The sun was barely past its peak, the clover banners fluttering gently in the courtyard breeze. Most of the Royal Castle was abuzz with activity—reports being filed, squads being rotated, missions being assigned.

It was supposed to be a routine, uneventful day. Until Julius Novachrono “tragically” twisted his ankle.

On purpose. Again.

The Wizard King, the most powerful mage in the Clover Kingdom, had somehow tripped over absolutely nothing in the training grounds and fallen in the most theatrical way possible.

Arms flailing. Cloak fluttering. A soft, pitiful thud echoing as he collapsed in an overly dramatic heap. And now…

Marx looked down at him, unimpressed. Eyebrow twitching. Clipboard in hand. “You’re not even limping,” Marx said dryly.

“I am, you just can’t see it,” Julius replied with a perfectly serious tone—while lying flat on his back like a knight fallen in battle.

“You’re clearly stalling. You have thirty reports to read.”

“…I’m in pain, Marx.”

“You requested medical personnel before you fell.”

“It’s called foresight.”

Marx sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, “Fine. I’ll send for them.” The moment he turned his back, Julius’s eyes lit up.

He sat up slightly, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, and whispered to himself like a schoolboy planning a prank, “Please be them. Please be them. Please be—”

Then the door opened. And you walked in. You.

The healer. The one person Julius had declared his “favorite magical presence in all the kingdom” after the first time you treated a papercut on his wrist.

The one person who didn’t fawn over him or fear him. The one who gave him exactly the right mix of patience and piercing judgment.

You had just barely stepped into the room when Julius bolted up—Then winced dramatically and fell back down. “Oh! My ankle! Please, help me!”

You stared. Arms crossed. Brow arched.

He held his foot up like a child showing off a scraped knee. “It’s worse than last time! I think it might be—fractured in three dimensions. Or is it temporal nerve dislocation? I might not walk again! Or time-jump again!”

He gasped. “What if I age rapidly?” You knelt beside him anyway, because this was your job. Even if your patient was clearly faking it for attention.

Even if he grinned like a giddy child every time your fingers brushed his ankle.

You placed your hands gently on the joint, channeling your healing magic, only to find… it was fine. Slightly warm from him pretending to limp, but not sprained, not swollen. Not even strained.

You gave him that look. The one that said I know what you’re doing. He wilted. Only a little.

“…You came really fast this time,” he said, quieter, suddenly shy. You said nothing. He peeked up at you through his lashes.

“I mean, yay!—I mean, I’m glad to see you here.”

That stupid boyish grin returned. Like he’d just summoned you with pure willpower. Which, considering his reputation, might not even be impossible.