“I like people with grit. Those kinds of people always manage to produce results.”

He said something you’d expect from a die-hard meritocrat, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“With your level of skill, you’re more than qualified to work in my office. I don’t know how much Lucid offered you, but I’ll pay you double. Why not work properly under me?”

“I told you—I’m not a spy!”

Without meaning to, I slammed my hands on Edmund’s desk in protest. The neatly stacked documents scattered in all directions.

At that moment, the only thought that crossed my mind was—I have to keep the papers from getting soaked in coffee.

There were no printers in this era. If I had to rewrite those by hand, it would be a death sentence. So, instinctively, I grabbed the coffee cup and lifted it.

“Ah!”

I should’ve just left it alone. The untouched coffee sloshed violently, then surged out like a tidal wave—right over Edmund.

The steaming hot coffee spilled directly onto the gloves he was wearing.

“Ugh.”

“I’m so sorry!!”

“Ugh.”

“I’m really sorry!!”

Those gloves… please don’t let them be real leather. If they were expensive, I was in serious trouble. I mean—financially, of course!

“Are you hurt?! Y-you should rinse it right away!”

I didn’t even have the guts to offer to buy a new pair. Why? Because of that gem fastened to the wrist of his glove. No matter how I looked at it, it didn’t seem like cubic zirconia—it looked like a real diamond.

“I’m fine.”

“But you should rinse it in cold water right away!”

His hand, yes—but the glove too! If I didn’t act fast, it would stain and I’d have to replace it.

For a moment, I completely forgot his status and grabbed his wrist, dragging him straight to the washbasin.

Edmund didn’t say a word, but he slowly removed the glove—it must’ve hurt quite a bit.

“It stings, doesn’t it? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. The glove took the worst of it. If it had hit bare skin, it would’ve been worse.”

His reddened hand confirmed it—if it had been bare, he probably would’ve gotten seriously burned.

“…Don’t tell me Lucid put you up to this?”

This guy?

I gave him an incredulous glare before quickly looking away. Either way, I was the one at fault here, and I had to remember—this man was a prince.

“It won’t leave a scar, will it?”

At my question, he twitched his lips slightly, then turned off the water and shook the droplets from his hands.

“I don’t care if it does.”

Then, pulling a pure white handkerchief from his pocket to dry his hand, he held out the glove to me.

“You probably can’t afford a new pair. At least wash it.”

“Th-thank you. Truly.”

I was deeply, sincerely grateful. I had been terrified he’d ask me to buy a new one. Bowing at the waist, I reached out with both hands to accept the glove.

“What’s with the formality?”

Just as I lifted my head, flustered by his mocking laugh, I saw it.

“…W-wait a minute!”

There was a distinct bullet scar on the back of his left hand. Without thinking—forgetting entirely that the man in front of me was a prince—I reached for his hand again.

A large hand, with thick joints, bearing a clearly old, healed scar.

“I-Is that… a gunshot wound?”

I knew it was rude to ask someone about their scars, especially directly. But I couldn’t help it. I had to find my master. That was the only way I could survive.

“Never seen someone with a gunshot wound before?”

Edmund pulled his hand back, not even bothering to hide his irritation. Then, as if to cleanse the discomfort, he meticulously washed his hands again before pulling out another pair of gloves and slowly putting them on.

Come to think of it, Edmund was mixed-blood too—so technically, he was a foreigner. That boy had looked around five or six at the time…

And Edmund was now twenty-one. The age lined up.

The problem was, I couldn’t clearly remember whether the wound had been on the left or right hand. And… would a prince really have been on the streets during such a dangerous civil war?

“Would it be rude… if I asked when you got that injury?”

Still, just in case. I swallowed hard.

The moment I asked, Edmund’s expression darkened—truly, in every sense of the word.

“You’re the first person I’ve met who asks questions they know are rude. Do you have a spare life or something?”

“Of course not.”

Was that a death threat? A chill ran down my spine, and I instinctively raised my hands to shield myself.

He clicked his tongue and glanced down at his glove.

“Got it when I was a kid. During that civil war.”

He said it was during the civil war. The timing matched.

“Do you, by any chance… like dolls? Or… do you feel like you remember something when you see me?”

“…Newbie, have you lost your mind?”

“Sorry.”

All right. Clearly, Edmund and dolls are not compatible.

While I kept sneaking glances at the scar on his hand, the other employees began to arrive, meaning I couldn’t ask any more questions.

He sat poised and precise, his neatly combed hair reflecting his demeanour as he reviewed documents.

Every so often, when he came across something unsatisfactory, his brows would knit together. But when he came across something satisfactory, his sharp eyes would soften ever so slightly.

Could this man really be the boy who used to hold me so tightly when he was a child?

The gap was just too big.

Despite scouring every corner of the Empire for fifteen years, I had never once found the foreign boy with the bullet wound on his hand.

However, if my master was a prince, it made perfect sense that I hadn’t found him yet.

At this point, even the slightest chance was worth pursuing.

After work, I asked the priests how to clean leather gloves properly. I cleaned the gloves thoroughly and bought some chocolate, a luxury I could hardly ever afford.

I arrived at the office an hour before anyone else, and sure enough, Edmund was already at his desk.

“Your Highness.”

He usually wore a standard suit, but today, he had on a navy-blue jacket embroidered with golden threads.

Ah, yes. Definitely the male lead.

His mixed blood made him especially tall, and his well-built frame wore the ornate jacket effortlessly.

“…What’s this? You didn’t have to come so early.”

Of course I knew that. But this was the only time I could catch him alone.

“This is for you!”

I stretched out both hands, offering the neatly wrapped chocolate and the freshly cleaned gloves. The office was silent—eerily so—and somehow felt colder than usual.

Shouldn’t he at least ask what this was?

“…You actually washed it?”

“Sorry? You told me to wash it, didn’t you?”

Flustered, I responded, but he merely raised an eyebrow, pinched the gloves between his thumb and forefinger like they were filthy, and casually tossed them into the trash.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

“Do you know who I am?”

“…What?”

“I am the First Prince of this Empire—Edmund Reihardt.”

Who doesn’t know that?

I stared at him, dumbfounded, as he spoke with tightly pressed lips.

“And you think someone like me would ever wear a pair of gloves that’s already been soiled? You really have no sense.”

“Ahh… I see.”

I clenched my mouth shut and forced the corners of my lips up. The moment I opened my mouth, I was certain a string of curses would come flying out.

“Well then, how about trying this chocolate? It’s from the most popular shop in the plaza right now—I had to stand in line for an hour after work just to get it!”

Pleased with myself, I held the box out proudly. Edmund clicked his tongue and replied:

“Why do people eat this sugary nonsense? It only makes you gain weight and it’s bad for your health. I just don’t understand it.”

I don’t understand you either. Would it kill you to just say thank you? Or I’ll enjoy it?

“Then what do you like?”

I asked with a strained smile—only to watch in horror as he coldly dumped the limited-edition chocolate straight into the trash.

If you weren’t going to eat it, you could’ve at least given it back to me!

“Competent people. Useful people.”

His gaze shifted toward the stack of documents I submitted today.

“Your worth is determined by the work you turn in. And right now, you’re at the bottom.”

He pointed toward my desk—the farthest corner, right beside the exit.

“That’s where the lowest sits. And here,”

He gestured toward the desk right in front of his own—his aide Dante’s seat.

“This is the place for someone most useful.”

So in other words, the one sitting furthest from him—me—was the most useless.

I glared at that aide’s chair with burning eyes.

“Just wait and see!”

“Wait for what?”

“I’m going to sit in that seat soon!”

“…You?”

He raised a brow, clearly amused, leaning back in his chair. It was an arrogant pose—but, annoyingly, it suited him.

“Yes. So, Your Highness!”

I declared boldly.

“Please go on a date with me!”