Mikhail’s irritation toward Luce evaporated the instant he heard that faint, feeble voice. Even though their departure time had long since passed, Luce had kept dragging his feet—and now suddenly claimed to be sick? Of all times, it had to be when his dragon powers had completely disappeared. It was no doubt a serious matter.
“Could you explain in more detail?”
Mikhail walked over to Luce, who was curled up in bed. Luce spoke in a tone that suggested even he couldn’t make sense of the situation.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but my stomach hurts. A lot.”
“……”
His stomach?
Swish. Mikhail swiftly pulled the covers away. There lay Luce, clutching his stomach with both arms. Mikhail’s eyes widened at the sight, and he quickly pressed a hand to Luce’s forehead. There was no fever or sweat, but his complexion was pale, and his face looked noticeably more drawn than it had just the day before.
“How much pain are you in— No, first let me call a physician.”
“This has to be something fatal. In all the human medical knowledge I’ve absorbed, not a single illness causes these symptoms. It must be something serious.”
Uuuugh, Luce groaned, his nose wrinkling as he muttered. Mikhail, watching him from above, turned and headed quickly toward the door. If he spoke to the innkeeper, they could probably summon a physician. Just before leaving the room, he tried to reassure Luce with a few words.
“We’ll know once the physician arrives. Please just wait here for a moment—”
That’s when it happened.
Grrrrrrgle.
A loud rumble echoed through the room. Luce, still curled up clutching his stomach, slowly lowered his gaze toward it. And in that moment, he began to piece together the truth behind his pain. That sound—he knew it. Even as a dragon, he had heard it before. Of course, unlike humans, dragons never experienced hunger, so his own stomach had never made such a noise until now.
“……”
Mikhail, who had been just about to leave the room, froze in place. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he turned back around and walked over to Luce’s bedside, speaking in a tone full of disbelief.
“…You’re just hungry.”
With a calm but firm voice, he delivered a diagnosis in place of the physician. Hunger wasn’t an illness, after all, so there was no need to summon anyone. Luce blinked in surprise at the matter-of-fact declaration.
“That can’t be it.”
Mikhail answered decisively as Luce shook his head in denial.
“You skipped meals. That’s why. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“…I only missed a few meals.”
Was he really in this much pain just because of something so trivial?
Clutching his stomach tighter, Luce winced as the unfamiliar pangs of hunger tore through him. Pressing down seemed to dull the ache ever so slightly. How ridiculous—this useless human body required countless things just to keep functioning. Up until now, meals had merely been a form of mimicry for him, a game of playing human for fun. He’d always been adept at using utensils, stuffing food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing like a proper human. But he had never truly understood why humans needed to do those things.
“So this is what hunger feels like…”
Luce murmured, staring into the air.
Feeling hungry… was such an agonizing experience, it could easily be mistaken for a serious illness. He recalled watching humans bicker and yell at each other over a mere piece of bread on the roadside. It had baffled him at the time. But now, he finally understood. It was all because of hunger. Humans fought over bread, laughed and cried over meals… and sometimes even started wars.
Yes—this persistent hunger was what kept humanity in motion.
For the first time, the dragon found himself nodding in understanding at why humans were so obsessed with food.
“Humans really are a pitiful species. So burdensome…”
They even had to eat multiple times a day.
At his muttering, Mikhail let out a short sigh. Luce had suddenly claimed to be ill, so Mikhail had worried for nothing—only to discover it was just hunger. Maybe because dragons couldn’t get injured easily, they tended to overreact to things like this. Ever since last night, when Luce had taken on a human form, he had been skipping meals left and right. Even before that, he would often dawdle or make excuses during mealtimes. Counting all that, Luce had gone without food for longer than expected.
In a quiet voice, Mikhail offered a suggestion.
“…In any case, you must be feeling terrible. I’ll have them prepare some soup.”
“Soup?”
Luce finally sat up in bed at the mention of food. Normally, it was something he wouldn’t have spared a glance. It was troublesome to eat, and the act of chewing held no appeal for a dragon. To him, soup had always been the dullest option on the menu.
However, the moment Mikhail mentioned the word “soup,” Luce felt a sudden surge of energy course through his body. His throat bobbed with a swallow—gulp—as a vivid memory of soup he’d tasted before seemed to come alive on his tongue. It was strange. Not once in his life had he ever imagined the taste of food before eating it. With a thoughtful nod, Luce mulled it over.
“Alright. Bring a lot. As much as you can.”
“…Very well.”
Because of this unexpected detour involving a sudden meal, Mikhail had no choice but to postpone their departure. The way Luce had sparkled with anticipation and issued his command left him with no room to object.
***
A steaming hot bowl of soup was placed before Luce, the rising wisps of warmth curling in the air.
As soon as the kitchen heard that a noble guest occupying the entire inn had requested soup, the head chef personally took up the task. Dressed in a crisp white uniform, he stood beside the table in full professional formality, energetically presenting his creation.
“This soup was prepared with special care. Only gentle, non-irritating ingredients were used so that even a patient could safely enjoy it. The peas that arrived early this morning were in excellent condition, so I crafted a recipe around them. If eaten while warm, you’ll notice a natural sweetness without needing to add any sugar.”
“Ah, I see.”
Forget the explanation—he just wanted to eat already.
Luce offered a vague response, barely listening as the chef went on. His eyes had been fixed solely on the soup in front of him for some time now. Yet his posture—sitting with poised elegance, nodding in perfect sync with the chef’s explanation—betrayed no signs of urgency. It was only natural the chef assumed he was the very image of nobility.
“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”
The chef bowed slightly, solemn and proud. Only then did Luce finally reach out to grasp the spoon.
“Very well.”
Mikhail sat at a neighboring table, his chin resting on his hand as he stared at Luce. Aside from where the two of them sat, the rest of the dining hall was empty. Once the chef left the room, Luce lightly dipped his spoon into the soup and brought it to his lips.
As the spoon entered his mouth, the previously expressionless man’s face slowly, almost fluidly, softened. Without hesitation, Luce brought in another spoonful. His posture, even while eating, was impeccable—so much so that even Mikhail, trained under royal etiquette, couldn’t find fault.
The warm soup slid down smoothly from throat to stomach, a trail of heat tracing its way inside. The gut that had been howling in hunger just moments ago fell into calm silence. At that gentle warmth, Luce let a faint smile grace his lips.
“…It’s delicious.”
He murmured quietly.
The pale green pea soup soon revealed the bottom of the bowl. But it was nowhere near enough. At this rate, he felt like he could eat at least fifty more bowls. He reached for the bell on the table and gave it a brief ring.
The chef, who had only just stepped out, rushed back into the dining hall, slightly breathless. He peeked at Luce’s bowl and, upon confirming it had been completely emptied, tried to keep his face composed—but couldn’t quite stop the corners of his lips from twitching upward.
Luce offered a formal word of praise.
“I’m thoroughly satisfied.”
“It’s an honor to hear you enjoyed it.”
“Could I have another bowl? Or better yet, just bring the entire pot. I’ll take whatever’s left with me.”
The chef, beaming, nodded enthusiastically. In his entire culinary career, being asked to bring out an entire pot was praise of the highest order—how often did one get to hear something like that?
“Of course. I’ll bring it out immediately.”
With a determined look, he hurried out of the room. As he left, Mikhail, still at the next table, let out a quiet sigh and offered a gentle reproach.
“…It won’t taste the same once it’s cold.”
Luce turned toward the prince, his expression as if he’d just heard something absurd.
“Cold? I’m going to eat it all right now.”
“……”
Was that even possible?
Mikhail furrowed his brow slightly, but then closed his mouth with a dubious expression. Well, surely the dragon knew what he was doing.
