Chapter 14: The Secret of the "Minimalist" Prince

I leave him half-bandaged on the couch.

The gauze is secure, but... I didn’t have any tape. I had to use a... a paw-print-covered doggy-band-aid I found. It’s... humiliating. For both of us.

"I’m getting food," I announce.

"What? You don't have to-"

"I’m not asking. I'm telling. You are clearly incapable of feeding yourself. You’re just... a giant, injured child who lives in a dog-food warehouse."

I walk out. I don’t slam the door. (Okay, I slam it a little.)

The second I’m outside, I lean against the wall.

My heart is still pounding.

What is his deal?

No family. No stuff. A secret crest on his phone. A body that... doesn't look like it belongs to a 16-year-old kid.

And his leg...

I didn’t even look at his leg.

Tch.

Whatever.

I stomp down to the 7-Eleven at the corner.

My mission: find food that says "I am fulfilling my social obligation, but also, I still hate you."

...Congee.

It's definitely congee.

(Meanwhile, back in Apartment #201)

Fuji Kenji is alone.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His arm stings. The doggy band-aid is mocking him.

His phone, which is still face-down, buzzes again.

The Crest.

He sighs. He can’t ignore it this time.

He picks it up.

"Katsuro."

A crisp, formal, older voice replies immediately. There’s no "hello."

"Your Highness. You missed your 14:00 check-in."

"I was... busy," Fuji says, wincing as he tries to sit up straight.

"So we’ve been informed. Your security detail reported a... 'public disturbance.' Involving a mascot. A canine. And a delivery vehicle."

Fuji's face tightens. "Tell them to stand down. I thought the point of this was for me to be independent. That was the whole arrangement."

"The arrangement, Your Highness, is for you to learn responsibility. Not to get yourself flattened in an alleyway. This 'normal life' mandate has been in place since middle school, but it does not include... 'death by truck.'"

"It was... complicated."

"Was the girl 'complicated'? Aoi Isuzu. 'Bloody Twilight.' Your detail was... concerned. They almost intervened."

Fuji goes cold. "You what? You're following her?"

"We are following you, Prince Kenji. She just... happens to be in the blast radius."

"Stop it," Fuji orders. His voice isn't the "Prince" of the school. It’s... cold. It's the voice of someone who's used to being obeyed.

"Stop running checks on my... my rivals."

"Your father, His Majesty, was very clear. The conditions of your independence are conditional. No scandals. No 'disturbances.' And you are to associate with... suitable people. This must hold until your graduation."

"And 'Bloody Twilight' isn't suitable?" Fuji asks.

"She is... 'panda-handled,' sir. I don't even know what that means."

Fuji... smiles.

He looks at his arm. At the terrible bandage job. At the paw print.

"She’s fine, Katsuro. She’s... exactly what I need."

There's a long, disapproving silence.

"Your Highness. The girl. Is she... a problem?"

Fuji thinks about the library. He thinks about the test scores. He thinks about her furious face when she was cleaning his arm.

"She is," he says, a small laugh escaping him. "She’s a huge problem. But not in the way you think."

"Sir...?"

"I’m fine, Katsuro. I’m just... a 16-year-old kid. In a small apartment. Who fell down."

"Very well, Your Highness. We will... log it as 'a fall.' His Majesty sends his regards. And a reminder about the state dinner next month."

"Right. The 'state dinner.'" Fuji sighs.

"Katsuro?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Don't call me that."

He hangs up.

He stares at his empty, sterile apartment.

This "mandate." This... life his father made him play.

"Live as a commoner. From middle school until high school graduation. Learn what 'normal' is. Then... you can be a leader."

It was supposed to be a boring, lonely existence. It has been a boring, lonely existence.

And then... Aoi Isuzu happened.

The door to his apartment kicks open.

Aoi is standing there, holding a plastic bag from 7-Eleven.

"I'm back, idiot," she announces. "I brought you congee. It's for sick people. And... I got you a 'Pocari Sweat.' Because you look... dehydrated."

She dumps the bag on the coffee table.

She's still suspicious. Her eyes are narrowed.

"So," she says, crossing her arms. "What's the real story, Prince?"