Little Pink Starfish

“Of course I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Is it because I’m your disciple? Because I was the one you intended to pass the throne to—is that why you’re so frightened?”

Once, Ishar would have answered without hesitation: Yes.

But now, he knew Veloan’s heart. He’d been reflecting on his own feelings, too. That made the answer harder to give.

Ishar bit his lip, but Veloan’s gentle lick across it loosened his tension.

A quiet sigh. As if even that sound brought him joy, Veloan smiled faintly and ran a calming hand over Ishar’s back.

“Veloan.”

“Yes, Ishar.”

“I’ve thought about it… but I still don’t know.”

Veloan looked at him with calm eyes.

“I care about you. I could even say I love you. But… if you asked whether it’s the same kind of love you feel for me, I don’t know. I’ve cared for you ever since I brought you to the palace.”

Ishar paused, but Veloan’s steady gaze seemed to urge him onward.

“As we spent more time together, I began to want you to be happy—even just a little. To laugh more, to only have good things happen to you, to live a long, long life. But is that… the same kind of love you feel? I don’t know. Even when we’re together, even when you kiss me and whisper your love, I still don’t know.”

“Is that why you’ve been hesitating all this time?”

As expected. Veloan had been watching him closely.

Just like he said—Ishar had been unsure ever since their first night together.

Realizing that Veloan didn’t see him only as a teacher, Ishar hadn’t rejected him outright. He wanted to understand and give a proper answer.

“Yes.”

At his confirmation, Veloan released him and sat up in bed. Finally free from his arms, Ishar followed suit, sitting at the edge of the bed—ignoring the aching in his hips and back.

As he did, Veloan, watching him quietly, spoke.

“Then I’ll try.”

Ishar blinked, caught off guard by the calm, sincere reply. He had expected frustration or even anger.

“Try what?”

“I’ll love you even more—so that you’ll come to understand your feelings for me. And I believe… that one day, you will.”

“…”

“So please, Ishar. Let’s try together. And when that day comes, when you finally understand how you feel—please, tell me honestly.”

What was this feeling?

It filled his chest, soft and warm—soothing something that had been empty for so long.

Ishar stared at Veloan.

And then, like a whisper on the breeze, a childhood memory surfaced—one long forgotten.

‘Your Highness, please stop crying. You look much lovelier when you smile.’

‘Marriad… Karsha said I’d never be truly loved by anyone.’

‘That’s not true. Shuzel and I—we love you dearly, Your Highness.’

‘But you’re not my family. I’m still alone in the end.’

‘Don’t worry, Your Highness. I promise you—someday, someone will come who loves you more than anything in the world. They’ll be your greatest comfort, your strongest support. So please… don’t cry, Prince Ishar.’

If Marriad were still alive, Ishar thought absently, I would’ve brought Veloan straight to her.

But the woman who made that promise had passed—because she had been Ishar’s person.

He could tell Shuzel, but… that didn’t feel like a good idea. Shuzel would probably explode in anger if he learned the truth about Ishar and Veloan.

Still, maybe… one day, I can tell him.

That thought triggered something heavy in his chest—like a boulder suddenly dropped on his lungs.

“No matter what conclusion I come to… if Veloan learns the truth, won’t it all fall apart?”

If Veloan ever discovered that Ishar was the mage who created the curse that chained him to hell during his childhood—then everything would change.

The way Veloan whispered I love you, the way he sought his affection and offered understanding—everything would shatter the moment he realized Ishar was his sinner.

Even if Ishar had been deceived by Karsha into creating the spell, Veloan would still hate him.

Hatred doesn’t care for cause or intent—it only sees results. And the result was that Ishar’s ignorance had made Veloan’s childhood a living hell.

“He will hate me.”

He remembered the cold fury in Veloan’s eyes when he’d spoken of his past. If he learned the truth… he wouldn’t look at Ishar with love anymore. That was certain.

“If I accept his feelings, if I love him the same way… and then he learns the truth and tortures me or comes to hate me, what will I do?”

Ishar clenched his fists and steadied his ragged breath.

No. What he truly feared wasn’t Veloan’s revenge.

“It’s the thought of hurting him—of making him feel betrayed…”

Even if Veloan tortured him, even if he forced him into pain—those things, Ishar felt he could bear.

But seeing that pain reflected in Veloan’s eyes—eyes filled with betrayal and heartbreak—he couldn’t take it. That was what would truly break him.

“…When the time comes, and I’m certain of my feelings—I’ll tell you. I’ll make the effort to understand them until then.”

Ishar had made his decision. Even if he did come to fully love Veloan… he would keep it hidden until Veloan learned the truth on his own.

It was a foolish hope, and a selfish choice. But he clung to it, hoping it would spare the boy just a little more pain.

“Thank you, Ishar.”

Perhaps because he hadn’t been rejected outright, Veloan’s face lit up with relief.

“But what if, in the end, I only ever care for you as a disciple—not as a lover? What then?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

If he had frowned, looked upset—or even said something ridiculous like Rekayan—then Ishar might’ve felt relieved.

But Veloan’s meaningful reply only made his anxiety grow.

“Ah, it’s almost time for lunch. I’ll help you get dressed.”

With that, Veloan disappeared into the dressing room, light on his feet.

Left alone on the bed, Ishar muttered,

“He ran away.”

Some things never changed—just like when he was younger.

“…And that’s why he’s so endearing.”

---

There are always a few people bold enough to act outrageously, even in front of the emperor.

Such people generally fall into two categories:

The first: those who don’t know their place.

The second: those who simply have no fear.

Though they seemed similar, the difference was clear to anyone who looked.

In the Lucheist Empire, there was only one person who fit the second category.

Rekayan Ibnshina von Riccione—the Emperor’s third sword and the second son of the Riccione Ducal House.

And now, one of the first type of men was causing a scene at the grand banquet celebrating Veloan’s return.

“Out of my way!”

The nobleman, already flushed from drink barely an hour into the banquet, raised his voice in the middle of a gathering of nobles.

“I’m just trying to greet His Majesty! I’m sure what I offered the imperial household this year pleased him!”

The man had once been a poor lord of some remote province—until he struck gold, literally, with the discovery of a silver mine.

The hall was lively, filled with laughter and music, so much of the commotion was drowned out. But those nearby clicked their tongues at the man, who clearly didn’t value his life.

“You may not approach without His Majesty’s express command. Please return to the banquet hall.”

A knight blocked him as he tried to climb the steps leading to the throne.

Though the man’s voice was loud enough to reach the emperor seated at the highest point of the hall, Ishar gave no sign—not even a glance.

If this man had been someone truly important to Ishar, the knight would’ve been given notice. Or the man would’ve been summoned to the second-floor audience chamber.

But clearly, the guest had no idea he wasn’t welcome—still lost in his own excitement.

The knight stole a glance toward the emperor—just to be sure.

And sure enough, Ishar sat upon the throne, chatting quietly with the disciple at his side. A faint smile tugged at the emperor’s lips.