The dragon tossed and turned in bed all night, agonizing over it, but no solution came to him.
No matter how hopeless things seemed, the next day’s sun still rose. It was Sunday—the day of Cameron Harris’s party. The chilly dawn air carried with it the faint blue light of the early morning sky and the cheerful chirping of birds who had woken before the world.
Then came a knock. Knock, knock, knock.
Adrian, already unable to sleep, sprang up the moment he heard it. There was something he was looking forward to even more than the morning paper.
When he opened the door, a portable hanger, about shoulder height, stood proudly in front of him. Draped neatly over it was a suit—clearly tailored from high-quality fabric. A pearlescent card was clipped to the ivory hanger.
Hope it meets your expectations.
Beneath the note was the tailor’s name and branding. It was a polite gesture, inviting him to report back if anything needed adjusting after trying it on. Adrian gave a nonchalant shrug and lazily picked up the card. He wasn’t the type to fuss over small details anyway.
After reading the elegantly written message, he dragged the hanger into his room.
Thrrrrk— With a soft scraping sound, he rolled it in front of the mirror and took the suit off the hanger to unfold it. All the materials and accents he’d chosen yesterday were there, matched to perfection as discussed. Every seam had been finished with meticulous stitching.
The world really had changed for the better.
With a thought that made him sound like an old man, the dragon began to undress and slipped into the new clothes one by one. White shirt first, then black trousers, followed by the vest, and finally the jacket over top.
Not bad. Adrian’s eyes gleamed as he fastened the cufflinks in front of the mirror. As expected of a tailor proud enough to put his name on his shop—the craftsmanship was impressive.
Just then—
From the noise of clothes rustling in the dorm room, Mikhail stirred on his bed and slowly opened his eyes.
“……”
His gaze settled on Adrian, now dressed in a suit rather than the school uniform. Adrian, adjusting his collar in front of the mirror, noticed the attention and spoke up.
“How do I look?”
“…Turn around.”
He was just trying to be polite by asking the person who bought it for him, but Mikhail responded with a vaguely displeased look and motioned with his chin. Turn around? Adrian let out a short sigh and slowly spun in place so Mikhail, still watching him intently, could get a full view.
Mikhail sat up in bed, leaned back comfortably, and gave Adrian a thorough once-over.
“…Hmph.”
But the prince, acting as the unofficial judge, responded with nothing more than a lukewarm hum.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Is it bad? Does it suit me or not?”
As Adrian waited for a clearer verdict, fiddling with the hem of his pants, he mumbled, “I think it looks pretty good…”
“Should I send it back to the tailor?”
Adrian shrugged. After all, the prince had paid for it—his call.
Finally, Mikhail opened his mouth.
“…There’s no need.”
“So, it does look good?”
Forcing a positive answer out of Mikhail made the dragon grin smugly. Honestly, with that face and build, he could probably wear a sack and still look good.
Satisfied with trying it on, Adrian shrugged off the jacket and tossed it back over the hanger. The party wasn’t until evening, so there was still plenty of time. Just as he began unbuttoning the shirt—
“The dressing room next to the bathroom—is that just for decoration?”
A disgruntled remark flew from his roommate’s side of the room. Mikhail, now fully sitting up, was tousling his bedhead.
“…Can’t even change clothes in peace?”
“That’s why there’s a dressing room, genius. So you can change in peace.”
You’re the one who walks around half-naked all the time.
“……”
Adrian let out an incredulous chuckle, grabbed his clothes with a sharp flick, and headed into the dressing room. He didn’t feel like wasting his morning bickering. Before heading to the party that evening, he still had to check on a few herbs he’d planted in the greenhouse yesterday.
***
After returning from the greenhouse, Adrian changed back into the suit he had tried on that morning. Mikhail was already prepared, seated at the table with only his jacket off, meticulously tending to the sword he had bought the day before.
That was when it happened.
The chimes of the clock tower from the main building of the academy rang out—six sharp bells marking the hour. As Adrian fastened the last button on his jacket, he glanced up at Mikhail, who was still gazing lovingly at his sword.
“Shall we go?”
“No.”
Mikhail scrunched his face like Adrian had said something absurd.
“We’re not leaving until seven. Do whatever you want until then.”
“……But the invitation clearly says the party starts at six.”
There was no way he was mistaken. The dragon’s memory was flawless.
“I told you before, didn’t I? Royals never arrive at the time written on the invitation. It’s considered a courtesy—to give others time to settle in and enjoy themselves.”
“Ah.”
Makes sense. Adrian nodded slowly, accepting the prince’s reasonable-sounding explanation and took a seat.
He rested his arms on the backrest of his chair and watched Mikhail, sitting across from him, continue to polish his sword. Seeing the weapon in his hands brought back the incredible revelation Adrian had uncovered the day before.
Under Adrian’s persistent stare, Mikhail’s hand—which had been gliding smoothly—abruptly stopped. Without looking up, he muttered:
“Don’t you have anything to do?”
“Nope.”
The dragon replied proudly. He had already checked on the greenhouse—there was nothing left to do today.
“I do have something I’m curious about.”
Leaning back against the chair, Adrian tilted his head.
“If you had both Fellen Deeps’ sword and that one, which would you use?”
“…What?”
It was a strange question, sure—but Adrian was desperate. If he was going to keep attending the academy next year, he needed to rekindle the prince’s interest in Fellen Deeps’ sword.
Predictably, Mikhail scoffed with a look that said, Why even ask?
“Of course I’d choose the Hero’s Sword. It’s not like I don’t know who Fellen Deeps is…”
Adrian propped his head on his arm, still resting on the chair back, wearing a sullen expression. Naturally, he had no idea who Fellen Deeps was. He had just assumed it was the name of some master craftsman. So he was a hero, huh? The dragon had never cared for things like human-designated “heroes.”
“…Obviously, right?”
Regardless, Mikhail clearly wasn’t about to let go of his attachment to Fellen Deeps’ sword. Adrian nodded, replying halfheartedly. At the very least, it was a relief that Mikhail would still choose that sword over the one in his hands.
Mikhail lifted the blade, holding it horizontally to check for warping or worn edges along its length with precise scrutiny.
Adrian stayed quiet, simply watching Mikhail’s diligent polishing. He’s really into this. It made him wonder: Do I look like this when I water herbs every morning?
He glanced sideways at his own bed. If he pulled back the blanket covering the gap beneath, he could reveal the two piercing eyes nestled quietly underneath.
Should I just tell him everything?
Hmm… The dragon narrowed his eyes, imagining how Mikhail might react.
First scenario: Mikhail’s face turned ice-cold.
—It was light enough during the entrance ceremony. Why is it so heavy now?
Yeah, no idea. The piercing eyes had suddenly grown heavier—that was the truth. Even Adrian couldn’t answer that one. The second scenario: suspicion.
—Why do you even have that stone?
To explain, he’d have to admit that he’d retrieved it by following the magic of the fountain.
That would instantly shatter his carefully crafted persona as a powerless commoner—an absolute disaster.
The last scenario: the prince didn’t believe a word he said and just mocked him.
—You had a dream where I had Fellen Deeps’ sword? What, are you some kind of prophet now?
Even the Gold Dragon himself couldn’t be certain whether the dream had been real or not. Hmph. Every possibility led to the worst outcome.
Adrian let out a deep sigh and spun his chair in a slow circle.
In any case, Mikhail—who was only good at swinging swords—wasn’t going to be much help with the current situation. He’d just have to figure it out somehow. The Gold Dragon returned to brooding over the problem that had plagued him since the early hours of yesterday: How the hell am I going to make 10,000 tilon?
Just then—
“Let’s go.”
Mikhail set down the sword he had been polishing and pulled on the overcoat he had prepared. It was finally time to head to the party.
