It was early in the morning—way too early in the morning.
The sun had barely begun its ascent, still hidden beneath the horizon. The moon lingered in the star-speckled sky, casting its pale glow over the royal palace. A crisp breeze carried the lingering cold of the night, rustling through the garden's leaves. The world felt still, unmoving, as if time itself hesitated to push forward.
And yet, the king was awake.
No—he hadn't slept.
Not even for a second.
Sitting stiffly on the garden bench, Zane stared ahead, eyes locked onto the distant landscape. His body was rigid, tension settling deep into his frame. Fingers clasped tightly on his lap, shoulders squared as if bracing for something unseen.
If anyone had walked past, they might have assumed the king was preparing for war.
Well.
It was a war.
A war as a father.
'Mika…'
Zane swallowed hard, memories clawing their way back into his thoughts.
He could still see it—Mika's face, his cold, detached gaze, sharp and unwavering. There was no warmth in his expression, no familiarity.
Only distance.
Only emptiness.
Zane shuddered.
'You remind me of your mother…'
Without realizing it, tears began sliding down his face, one after the other, silent yet relentless. His breath trembled as he raised a shaking hand to wipe them away.
He swallowed again—this time harder, overwhelmed by the weight of emotions pressing into his chest.
'My son is too cool!'
But these weren't tears of sorrow.
They were tears of overwhelming pride.
'That glare—those eyes—you got them from her. Just like how she always glared at me whenever I visited!'
Zane covered his mouth, his body shaking harder now.
'Oh, how you command respect!'
Then, he remembered Louis.
Louis, who had stood against him.
Defied him. Challenged him.
Zane bit his lip, forcing down another wave of emotion.
He couldn't help himself. He was too proud.
If only he could—
"I would make Mika the ki—"
"Absolutely no."
The words cut through his thoughts, sharp and unwavering.
Zane flinched violently.
His entire body stiffened.
Elain stood beside him, his presence eerily silent, his expression unreadable.
"In the sense of bloodline and succession," Elain continued, his tone cool, polite—yet absolute.
Zane squeaked.
Yes. A full-grown king squeaked.
"Gah! Elain!"
His hand flew to his chest, gripping his racing heart.
"God, I still can't get used to this! Can you please make a sound next time?! You're going to kill me one day!"
Elain's expression remained eerily calm.
His eyes remained closed, his features unmoving—concealing any trace of emotion even before the king himself.
Yet, somehow, even without sight, his presence commanded more authority than the king himself.
"And you're going to kill the son you finally met one day."
The blunt statement hit like an iron weight, making Zane flinch—not just physically, but like a child caught doing something terribly wrong.
Silence hung for a moment, thick and suffocating, before Elain continued, his voice slicing through the tension with precise, unforgiving clarity.
"Prince Kyle is the one next in line. You cannot bypass him—not when the council has already formed a stable relationship with him."
His tone held no room for argument. Sharp. Commanding. A brutal reminder of what Zane could and could not do.
"The queen is elated by this arrangement. And you—thinking otherwise—are only inviting danger upon Prince Mika."
The air suddenly grew thicker.
"If she was willing to kill her—"
Elain's words clawed their way deep into Zane's mind.
His breath hitched.
His entire body went stiff.
"—what makes you think she wouldn't kill Mika?"
Zane shot up from the bench, his red eyes locking onto Elain in a furious glare.
"I won't allow it!"
The declaration ripped through his chest—raw, burning, filled with years of swallowed regret.
"I may have been blind, stupid, bound to duty back then—but this time..."
Zane threw out his arm, his body tense, his stance unshaken.
"If she dares to hurt Mika—"
His voice rose, unwavering.
"This time—I won't hesitate to leave her! Duty and shame be damned!"
Clang—
The sound pierced through the heated air like a sharp dagger.
Zane and Elain immediately turned toward the noise.
Zane's breath caught.
Kyre stood there.
His sword had slipped from his grip, now laying uselessly on the ground.
But Kyre wasn't looking at them.
His gaze remained locked on the floor, unreadable.
Yet—
His fingers twitched.
Zane stared, his anger evaporating in an instant, replaced with a feeling he couldn't quite name.
"...."
Kyre closed his eyes, then bent down, silently retrieving his fallen sword.
Without a word, without a single glance, he turned and walked away.
Ignoring Zane's voice calling after him—
"Kyre! Wait! I didn't mean—!"
Zane collapsed onto his knees.
His eyes remained locked on the fading silhouette of his son, watching as Kyre vanished into the night—swallowed by the shadows, slipping further and further away.
Gone.
Just like that.
The weight of it crashed down all at once, like the very breath in his lungs had been stolen.
The guilt.
The exhaustion.
The regret.
It gripped him mercilessly, pressing against his chest, sinking deep into his bones.
His body shook as a strangled sob tore from his throat.
"Ugh… Elain…"
His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, thick with pain he no longer knew how to contain.
"I-I just wanted…"
His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles turning white as he lowered his head.
"I just wanted a happy family."
His breath shuddered.
"I wanted Mika to be with his family…"
The words came hollow, fractured by grief.
"So why…?"
His chest tightened, the sting of reality creeping into every corner of his thoughts.
"Why is my family falling apart?"
Slowly—hesitantly—Zane looked up at Elain.
And in that moment—he was not a king.
Not a ruler.
He was just a broken man, sitting alone in the cold, with a broken family slipping further and further from his grasp.
Elain knelt beside him, his movements careful, deliberate—as if handling something fragile.
Without hesitation, he pulled Zane into his embrace.
Just like he had done years ago—when Zane was young, when he fought with his father, when he cried alone, seeking comfort he had never been given.
"It's not falling apart, my lord."
Elain's voice was gentle, yet firm—steady, unwavering, certain.
"It's still there. There's still a chance to save it."
His hand slid through Zane's soft pink hair, his fingers stroking in a slow, calming rhythm.
Rocking him—back and forth.
"You need to hang in there, Zane."
He whispered—a quiet plea, barely audible yet filled with quiet conviction.
"Maybe… with Mika here…"
A soft sigh escaped him.
"Maybe this time… everything will finally be alright."
Elain finally looked down, watching as Zane's red-rimmed eyes began to close.
The exhaustion had finally caught up to him.
The weight.
The sleepiness.
He could fight it no longer.
Elain smiled softly, a rare expression of warmth crossing his features.
With delicate care, he placed his palm over Zane's eyes, shielding him from the waking world.
A quiet hum filled the air—a lullaby, old and familiar, the same tune that had once soothed a restless young prince long ago.
"...It's all finally going to be alright."
Elain looked up, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
"Isn't that right, Prince Mika?"
Mika flinched—just slightly—but it was enough. His eyes widened in surprise as he slowly stepped away from the pillar he had been hiding behind.
He was sure—absolutely sure—that his hiding spot had been perfect.
Even Kyre hadn't noticed him.
Even Zane, lost in his overwhelming emotions, hadn't realized Mika was there.
But Elain did.
Mika's fingers twitched as he swallowed down the discomfort creeping up his spine. His expression remained carefully neutral, though he knew—Elain had already seen through him.
"What do you mean by that?" Mika asked casually, his voice too controlled, too light—a poor attempt to mask what he was feeling.
Elain's smile remained, unreadable, empty—only politeness in it.
"I think you know what I mean."
That response sat heavy in the air, pressing down like a weight Mika didn't want to carry.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
Without another word, Mika walked toward the bench, lowering himself onto the seat. He let his eyes flutter closed for a fleeting moment, attempting to ground himself—then, slowly, he patted his lap.
"Bring him here."
His voice was steady, measured—but his mind wasn't.
"I want to watch the sunrise with my..."
The sentence stalled.
Mika hesitated, his tongue feeling heavier than it should.
Was Zane really Mika's father?
Well—he was real Mika's father.
But was isekai Mika allowed to call him father?
He wasn't his father.
He wasn't the father of isekai Mika.
Isekai Mika felt nothing—no familial attachment, no warmth, no love.
So—was he still allowed to call Zane father?
After all—isekai Mika's family was still…
Still—
Wait.
What happened to his modern world family?
Did he still have family beyond this world?
Then—why couldn't isekai Mika remember?
Why couldn't he—
Why couldn't he remember them at all?
A quiet, creeping cold seeped into his chest.
The realization strangled him—tight, suffocating.
But before Mika could sink further into the spiraling thoughts—
A weight settled onto his lap.
His breath hitched.
Looking down, his eyes landed on Zane's head, resting heavily against his thighs.
Slumped.
Exhausted.
Unaware of the turmoil Mika was drowning in.
Beside them, Elain calmly adjusted the king's position on the bench, ensuring he was comfortable.
Mika stared—his thoughts momentarily scattered, shaken.
"It's alright."
Elain's voice was soft—steady, reassuring.
"You can take your time."
Then, with gentle care, he reached out, fingers ruffling Mika's dark hair.
"You don't have to force yourself to play family."
With those words, Elain left Mika alone with Zane. A heavy sigh escaped Mika as he covered his face with one hand.
What a hassle.
Leaning against the bench, Mika tilted his head upward, watching the sky where the sun slowly rose, painting soft golden hues across the horizon. Birds started chirping in the distance, and servants shuffled around—some preparing for the day ahead, others returning from their nightly duties.
Mika let out a slow breath, the heaviness of exhaustion creeping into his limbs.
He closed his eyes.
The warmth of the morning, the steady rhythm of Zane's soft breathing—it all lulled him into sleep. His body relaxed, his mind surrendering to the quiet.
'I guess... I can spare some time on him.'
Zane twitched slightly as the morning sun warmed his face. His breath deepened, his body sluggish with lingering fatigue.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes.
'Did I fall asleep in the garden?'
Everything felt heavy.
Tired.
Even after sleep, the weight of weariness refused to lift.
He didn't want to wake up—didn't want to face another miserable day.
Zane ran a hand across his face, rubbing at the exhaustion, only to freeze when he realized something.
His head—
It was resting on something warm.
Something moving.
'Did Elain stay with me?'
Zane looked up, expecting to see Elain standing beside him—his usual composed, knowing smile present, just like in the past. Just like when young Zane woke to face another day, another cold encounter with a father who despised him, and a mother who never held him.
Elain—his true father figure.
The one who had always been more fatherly than the man who shared his blood.
But to Zane's surprise, the face he saw wasn't Elain's.
It was Mika's.
His son.
Sleeping, his usual detached expression softened—no longer guarded, no longer distant.
A child, even if he didn't want to be seen as one.
Zane stared at Mika for a long moment.
Then, before he could stop himself—the tears came again.
Mika let out a grunt when someone suddenly embraced him in his sleep.
His brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his tired features as he cracked his eyes open, only to see—
Zane.
Holding him close to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
"My son is so cute!!"
Zane's voice was shattered with emotion, breaking like a father who had never seen his child before.
Mika stared blankly into the distance, his expression flat, deadpan, completely unimpressed.
'Seriously... what is wrong with him?'
Then—
"...Thank you."
The quiet, broken whisper made Mika pause.
His fingers twitched slightly, his chest tightening as he lifted his head—
And saw it.
A smile.
Soft. Warm.
A father's smile.
Something unfamiliar, something foreign, curled deep inside Mika's chest—guilt, and something else—something he refused to name.
Zane finally let go, wiping at his tear-streaked face before inhaling deeply, steadying himself.
Then—he stood.
And in that moment—he was no longer just a father.
He was a king.
And as much as Zane wanted to be nothing more than a father to Mika—
Duty remained.
"Go rest, Mika. You have a long day ahead."
With that, Zane turned and walked away.
But this time—
There was more life in his step.
More purpose.
Because now—
He knew he had to continue forward.
He had to stay strong.
For his children.
For the future of his country.