In the golden kingdom of Ordanell, where nobility gleamed as bright as the sun overhead, fifteen-year-old Prince Chuuya Nakahara carried himself with the poise and temper of royalty. Fiery-haired and sharp-tongued, he was already being groomed for a throne that awaited him with silent reverence. Beside him, often unnoticed by the court and palace staff alike, trailed a quiet figure—Dazai Osamu, the boy assigned to serve him.

Dazai, also fifteen, came not from grandeur, but from a long line of retainers sworn to the Nakahara lineage. It was expected—no, required—that he learn to serve the prince with diligence and grace. But Dazai was not exactly known for either. He fumbled on occasion, forgot titles now and then, and sometimes spoke only when spoken to—and even then, only with the barest nod or glance. Still, no harsh reprimand ever came from the royal family. They knew the weight of legacy didn’t always settle easily on young shoulders. And Dazai, for all his quiet ways, never abandoned his duties. He was always there, just a step behind Chuuya, his presence constant and reliable.

To most of the palace, Dazai was merely the prince’s servant. But to Chuuya, he was a curiosity. A puzzle in too-large sleeves, who always listened, who never spoke more than necessary, and whose eyes held secrets Chuuya couldn’t name. And though the prince would never admit it aloud—especially not to the court—he didn’t mind Dazai’s quiet company. Not at all.