The Prince’s First Questline

Before I could even process his words—Follow me… excitement beyond your wildest dreams—he was already glancing toward the clock on the wall.

"Oh—look at the time," he said, suddenly composed again. "You've got a shift today at Mandarake, right? You'd better get going. Your clothes should be done in the dryer. I'll reach out later with the details of our arrangements."

Arrangements. He said it like we were signing a business deal.

Then he paused, as if remembering something. "My driver will take you."

"Your… driver?" I echoed.

"Yeah. They'll be waiting at the entrance—you can't miss them."

My brain protested—but my body didn’t. I moved like I'd been quick-time-evented: hallway, dryer, warm fabric in my hands, one clumsy change that should qualify as a dexterity check. I didn't look back. I bolted—like an NPC who just triggered a crime alert.

After the world's longest elevator ride, the doors slid open to reveal a tall woman with fiery red hair and eyes bright green like a forest after rain. A perfect black-tailored suit. Black eyepatch. Calm, lethal posture.

My brain short-circuited, connected the red hair and the eyepatch, and before I could stop myself— "Asuka Langley."

Oh god. Did I just say that out loud?

The woman didn't react—just inclined her head. Thank god, but my face was already on fire.

"Hello, Miss Tanaka. I'm here to escort you. Please follow me, if you will."

I got into the most luxurious car I'd ever seen—constellations stitched into the roof liner, a pane of glass separating me from the driver.

Before I knew it, my cloud ride was over. We were already at the entrance to Mandarake. Everyone on the street was staring like I was some celebrity. Sorry—no Yuki Kashiwagi here. Just me.

I could barely function the rest of the day.

At Mandarake, I definitely spoke to customers. I bagged something. I ran a register. None of it saved to memory. I was a ghost wearing an apron, haunted by the word arrangements.

Even morning classes flew past me at double speed. I didn't hear a single word. Not one. Meanwhile, he sat beside me with his shōjo-protag aura toggled back on—quiet, composed, the exact brand of gentle brightness that short-circuits common sense.

Then the lunch chime rang.

He stood. The room rattled with chairs and chatter. He didn't raise his voice.

"Shall we?"

Two words. Event flag as red as the sun.

I followed without knowing the inputs. Down the corridor. Up the stairs. He stopped at the rooftop door that had been locked since the '80s. Someone who'd clearly watched one too many anime.

"That's always locked," I whispered nervously.

He looked back, slightly annoyed, then silently took out a small silver key.

Click.

Sunlight knifed through dust.

I stared at the key, then at him. "How did you—"

He tilted his head. "Is that really so surprising?"

…Fair point. With him, anything was possible.

"After you," he said.

"If I die up there, I'm haunting you."

The words were out before I could stop them. Why am I like this?

Silence. He didn't even acknowledge it.

Great. Fantastic. He definitely thinks I'm insane now.

The rooftop felt too large for two people. Spring-blue sky above, the bay in the distance, Sakurajima sitting like a final boss.

I took the dangerous spot: back to the low rail. He sat directly in front of me, close enough to push if things went wrong. A bento was the only thing between us.

For a while, we just sat there, looking at the view.

"So, Shizuka, how do we turn me into a loser like you?"

My brain lagged. Out of every possible sentence in the Japanese language, he picked that one? He said it with zero inflection. Not teasing. Not joking. Just… stating a problem that needed solving.

"Huh? Why would you wanna become a loser?"

"Seriously, did you hit your head and get a concussion? We talked about this yesterday."

Yesterday. Right—the towel, the psycho speech, the 'be my accomplice' thing. Oh no. He was actually serious about that.

"...Oh, the protagonist stuff. I thought that was research for your book or something."

Before I could finish my sentence—

"No, it's not for a book, but it is for research of sorts. I wanna know why generic trash manga—especially shōjo trash—can have such a hold on the readers."

I blinked. He was actually analyzing it like a real otaku. I was sitting on a rooftop with a real-life bishōnen trying to reverse-engineer trash manga. This was either my dream job or a cry for help.

"I know, right? Like, you know it's trash and you can always guess who's the author's best girl and what tropes they're gonna hit, but you can't not read it. It’s even more effective in anime form."

"It's irritating and incomprehensible. So, since you're the expert, tell me—how can a guy like me get the protagonist role?"

"Huh? You already have the protag role. You've been here all of two days and you're already the most popular guy at school. You even overtook Ishida like he was nothing."

I mean, look at him. Tall, unreadable, multilingual cheat code of a person. If he isn't the protagonist, the casting director's asleep at the wheel.

He cut me off. "Ugh, it's like talking to a bad chatbot. We discussed this yesterday—you pointed out that I can't fulfill the protag tropes since I'm already at the endgame, and they don't make stories about guys who have everything for a reason. So I want you, Shizuka Tanaka—otaku trash expert—to use your extensive, borderline obsessive knowledge of trash manga to help me recreate the perfect trash manga IRL."

My brain did the math: real-life trash manga scenario + me = social suicide speedrun any%.

"Ehhh… what… here? At school?" I yelled out.

"Where else? Why do you think I'm here?" He said it like it was obvious. Like I should've figured this out already. "And here I thought you'd realized the whole truth yesterday."

The wind tugged at my hair, carrying his words away before I could respond. For a second, all I could hear was the hum of the city below us—the sound of other people's lives moving forward.

I just stared at him, wondering if this was what divine punishment looked like—being recruited by the world's most handsome disaster to produce trash.

"Ehh… the most important thing for a protag is to be relatable, and that's not gonna be easy with someone like you, I mean, you know—"

"I know that. That’s why you’re here. Ugh, maybe this was a mistake. And here I was thinking you were yearning for an adventure of your own instead of reading about other people's adventures."

That line hit harder than it should've. Maybe because he was right. I'd spent years waiting for something interesting to happen—something that proved my life wasn't just background scenery. And now that it was here, I didn't know whether to laugh or run.

"Well, this is all about you. It's not like I have anything to gain from it."

Silence. He studied me—not with warmth, just cold assessment. The breeze moved his hair but not his expression.

"You want compensation." Statement, not question.

"Any wish?" I repeated, my voice catching before I could hide it.

"Within reason." Still that flat tone. Bored. Transactional. "I have resources. You have knowledge. Standard exchange."

He was serious—and the worst part? I believed him. He had that kind of aura—the unshakable confidence of someone who'd never tasted defeat.

I wouldn't usually let myself get carried away; I'd failed enough to know better than to dream. But this time felt different. It had to be. Maybe it was the sunlight. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually looking at me—even if it was like I was a piece of equipment he was considering purchasing. Either way, this was my last chance.

My hands were shaking. My heart was doing that thing where it tried to escape through my throat. Say it. Just say it. This is your only chance—

"I'll help you—but to act like a loser and be reborn as a true main character, you have to take me with you," I blurted out, standing up. "This is my last year of high school. I don't want it to end like this. I want to have the best senior year in all of manga and anime history!"

Oh god, that sounded so cringe out loud. He's going to—

For a fraction of a second, something shifted in his expression. Not a smile. Not excitement. Just... interest. Like I'd finally said something worth his attention.

Then it was gone.

"Acceptable." He stood, brushing invisible dust from his uniform. "We begin tomorrow."

"Wait—what about that tragic ending you mentioned—"

But he was already walking toward the door. Didn't look back. Didn't elaborate.

The breeze rushed between us.

And just like that, I realized: I'd accepted the questline without even checking the difficulty level.

Next Episode : Twilight Blossoms