Chapter Text
The morning streets were already crowded before the sun had fully climbed above the tiled rooftops.
Shopkeepers swept dust from their doorways. Laborers hurried toward the docks with empty stomachs and tired eyes. Housewives carried baskets through the market while merchants arranged their wares beneath colorful awnings. It looked like any other morning.
Then the newspaper boys began shouting with fresh papers waved above their heads..
"The Emperor is dying!"
"The medicinal carriage has not returned to the palace for days!"
"The royal physicians refuse to comment!"
"Read the latest reports!"
People gathered immediately to buy their own copy to read the news, fearing for their emperor's health but also nosy enough to spread their speculations.
Coins exchanged hands as newspapers disappeared from bundles. Questions spread through the crowd before anyone had even finished reading.
What would happen if the Emperor died?
Would Prince Satoru finally ascend the throne?
Would anything change?
A young newspaper seller stood atop an overturned crate, shouting headlines at the top of his lungs.
"The Emperor is dying!"
A gloved hand reached forward. "I'll take one."
The boy looked down to see the man was.
A broad straw hat concealed most of the man's face. His dark robes were plain enough to avoid attention, yet something about him felt familiar.
The newspaper boy accepted the coin without a peep and continued selling his last bundles.
The man unfolded the paper and skimmed the headline. His mouth curved slightly.
These idiots.
Geto Suguru had spent years trying to convince people that change required patience, organization, and public support. Meanwhile, half the newspapers in the capital seemed determined to ignite a revolution before breakfast. Specially this youngan.
He folded the paper neatly. "You should go home."
The boy blinked. "What?"
"If you can read, your headline is too sensitive." Geto warned him.
Geto knew exactly how nervous the royal court had become in recent months. Every protest, every pamphlet, every speech was scrutinized. The palace guards were already arresting people for far less.
The boy stared for a moment before recognition suddenly brightened his face.
"Oh!" His expression transformed into a grin and greeted the man cheerfully and loudly enough for everyone near them to hear. "Geto! It's you. Good morning!"
Several nearby pedestrians turned their heads.
Geto resisted the urge to sigh.
Wonderful. Subtlety had survived less than thirty seconds.
"Good morning, Yuta."
The boy hopped down from his crate. "You scared me for a second."
"I bought you coffee." Geto held out a small paper-wrapped cup.
The both of them sat down on the crates behind the newspaper stand. Geto folded the remaining newspapers in half and slipped it into his satchel before dropping a few more coins onto the table.
Yuta immediately pocketed them. "A generous donation to the future of journalism," he declared.
Geto shook his head.
The boy was impossible. Full of hope but still has some space for stipidity.
Yuta tore into a piece of stale bread while Geto retrieved a newspaper from the stack.
An ironic choice.
Beneath the headline sat a large sketch of Crown Prince Satoru attending yet another royal ball. The artist had been particularly flattering this time. The Crown Prince had always been known to be handsome. It was a luck, knowing that the royal are incestious people. As usual, women surrounded him.
Of course they did.
The newspapers never seemed capable of printing his face without placing someone on his arm.
Geto stared at the image.
This man.
This pampered heir draped in silk while farmers sold their harvests at losses and laborers worked themselves into broken backs.
Every week there was another article.
Another banquet.
Another celebration.
Another noblewoman.
The kingdom groaned beneath centuries of corruption, and somehow the future king always looked as though life were a festival arranged solely for his entertainment.
The thought irritated him more than it should have.
"Have you found what I told you to find?" he asked.
Yuta continued chewing. Crumbs clung stubbornly to the corner of his mouth. "I heard some rumors from the palace kitchen staff."
Geto raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Yuta swallowed. "They say the Crown Prince might get married this year."
Geto looked back down at the illustration.
Married?
His gaze lingered on the sketch.
This man?
The same man who appeared on the front page every other week with a different woman hanging from his arm?
The newspapers portrayed him less like a future monarch and more like a traveling romantic scandal.
Geto found himself frowning.
The boy finished the last of his bread and brushed crumbs from his lap. "Are we protesting tomorrow?"
Geto did not look up from the newspaper. "No."
Yuta blinked. "No?"
"Children are not allowed."
The boy straightened so abruptly that the crate beneath him creaked. His face twisted with outrage. "I am not a child."
"You are fifteen."
"I am a man."
"You still need permission to cross half the districts after dark." Geto kept diminishing the fire in his chest like water.
"A temporary inconvenience."
Geto folded the newspaper and placed it aside. "A child."
"A man."
"A child."
"A revolutionary."
"A child."
Yuta threw his hands into the air. "This is tyranny." The declaration earned a few curious glances from passing pedestrians.
Geto rubbed his temple. "Do not use that word so loudly."
"Why not? We are against tyranny."
"Because unlike you, I would prefer not to be arrested today."
"Okay, okay." Yutalowered his voice immediately. The boy slumped back onto the crate. His face bore a sulking expression because of many reasons Geto Suguru brought.
Who wouldn't be heartbroken if you couldn't attend a protest just because you're fifteen when your peers were already starting a family? It is unfair.
A sharp whistle was through the street making Geto's head snapped toward the sound. His sharp eyes saw hree uniformed policemen were pushing through the crowd, their expressions hard as they scanned faces and newspaper stands. Yuta froze when he saw those three familiar guards again.
"Run." Geto stood up and told Yuta urgently.
"What-"
"Now."
Geto seized the back of Yuta's robe and pulled him forward before the boy could argue Geto did not look back. He knew that sound well enough already.
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Miles away, inside the royal palace, Crown Prince Gojo Satoru was suffering.
Not from politics nor responsibility. Not even from the approaching succession crisis.
A hangover.
A truly magnificent hangover.
Satoru sat slumped in a chair inside the palace library with one elbow resting against the table and a hand pressed to his forehead.
Across from him sat his most trusted guard, calmly eating breakfast his breakfast.
Satoru glared.
A stack of newspapers towered beside him. Another stack waited on the opposite side of the table. A third stack occupied an entirely different chair.
He stared at them with profound resentment. His older sister had done this.
His beloved older sister.
His wise older sister.
His tyrannical older sister.
This dreadful woman who in fact, a woman sent from hell.
She had informed him that he would spend the day reading every newspaper that had featured him on the front page during the past five years.
Then he would write a reflection as though he were a schoolboy caught cheating on examinations.
Satoru picked up the nearest newspaper. His own face stared back at him.
"What am I reflecting on?" he asked.
The guard took another bite of rice. "Your behavior."
"My behavior is excellent."
The guard raised an eyebrow. Now, a crown prince is expected to possess a lot of talent. Archery, chess, horse riding, and the list goes on. However, Gojo Satoru's list of talent starts with a word that starts with the letter 'T'.
Terrible at lying, terrible at talking, terrible at listening, terrible at debates, terrible at archery and most importantly, terrible at thinking wisely.
Satoru immediately pointed toward the newspaper. "This one isn't even true."
The guard leaned forward slightly. "What does it say?"
"'Crown Prince Attends Banquet Until Dawn Surrounded By Admirers.'" He paused. "Actually, that one might be true."
Satoru flipped to the next newspaper with all the enthusiasm of a man being marched toward his execution.
Five years' worth of newspapers had been stacked before him by his older sister, who had apparently decided that self-reflection was the cure for every problem a person could possess. Satoru suspected she had invented this punishment specifically for him. The evidence was overwhelming.
His gaze drifted down to the illustration accompanying the article.
Satoru lifted the paper closer to his face. "They captured my jawline perfectly."
Across the table, Lord Protector Kageyama Masanori continued eating breakfast without looking up.
"You are supposed to be reading."
"I am reading."
Masanori finally raised his eyes from his meal. The expression he wore was one cultivated through decades of military service and many years of guarding the Crown Prince.
Satoru offered him a bright smile.
A blank sheet of paper sat beside the prince.
Not a single reflection had been written. Not one sentence. Not even a title.
He tossed the newspaper aside and stretched his arms over his head. The motion immediately punished him with a pulse of pain behind his eyes.
His sister had call it self-inflicted. Which, unfortunately, was difficult to argue against.
Satoru lowered his arms and studied Masanori thoughtfully.
"Hey."
The older man immediately looked suspicious. "What?"
"Are your knees still good enough?"
"Why?" Masanori slowly put down his bowl.
Satoru leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. His expression was innocent enough to be deeply alarming.
"I was simply thinking that running is an excellent way to begin the day."
Masanori stared at him. "Satoru."
"Yes?"
"Do not."
The prince's smile widened.
Masanori immediately stood.
"Satoru."
"I have not done anything."
"You are about to."
"That is a serious accusation."
"Satoru."
The prince was already backing away from the table.
Masanori took a step forward. "Satoru."
Another step.
"Your sister will be furious."
"She is furious most days."
"Your Highness."
The warning came one second too late as Satoru already turned and ran. His chair crashed backward as he sprinted across the library. Several newspapers slid from the table and scattered across the floor behind him. Masanori cursed under his breath and immediately gave chase, though both men knew the outcome before the pursuit had even begun.
The Crown Prince reached the open window first.
Below, servants crossed the courtyard carrying baskets of laundry and crates of vegetables destined for the palace kitchens. Several looked up just in time to see their future emperor climbing through a library window.
"Good morning." Satoru flashed them a cheerful grin before jumping.
He landed hard enough to regret the decision for approximately half a second before continuing his escape.
Behind him, Masanori's voice echoed from the library.
"COME BACK HERE!"
"No!"
The prince ran through the palace grounds with remarkable enthusiasm for a man suffering from a hangover. Servants scattered out of his path. Officials stepped aside with startled expressions. A gardener nearly overturned an entire cart of flowers as Satoru darted past.
By the time he reached the outer gate, two guards had already noticed the approaching disaster.
Both straightened immediately. "Your Highness."
"Open the gate."
The guards exchanged uncertain looks.
"Princess Eneki instructed us not to-"
Satoru pointed dramatically toward the palace. "I have a very good memory. I can get you two removed from your job and be thrown to China."
The gate opened at once.
Moments later, Masanori arrived, breathing heavily. The older soldier planted both hands on his knees and glared at the road where the prince had vanished.
Meanwhile, Satoru ran through the city with the freedom of a prisoner who had successfully escaped confinement.
Citizens recognized him almost immediately.
A nobleman paused mid-conversation and pointed.
"The Crown Prince."
His companion sighed. "He is running again."
"Why?"
The nobleman considered the question. "Perhaps even His Highness does not know."
Satoru waved cheerfully as he passed them.
The lake appeared ahead, glittering beneath the morning sun. For the first time that day, he felt genuinely content. There were no newspapers, no reflections, no lectures, and most importantly, no older sister within immediate striking distance.
Then he rounded a corner at full speed and collided with someone.
The impact was violent enough to force a surprised breath from his lungs.
Loose papers exploded into the air. For a brief moment, dozens of newspaper pages scattered across the street like startled birds caught in a sudden storm.