it was denial. Mikhail had not shed a single tear since the incident. He had calmly reported the situation to the search party and took part in the search efforts every day without fail.
It had been quite some time since Adrian fell from that cliff, yet Mikhail was still tormenting himself. Keeping her eyes fixed on him, the headmaster spoke again.
“Mikhail.”
“……”
“I asked when the funeral should be held. Why aren’t you answering?”
“……”
But Mikhail remained silent. With his head lowered, he slowly shook it side to side, as if he still couldn’t believe this was reality. Watching him, the headmaster let out a soft sigh before speaking again.
“How high was that cliff?”
“……”
Mikhail kept his lips sealed. Instead, Professor Taric, standing beside him, answered on his behalf.
“…It’s high enough that the fall would be instantly fatal.”
Mikhail’s eyes flicked briefly toward Professor Taric, who had responded in his place. To the professor’s answer, the headmaster immediately followed up with another question.
“Did the search party ever find his body?”
“No.”
It was a fact all three people in the headmaster’s office already knew.
Mikhail raised his eyes to the headmaster, his expression calm but questioning. Why is she asking this? If she’d read the same report the search team submitted, there’s no way she wouldn’t know.
“What about the area search around the site?”
“It’s already been thoroughly completed.”
“How many days did the search last?”
“It’s been over a week—and then some.”
Taric gave the report a quick glance before answering. He didn’t know why the headmaster was asking questions with such obvious answers either, but having worked under her for so long, he simply confirmed the facts without resistance.
“Any reports of missing persons from the nearest village?”
“No. None.”
The headmaster nodded. Everything Taric had just said perfectly matched what she had already confirmed in the report. She sharply lifted her gaze toward Mikhail, who stood just in front of the table. Their eyes locked.
“And?”
She frowned as she directed the question at Mikhail.
“…Excuse me?”
It was Taric who responded, thinking the question was aimed at him. But the headmaster continued speaking without acknowledging him.
“On what grounds are you saying ‘not yet’? There’s nothing in this entire conversation that remotely supports the idea that Adrian Heather is still alive. So why do you insist on believing that?”
Mikhail’s eyes trembled slightly. Every single word that left the headmaster’s lips pierced deep into his chest.
“But still!”
Mikhail shouted, his fists clenched tight.
“We haven’t found his body yet!”
“Do I really need to list off the number of missing persons cases where a body was never recovered?”
The cold tone and rational detachment—this was exactly the reality check Mikhail needed. Even though his closest friend had died right before his eyes, he hadn’t shed a single tear. He had thrown himself into the search effort instead, even mobilizing royal knights to scour the Hildeke Mountains. For days, it looked like he hadn’t slept at all. It was doubtful he was even eating properly.
A hot, stinging sensation built behind his eyes, waking up emotions he had been suppressing. He tried to hold it back, but the grief broke through regardless.
“…Still…”
A single tear rolled down from Mikhail’s right eye.
Seeing that tear—the first display of emotion from the prince—made the headmaster falter. Though she had wanted him to confront his feelings with clarity, the sight of her student shedding those anguished tears struck her with a wave of guilt.
“There’s still a chance he’s alive… isn’t there? Adrian couldn’t even use magic, and his leg was injured. If he’s still alive, then…!”
“If.”
Declaire’s soft voice gently interrupted his desperate cry.
“If he’s alive, we’ll welcome him back. No one’s saying we should stop searching.”
“…”
Drip—another tear fell to the floor of the headmaster’s office. Mikhail stood frozen for a long moment before murmuring in a low voice, “Cancel today’s memorial,” and turned abruptly.
Bang!
The door to the office slammed shut.
The moment Mikhail left, Taric—who had been standing stiffly beside the table—scratched his temple with a troubled expression, thick brows furrowing.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how much pain His Highness must be in… That was probably the first time he had someone that close.”
“He’ll get through it. Just like anyone else.”
Taric frowned at her, as if accusing her of being too heartless.
“That’s harsh. Didn’t you practically raise the prince since he was a child?”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
The headmaster muttered, averting her gaze. Taric studied her closely, eyes narrowing.
“You only ever get this cold in times like these.”
“Taric.”
“Yes?”
Grumbling under his breath just moments ago, Taric lifted his head at the sound of his name. She was leaning her chin on her wrist, staring straight at him.
“It’s not just in times like these. Mikhail is a knight now. I won’t teach him to accept death lightly, but at the very least, he has to learn to acknowledge it.”
Both Declaire and Taric were knights well-acquainted with death. Mastery in swordsmanship and familiarity with loss—these were the inevitable burdens they had borne to become seasoned warriors.
Still… it felt cruel.
Taric studied his long-time superior as she quietly tilted the teacup on the table, pretending to check its contents. Then, in a hushed voice, she spoke again.
“The tea’s gone cold. Could I trouble you for another cup?”
“…Of course.”
Taric shook his head slightly and gently picked up the cup. The tea had turned tepid.
Just as he turned to leave the headmaster’s office—
“…And postpone the memorial. It seems the speech isn’t ready anyway.”
Taric glanced back at her. She was still at her desk, propped up on one elbow.
“Yes. I think that’s for the best.”
He replied with a faint smile.
I feel so bad for Mikhail! When will he thaw his dragon’s heart? But also love a cold protagonist >.<