Chapter 22
Second Prince Irid was a hasty and clumsy person. This was due to him growing up constantly being compared to the capable First Princess and Third Prince.
The Imperial Family maintained an atmosphere that was so strict it could be seen as cruel to a child. To ascend to the throne, one had to be the strongest in heart, body, and mind. Thus, the moment he learned to speak, Second Prince Irid was thrown into a whirlwind of competition.
His unique decisiveness stemmed from a deep-seated belief of “needing to stand out at any cost,” and his paranoia was no different. A person who lacks self-confidence can’t truly trust anything at all.
He was like someone with a hole in their heart-shaped vessel. No matter how many wonderful things are poured inside, if there’s a puncture, they just spill out.
That’s probably why he was drawn to Centra.
She was the one filling those voids, those endless gaps left unfulfilled by anyone else.
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Second Prince Irid was inspecting the secret passageway with Agent C from the Defense Bureau.
The secret passageway looked quite different than it did a hundred years later. It was cleaner and had brighter lighting, but of course, it lacked any signs of the fierce battle between Irid and Ronya. No bloodstains, no bodies; just a little dust accumulated here and there.
Irid knelt down and touched the spot where Centra had lain. He remembered how she had wept for him, her scent—everything about her clung to his memory.
If only he could just close his eyes…
Everything came back to him vividly, as though it had just happened.
“Your Highness, I heard you have some suggestions for improving the secret passage.”
“I think it would be good to have a bulkhead that could come down… After all, even if the enemy doesn’t know the mana cryptogram of the secret passage, they could break in if they have enough strength, right?”
“I will request funding for the improvements to the secret passage.”
“Use my personal funds.”
The Second Prince stood up. Today, he planned to stroll around Crownhall for an inspection—not out of concern for the safety of the imperial citizens but because today, he missed her terribly and thought perhaps he could relive some memories.
He thought someone ought to praise him for not rushing to the Purple Magic Tower right away, preferably a woman with black hair and blue eyes, if at all possible.
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The Second Prince walked through Crownhall.
People were bustling about. While a war raged at the borders, the imperial capital was vibrant and beautiful. Citizens were busy tending to their own affairs.
Second Prince Irid adjusted the ends of his hood that shaded his hair. Before experiencing dimensional travel, he had proudly showcased his blonde hair and had earned the respect of the citizens. Everyone bowed their heads in reverence to the imperial bloodline.
He wanted to at least acknowledge his value, even if it was in that way.
“Your Highness, would you like to eat something?”
Defense Bureau Agent C displayed her quick wits. Relying on her keen perception for survival, she had calculated the perfect moment to suggest lunch.
Irid glanced around and pointed toward a cafe with a prominent view of the church’s steeple.
“Let’s go there.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Should I clear out the citizens currently using the cafe?”
“No, that’s fine.”
C’s expression brightened. The previous Irid would have flaunted his authority without a second thought, and in the empire, that was perfectly normal. There was a chasm between a prince and an ordinary citizen that couldn’t be crossed.
Yet now, Irid understood how to see the world from below. During inspections, he didn’t just gloss over things; he rigorously checked even the darker alleyways that the guards overlooked.
In a normal situation, she would have suggested, “To mitigate the risk of assassination, we must clear out everyone from the cafe for the safety of the imperial family,” and “The empire runs just fine without nitpicking small details.” Yet…
C, who had risen to become an analyst in the Defense Bureau from humble beginnings, appreciated that here was someone noble who genuinely cared about areas meant for those lower on the social ladder. Naturally, she felt delighted.
C had prepared herself to overlook even if Irid declared, “You pay for the food,” in the cafe.
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Two cups of coffee and perfectly baked madeleines.
The chef, spotting Irid’s hidden blonde hair under his hood, instantly flipped into professional mode, while Analyst C showed a pleading look as if to say, “I can’t eat until you do…”
Ignoring all those external happenings, Irid rested his chin on his hand and gazed out of the window. The church’s spire was a place he could never forget.
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
With grappling hook guns, they embraced and flew through the sky.
As Irid reminisced about the most beautiful moments, his memories interwove like an endless ouroboros. What had transpired before they soared into the sky with those grappling hook guns?
So… Centra had held him. The weight he felt against his chest and stomach, transmitted through that skin-tight outfit was simply unforgettable.
“……It wasn’t intentional.”
Irid found himself mumbling those words without realizing. A murmured excuse that wouldn’t reach her.
“Looking back, controlling my gaze was inescapable……No, it’s just an excuse. If it was unpleasant, I should have apologized in advance…”
After waiting for about 25 minutes, C ultimately decided to eat everything by herself and executed on her plan.
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The stable was clean and well-maintained. The stable owner dashed out barefoot to attend to the Second Prince upon his arrival, and Irid reassured him that he would examine the place alone, so no need to fuss.
Irid stood there, gazing at a haystack. They had once hidden here, just the two of them, holding their breath to dodge pursuers.
He remembered the promise he made with her.
Irid raised his pinky finger. The promise that if they ever met again, he would call out her name.
What did that promise mean exactly?
C, observing Irid staring blankly at the haystack, decided to speak.
“Are you… reminiscing about someone, Your Highness?”
“Yes. Someone I can no longer see.”
“Would you care to describe their appearance, Your Highness? Perhaps I could look into family or relatives.”
“……That could indeed be a way to favor her family.”
Even with a century apart, Centra’s lineage would still exist, after all. Perhaps even her distant ancestors could be found.
Irid, envisioning her image, spoke.
“She had long eyelashes and blue eyes. The color was clear and refreshing, like a vast sea. Her hair was black and long enough to cover part of her lower back.”
“……Was her hair perhaps black with a hint of blue?”
“Yes…”
“Although it might not necessarily be the same person… I know of someone with a similar description.”
C recalled a past incident she had reported herself, coincidentally matching locations.
“She was in a Defense Bureau report on dangerous individuals. Heart, who exclusively sold conversations at the brothel ‘Rosaria’. Her alias was ‘Lady of Illusion.’”
“……Is there a portrait available?”
“Yes, many artists have created portraits. There should be one at ‘Rosaria’.”
“Can I see it?”
“Yes.”
Irid and C retraced their steps and headed towards ‘Rosaria’ once more.
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“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
Irid stood frozen in front of Heart’s portrait.
He remembered every detail of Centra’s features vividly. Comparing Heart to Centra, they looked so alike that it was hard to believe they were distant relatives.
If they were the same person…
She must have sought out a Dimensional Wizard. Hadn’t he heard about the genius wizard at the Purple Magic Tower who restored Dimensional Magic? That it could traverse time…
She must have paid some price… to perform the Dimensional Magic. To meet Irid. But then, why hadn’t she looked for him? Why use the alias, Heart?
After experiencing dimensional travel and crossing to the past, Centra must have been filled with doubt.
She didn’t know if this was ‘before Irid experienced dimensional travel’ or ‘after Irid experienced dimensional travel’. The Imperial Family concealed the fact that dimensional magic had been restored due to fears of it causing chaos.
No one would come to know that “the Second Prince had experienced dimensional travel.”
If it was ‘before Irid experienced dimensional travel,’ then revealing Centra’s name would be akin to poison. If Irid learned of Centra beforehand… well, that would flip the future upside down.
After all, the Irid who underwent dimensional travel was the Irid who ‘didn’t know Centra.’
Unable to go to him or call out for him, she merely had to wait. At the inn, the place that housed their shared memories. In the old brothel ‘Rosaria’, she decided to call herself ‘Heart’ as a sign she was waiting for her love.
She might have prayed for Irid to notice her someday and hoped he would come to find her and call her name.
After waiting for three long years… when Irid never showed up and time ran out, she ultimately returned to her original world, the future.
She had sought him out. For him.
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Irid staggered up to the third floor.
There was Centra’s room. It was also where Heart had stayed.
He pushed the door open. The interior was just as he remembered. A small room with a bed occupying one corner, a little desk and manuscript paper sprawled about. Various books. Plus, a small empty vase.
But her scent was absent.
He had to be certain. After all, the brothel room’s decor was exactly the same as it had been in the future, a century later. The only differences lay in the types of books and the empty vase.
She had indeed come for him.
Thump, thump. His heart trembled like his very body was vibrating. Irid was shaking. The overwhelming emotions surged within him, almost bursting from his chest, so he grit his teeth in an attempt to hold them back.
In this small space where there was barely room for a table, Irid cautiously perched himself on the bed. Here, he had sat side by side with her.
He was remembering.
Centra had leaned her head on Irid’s shoulder. The pleasant weight felt soothing and happiness seeped through him. In that silence, the two communicated through intertwined warmth, weight, atmosphere, scent, and souls.
He was remembering. The promise.
“If we ever meet again… could you call my name?”
He remembered.
Irid gazed at the vase atop the desk, and finally fulfilled his long-delayed promise.
“……Centra.”
But there was no response.
Irid buried his face in his hands and wept.
Rain fell.
A cascade that seemed like it would never stop…
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