Sometimes I think I took summer vacation for granted as a child. I only had one friend, and my parents never had enough money to do anything significant for travel. I often spent my break lazing around on the couch, watching television or playing video games. And as great as those activities can be, they weren’t very different from how I spent my weekends or even weekdays after school if the homework wasn’t crushing. Because of this yearly routine, I never understood the hoopla about summer break—even if the absence of work was nice, to say the least.

But now I’m older and wiser.

The current version of Shinsuke Watanabe now willingly prostrates himself before whatever brilliant mind said that absence brings with it both fondness and appreciation.

What once seemed like a supplemental novelty, was now something I coveted dearly. But that’s to be expected when your life changes quite literally overnight.

In an all too short span of time, I had gone from a nobody living in a poorly maintained apartment in Valport, to the unwilling fiancé of Cynthia Rose von Eisenhardt, the crown princess of Steylia. All because I rescued her from a burning car wreck.

Like an idiot.

And ever since that fateful night, I had been on a nonstop mad dash through endless training sessions, media press conferences, high profile meetups with future world leaders, and, most importantly, a fight to near-death with Emil LeClair, the prince of Gliyrhiel. I had somehow won that fight, and after all of that, I ended up getting a measly week to recuperate.

How considerate.

No, truly. Because I was initially set to take part in a post-fight press conference with King Immanuel von Eisenhardt hours after the fight, but it was delayed indefinitely. In that time, I got to do my favorite things in the world: eat pudding and lounge around at home. But as I mentioned before, only one pathetic week passed before my phone rang and my presence was requested at the castle of the Steylian royal family.

So, just like that, a royal car was sent to collect me, my parents, my best friend Mizuki, and my mentor Evangeline, and shuttle us to the castle. The royal family’s ever faithful head servant, Helena, met us at the parking garage, and we were led to a private room. The room was acting as a makeshift backstage area for the ballroom, which itself was acting as a press briefing area again.

I put my ear to the door and listened to the chattering of the press on the other side. They were yapping amongst themselves quite a bit despite the fact the event hadn’t started yet.

“I really hate this,” I groaned.

Mom fixed my tie and patted my shoulder. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Your mother is right, Shinsuke,” dad agreed. “By the way, you look dashing as always in that suit!”

Mizuki nodded. “You really do look great in it. White is a great color on you.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Eva concurred. “But Shinsuke, you took on and defeated a prince just one week ago, this press conference is nothing compared to that!”

“Doesn’t make it any less irritating…”

A massive paw of a hand suddenly latched onto my right shoulder. It pressed down with the force of an anchor and nearly took me down to the floor.

“There you are, I was waiting on your arrival. It’s great to see you again, young Shinsuke!”

I steadied myself and locked eyes with the flame-haired, flame-bearded king himself, Immanual von Eisenhardt.

“Are you ready for another spirited press conference?”

“Not re—”

“Great! Let’s not keep them waiting any longer!”

The king threw the doors open and practically dragged me into the ballroom with him. As soon as the media caught sight of us, the place descended into a damn madhouse. A hellish symphony of camera shutters and idiots yelling incoherently over each other blinded and deafened me. Despite having been through multiple media circuses, I still hadn’t gotten used to having all my senses assaulted at once.

The king and I walked onto the stage and took our seats at a table set before the mob. The king called for them to be silent.

“Thank you all for coming to the castle for tonight’s media event,” he began. “I know that this conference was originally scheduled for the night after the first gauntlet match, but there were circumstances that resulted in its delay. I will elaborate on those circumstances, but regardless, I appreciate your understanding and patience.”

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The king cleared his throat and continued.

“Now then, I’d like to formally begin. I think it’s fair to say that Shinsuke shocked the world with his victory over Prince Emil LeClair of Gliyrhiel! I’m still astounded by his remarkable triumph.” He paused and studied me with amusement. “Nonetheless, I bet you’re all curious about what’s next for the gauntlet now that Prince LeClair has been eliminated. Naturally, a new opponent must be chosen, and I’ve heard a lot of speculation about that.”

The king stroked his beard, pondering the question himself by the looks of it.

“On that subject, this is where the circumstances behind last week’s delay come up. To put it simply, there were elements of the battle between Mr. Watanabe and Prince LeClair that concerned several of my fellow world leaders. They have asked to confer with me and my wife, and we are set to negotiate conditions like safety, venues, and yes, the next opponent. As a result, it will be some time before the next battle will be held.”

Safety and venues? Huh?

“Before we go any further, I would like to pause here and praise Prince LeClair of Gliyrhiel for a battle well fought. He was valiant even in defeat and did his beautiful kingdom and its people proud.”

The king spoke with sincerity, but the members of the press seemed to disagree with his comments, based on their skeptical expressions.

“With all that said, I know you must have lots of questions for the both of us. So, please feel free to ask. The floor is yours!”

The reporters immediately exploded into an incomprehensible mess of questions neither I nor the king appreciated.

“Please, one at a time!” the king demanded. “Raise your hands and I will call upon you.”

The mob quieted down and nearly every hand in the room went up. The king called upon a woman near the middle of the pile.

A member of the royal staff held a microphone up to her. “Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. I’m Natasha Simmons from the Edoburgh Times in Gliyrhiel. My question is for Mr. Watanabe.”

They couldn’t even wait one round to start hounding me.

“I’ve worked for one of the oldest and most respected news outlets in all of Gliyrhiel for years, yet I’d never heard or reported anything about discord between Prince LeClair and the queen. Ever since the fight between you and Prince LeClair, there’s been an influx of sources and stories talking about trouble in the royal family. It all started with those things you said during the fight. I guess my question is, how were you privy to problems in the royal family when we in the press were clueless?”

In the aftermath of our fight, Emil said the press would home in on the way I taunted him during our battle. He compared them to vultures circling a corpse—and he was right.

I was one of two outsiders with forbidden knowledge of how his mother abused him, and I used that trauma against him to win our fight. It was the only chance I had to win, and I had no other choice but to win. Regardless, what I did made questions like Natasha’s inevitable.

Like she said, the floodgates were open now. Evidently sources had started leaking information about Gliyrhiel’s royal family, and I had no doubt that Emil was facing a media drubbing likely even worse than myself. I had no desire to feed into that any more than necessary.

I rolled my eyes and replied with all the respect a question like that deserved. “I don’t know, maybe you’re all just bad at your jobs.”

She glared at me and took her seat, but not without mouthing, “dumbass kid.”

All the hands in the room went up again, and the king called on a man near the front of the pack.

“Thanks, Your Majesty. Gregory Leaf from The Daily Crown here. My question is for Shinsuke. Mr. Watanabe. To piggyback off Ms. Simmons’ earlier question, you were heavily booed during your fight with Prince LeClair. Interviews with members of the audience that night said that seeing a commoner disrespect a royal so brazenly was beyond comprehension. What do you think about that?”

“I think I couldn’t care less. Their opinions aren’t my problem.”

Another reporter was called upon. I didn’t bother paying attention to his name.

“Mr. Watanabe, in your post-fight interview, you definitively declared that you would win the entire gauntlet. Do you still stand by your supremely arrogant comments?”

“All right, that’s it,” I growled. I turned to the king and said, “these questions are stupid. This is a waste of my time and yours. Can I please just go?”

“Wait!” a woman in the audience called out. “I have a very important question to ask Shinsuke.”

Unlike the rest of the reporters, the woman shouting up at me was wearing a black hoodie with the hood over her head. She looked quite out of place.

“What now?” I groaned. The king seemed intrigued and silently observed.

A staff member put a mic to the woman’s lips so she could stop shouting. “Do you love the princess?” she asked.

It took all of me not to walk off the makeshift stage right then and there.

How many times do I have to answer this stupid question?!

The only reason I was even embroiled in the sadistic mess of a gauntlet was because me and Cynthia Rose von Eisenhardt were locked into the dusty, moronic White Knight Contract. I had already made it clear in no uncertain terms on multiple occasions that the only reason I was putting myself through such insanity was to get out of having to marry Cynthia. The fact that anyone would bother asking me that question again floored me.

“Of course I don’t love the princess,” I asserted. “Haven’t I made it known enough that I want no part of this engagement?”

“I see,” the woman mumbled.

The woman pulled her hood down, revealing a girl who looked no older than me. Like a porcelain doll, her skin was pale and spotless, contrasted by cascading black hair with dark violet highlights. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips were a glossy, soft pink, adding to her doll-like appearance. Carmine eyeshadow and long eyelashes framed her piercing, amethyst eyes.

I didn’t know who she was, but for some reason I couldn’t place, there was something very familiar about her.

“That’s good to know. Because I want you for myself,” she concluded.

Huh?

“Wha—”

A collective gasp drowned me out as the entire room stared at the girl with eyes the size of moons. It was like they were in a group trance, but one wide-eyed, mouth agape woman was the first to regain her oxygen. And, with all her might and air in her lungs, she shouted, “oh my gods, that’s Raven Blackwell!”