The Noisy Classroom The lunch bell shrieked, a high-pitched signal for the vultures to swarm the cafeteria. Yet, Rio didn't budge. He stayed anchored to his desk, arms folded like a makeshift pillow, head tilted at an angle that looked borderline painful. To him, the chaotic classroom was just a noisy bedroom with worse lighting.
Ellen had already vanished. She'd learned the hard way that poking the sleeping bear—or in this case, the sleeping sloth—was a waste of oxygen. She just didn't have the grit to deal with him today.
Suddenly, the room's rowdy static died. It wasn't a gradual fade; it was a sudden, chilling silence. Students scrambled aside, clearing a path with the kind of frantic respect usually reserved for a natural disaster.
Lylya Minakaya had arrived.
She moved with a lethal grace, her uniform so crisp it looked like it had been ironed by a laser. She didn't glance at the elite's table or the socialite cliques. Her destination was the messiest, most forgotten corner of the room.
Small Talk (With Heavy Undertones) Lylya stood by the desk, a silent statue of perfection against Rio's clutter. She didn't scream or shake him. Instead, her fingers began a slow, rhythmic assault on the wooden surface.
Tap. Tap.
Rio let out a low, pathetic groan. One eyelid flickered open, only to be blinded by the sight of shoes so polished they probably cost more than his entire apartment.
"Break time, Rio," she said. No fluff, just a firm command. "You haven't touched food since dawn."
Rio didn't spring up. He just rolled his head the other way, staring at the wall. "Pass. My stomach's still doing somersaults from whatever happened this morning."
A sigh escaped Lylya—so soft it was barely a ripple in the air. "You're a master at neglecting yourself."
"I care," Rio's voice was a hoarse mumble. "I care about my missing sleep. A lot."
Without a word, a sleek, elegant lunch box landed on the desk. "Eat. I'm not in the mood for a report saying you passed out from an ulcer."
Rio finally sat up, his hair a bird's nest. He glanced between the box and the girl who looked like she belonged on a throne, not in a dusty classroom.
"What's the catch? Royal protocol? Or some boring conference I need to snooze through?"
Lylya went quiet. For a heartbeat, her icy gaze wavered—a crack in the porcelain. "I just wanted to make sure... you're still here."
The whispers around them started to sizzle: "Seriously? The school's goddess is talking to that trash? Luckiest bastard alive."
They had no clue. They couldn't even imagine that these two were bound by a ring and a bloodline.
Rio's heart skipped a beat. He knew exactly what she meant by "here." It wasn't about his body sitting in a chair; it was about his soul, which had been fraying at the edges, drifting toward dimensions no human should ever see.
He jerked his gaze toward the window, hiding the flicker of unease. "Heh. You worry too much, Princess," he whispered.
"Eat," she repeated, her voice snapping back to its frozen, formal state. "Finish it, or I'll have Ellen grill you later."
"Tch. Yeah, yeah... so noisy," Rio grumbled.
Lylya turned to leave, her movements rigid. But she paused for a fraction of a second. A whisper, lighter than the draft coming through the window, drifted to his ear.
"Don't 'daydream' too much. I don't like talking to an empty shell."
And then she was gone—distant, untouchable, and painfully far away.
One Crown, One Pillar Rio stared at the box. It looked ridiculously out of place on his scarred, graffiti-covered desk. He popped the lid. Rice balls, perfectly cut meat, vegetables arranged with the precision of a surgeon.
He knew the truth. Behind this perfection was a princess who had carved out time from a suffocating schedule just to pack a lunch for a 'pillar' who refused to stand straight.
"One crown to lead, one pillar to support," Rio thought, a bitter taste of history on his tongue.
He took a bite. It was good. Almost too good. It felt heavy as it slid down his throat.
"Vegetables? Tch. I hate 'em... but I guess these aren't total garbage."
He kept grumbling with every bite, a pathetic attempt to hide the fact that he felt like the luckiest guy who never wanted to be lucky in the first place. He just wanted to be a ghost.
Once finished, Rio buried his face back into his sleeves. Hidden from the world and the prying eyes of the class, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.
T/L Corner:
Author note: I may or may not be slightly jealous of Rio.
Man sleeps in class, ignores life, and still gets a princess worried about him.
Some people grind. Some people suffer from success.
A/N Corner :
Yes. I'm jealous.
This sleepy idiot gets a beautiful, powerful, world-famous fiancée who makes him lunch and worries about his existence, while I get instant noodles and bad life decisions.
Rio doesn't appreciate what he has. I do. And it hurts.
So if he keeps acting like he wants to be a ghost, it's because the author wants to punch him and take his place.
Sincerely,
a very salty, very single author.
T/L: Rio is basically the definition of "suffering from success." Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! :)
[CHAPTER 2 – END]