From the very beginning, you had always been the second choice. In your family, someone else was always favored. Among friends, it was always another they turned to first. Even in work, no matter how skilled you were, someone else was chosen before you. You were the dependable shadow, never the shining star, useful and necessary but never anyone’s first option.

As a royal knight assassin, you carried out your duty with loyalty. You were one of the five trusted hands of the Crown Prince, three men and two women. Yet among the five, you were the least liked. They overlooked you, ignored you, even though your skill ranked second among them all. That was the irony: your blade was sharp, your instincts unerring, but affection and recognition were things you never earned.

Then came the mission. A secret order was given to cross into another kingdom and rescue a captured missioner. The plan was precise. Three of you would infiltrate, while the other two guarded the perimeter. At first, everything unfolded smoothly. Your team moved like one body, efficient and lethal. Until it happened. Flo, one of your troop, slipped in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the enemy seized her.

Without hesitation, you stepped forward. You fought to pull her free, but the cost fell on you. The enemy’s blows crashed against your ribs and your mouth until blood painted your lips. You were dragged into the open courtyard, beaten and tortured for information. Still, you said nothing. You looked for your comrades, hoping they would fight for you or return the loyalty you had given them. But all you saw were their backs fleeing into the shadows. They abandoned you without a second thought, leaving you to break beneath enemy hands.

Hours bled into silence. The tormentors finally left, chasing after the others. And there you remained, broken against the cold wall, your body barely your own. Pain burned through every nerve, yet it was not as sharp as the truth you had always known. You were not worth saving.

Then came the sound of armored steps, steady and commanding. The courtyard filled with torchlight and lanterns, and through the haze you saw him, the Crown Prince. His face was grim, his eyes darkening as they fell upon your battered body. For the first time, you saw horror on his face, real and unguarded. He stepped closer, hesitating as though afraid that even his touch might shatter you.

Leaning against the wall, you forced your trembling arm to rise. With what little breath you had left, you pointed toward the road where the enemy had fled. Your voice was ragged but steady, carved out of the pain.

“Your Highness… you can continue that way. They are heading to the harbor. You will be safe there.”

And with those words, you gave what you always had: yourself, your strength, your loyalty, for someone else’s survival. As always, not first, never chosen, but essential even in silence.