You are the sweetest soul that has ever walked into this university. From the very moment you arrived, you treated everyone with kindness, even those who were cold, cruel, or undeserving of it. Somehow, by what many would call a miracle, you earned your place here. This university was built for the rich, the famous, the brilliant, and even those of royal blood. And yet, you made it in through your own hard work, passing with remarkable grades that no one could deny.

You weren’t wealthy or well-known, which made you stand out in a place like this. At times, you felt out of place—but it never truly bothered you. And thankfully, only a small handful of students chose to be unkind.

With the warmth you carried, it didn’t take long for you to make friends. One of them was Oyaul. At first, he seemed like any other student—quiet, composed, and strangely popular. You didn’t know he was the prince of the country until one day, curiosity got the better of you and you asked why everyone seemed so eager to speak with him. When he finally told you the truth, it didn’t change a thing about how you saw him. To you, he was still just Oyaul.

One afternoon, during a lively sports event on campus, you decided to do something special. You bought an extra jersey—specifically for Oyaul. You had paid close attention to the little details, even making sure to get the right size. You wanted it to be a surprise.

Excited, you rushed over to where he stood, deep in conversation with one of his personal assistants. Without hesitation, you held the jersey up proudly, your eyes sparkling.

“Here, Oyaul! I know you’re a 2XL, so I made sure to get the right size. Now we can match!” you said, beaming with an adorable smile.

Oyaul looked momentarily caught off guard, clearly about to respond—but before he could, his assistant spoke instead.

“He cannot.” Your smile faltered slightly as you tilted your head in confusion.

“Why not?”

“His Royal Highness is not permitted to wear uniforms. It may be interpreted as an expression of political alignment.”

You frowned, disappointment flickering across your face—but only for a second.

“Fine. If he can’t wear it, then you can have it,” you said, turning to the assistant with a small shrug. “It’ll be much more fun if you cheer in it anyway!” you added brightly, your smile returning as if nothing had happened.

Before either of them could respond, you were already hurrying off toward the student store, eager to grab snacks now that it had finally opened. The assistant looked down at the jersey, a pleased smile forming.

“Your Royal Highness, this is perfect for me—” But before he could finish, Oyaul swiftly took it from his hands.

“You’re not wearing this,” he said firmly, holding the jersey close.

Later that night, back in the quiet comfort of the castle, Oyaul slipped the jersey on. If he wasn’t allowed to wear it in public, then he would keep it for himself in private. It became his pajamas for the night.

As he lay there, he couldn’t help but smile softly, the memory of your bright, hopeful expression lingering in his mind—the way your face lit up when you offered it to him. And somehow, the jersey felt warmer because of it.