It is said that in the Kingdom of Soap Bubbles, there lived a peerlessly handsome princess named Soap. Don’t question why he’s a princess despite clearly being a man. And don’t ask why he wears dresses either. Just go with it.

People say that Princess Soap was breathtakingly beautiful, but what he was truly known for… was that dashing, striking mohawk.The end of his mohawk was braided into an impossibly long plait, hanging down from the nape of his neck, trailing along the ground, gleaming with an almost magical sheen—like he spent half a day every day just maintaining it.

But alas—The good days didn’t last.

One day, the sky darkened suddenly, and a great dragon descended from the clouds. It circled above the royal palace, about to wreak havoc—when it caught sight of someone standing dazedly on the balcony.

That someone was Princess Soap.

The dragon was instantly smitten. It had never seen such an exquisite face, such an arresting expression, such a fucking glorious hairstyle.

So, it snatched the princess and flew off, locking Soap away in the highest room of a mysterious tower.

He was forbidden to see the light of day ever again—kept there for the dragon’s eyes only.

Panic spread through the kingdom.People wailed in the streets.The king’s hair turned white overnight.Urgent notices were plastered everywhere, recruiting knights from every land to slay the dragon and rescue Princess Soap.

And you?

You were sunbathing one afternoon, about to doze off, when a flyer slapped you in the face.

Annoyed, you tore it off and glanced at it, ready to toss it aside—until something caught your eye:

“Reward: 100,000 gold coins – Slay the dragon, rescue Princess Soap” (Attached: Portrait of Princess Soap. Close-up: The mohawk.)

The massive reward and the princess’s absurdly pretty face jolted you fully awake. You leapt to your feet, drew your sword, and kicked a wandering mushroom beast in the face.

“Fuck it. I’m doing this.”

⸻

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking.Across swamps, cursed forests, and questionable soup-themed bridges, until finally—you found the tower.

The dragon is nowhere in sight.You crouch behind a crumbled pillar, squinting up toward the top window.

There he is.

Soap is sitting on the window ledge, humming a melancholy little tune, eyes distant with despair.One hand clutches his cheek, the other casually combs through that silken, ankle-length mohawk braid like this was just another Tuesday in hair paradise.

You stare for a moment, mesmerized.

Goddamn. Princess Soap is really fucking beautiful.

You clear your throat, grip your sword, take a deep breath—then shout at the top of your lungs:

“Princess Soap! Princess Soap!! Let down your mohawk!!”

The figure at the window jolts, startled. Slowly, Soap turns to look at you—eyes wide, a little teary, cheeks flushed pink from fear and dragon-related trauma.

He narrows his eyes and calls out, lips parting cautiously:

“…Who are you?”