Chapter 13: The Princess Who Waits for a Prince Who Never Arrives

There are days when the universe seems to take a perverse pleasure in mocking our feelings.

On that day, following a long night filled with tears and a desperate resolve not to give up, I walked into the clubroom with a heart that was still warm—fragile, but warm. I had made up my mind. I was going to knock on that bolted door.

But instead, I found myself shoved onto a stage. Quite literally.

The door to the Heartbreak Society slammed open.

“SAVE ME!”

Kazuki Otoya stumbled in, gasping for air, looking every bit the tragic hero who had just lost his kingdom. Kengo didn’t even bother to look up from his paperwork.

“What now?”

Touma sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If you’re going to faint, do it elsewhere. The carpet is expensive.”

Otoya dropped to his knees in a dramatic plea. “The lead for Sleeping Beauty dropped out of the competition! If we don’t find a replacement, the drama club is finished! Dead! History!” He turned to me, his eyes shimmering with a pathetic, sparkling hope. “Mitsuzu Kurumi! Please! Be our Sleeping Beauty!”

I froze. Sleeping Beauty. The princess who waits.

Instinctively, my eyes drifted toward Kengo. He remained still. He didn't object, nor did he offer support. As usual—he remained detached.

“I’ll do it,” I said softly.

Otoya looked like he was about to weep with joy.

“However,” I continued, “Kengo and Touma have to participate too.”

“What?” Touma whipped his head around.

“Oi,” Kengo muttered flatly. “I have a shift this afternoon.”

“They’re just bit parts!” Otoya interjected quickly. “Trees and grass!”

A heavy silence filled the room.

“Grass?” Touma stared into the void. “I’m not even a character. I’m a decoration.”

Kengo let out an exhausted sigh. “As long as I don't have to kiss anyone, fine. I’m in.”

The words were light. But for some reason, they felt heavy in my chest.

That afternoon, the drama club’s rehearsal room was thick with laughter and stage dust. I received the script: The Sleeping Princess and the Cold Prince.

My heart skipped a beat. The Cold Prince.

I turned to look at the "scenery." Kengo was being draped in a brown cloth to represent a tree trunk. He stood tall and rigid, his expression the same as ever—nearly void of emotion. Touma wore a green costume with tiny plastic leaves pinned to his shoulders.

“I look like a salad that failed to meet its potential,” Touma grumbled.

“Just focus on photosynthesis,” Kengo replied.

“I’m going to curse you into a bonsai.”

I let out a small, airy laugh. A laugh that felt light, yet healed absolutely nothing.

Rehearsal began. I lay down on the small stage and closed my eyes. The spotlight beat down on my face. The princess fell asleep. She waited.

Through the darkness of my eyelids, I could sense Kengo’s presence at the edge of the stage. He stood perfectly still. A tree. He was part of the background, not the story. He didn't move. He didn't engage. He didn't want to be involved.

“The dialogue is far too melodramatic,” I heard him mutter to Touma.

“Yukari wrote it,” Touma whispered back.

Ah. Of course.

The climax began. The Prince entered. It wasn't Kengo. A boy from the drama club stepped forward with practiced confidence. He knelt beside me.

“Awaken, Princess. I have come for you.”

I opened my eyes slowly. It was as per the script. As per the role. But my eyes naturally sought out another figure. Kengo.

He was still standing there, a tree. He had no intention of stepping forward. No desire to take the Prince's place. And that was when I truly understood.

He didn't want to be the prince. Not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't. It was easier to stand as a tree. Silent. Expecting nothing. Touching nothing. Feeling nothing.

Rehearsal ended with a light scattering of applause. Touma immediately shed his costume. “I’m not being paid for photosynthesis.”

“You aren't being paid at all,” Kengo reminded him. He removed the brown cloth and walked past me. I was still wearing the white gown of the Sleeping Beauty. The tiny tiara on my head felt far heavier than it should have.

“The costume suits you,” he said briefly.

“Sleeping Beauty?”

He gave a slight nod. “You look natural.”

Natural. As if I were destined to wait.

He turned and walked away. His gait was light, steady, and unhesitating as he headed for the door.

I stood alone on the stage. The lights were extinguished one by one. The laughter of our classmates grew distant. For a moment, the stage felt far too vast. Far too empty.

I was still in the white gown. I was the princess who had just "awakened." But the prince I had hoped for had already walked out.

It was like a fairy tale that refused to end. Not because he was late. Not because he was blocked by thorns. But because he had never chosen to come for me in the first place.

Under the twilight glow filtering through the rehearsal room windows, I offered a small, bittersweet smile. I finally understood. Being a princess doesn't guarantee you'll be awakened.

Sometimes, we just stand on the stage, watching the prince leave… without him ever truly having arrived.