To Zora, the two furballs were perfect bundles of chaos. Without names, the pair was practically impossible to tell apart—one noisy black fluff and one excitable white fluff rolling around like mismatched twins.
Both stared up at her with huge, sparkling eyes, practically chanting Name us! Name us!
She tapped her chin, eyes narrowing playfully. "Alright. White furball, you'll be called Black."
Then she pointed at the black one. "Black furball, you'll be called White."
The two furballs froze.
Their eyes, moments ago filled with anticipation, went blank.
"That's terrible!" they shouted in unison.
"I'm white—why should I be called Black?!" the white furball protested, puffing up.
Zora raised a brow. "It's fair."
"Fair?" both furballs squeaked.
"Yes," she nodded heavily. "You two are complete opposites. Naming you like this balances everything. Maybe Black likes being called White? Maybe White secretly prefers Black?"
She smiled with a wicked gleam. "See? Perfectly reasonable."
"Noooo!" the furballs cried.
"I don't want to be called White!" the black one yelped.
"I don't want to be Black!" the white one wailed.
"The protest is invalid," she declared calmly.
Inside her mind, the two rolled around dramatically, whining. She ignored them with great satisfaction—honestly, she was proud of her own creativity.
Just then, loud shouting erupted from down the street, breaking her amusement.
"Move! The prince is getting bullied again!"
"Sigh, that poor prince. Handsome face, disabled legs, unlucky life. Now he's picked on by the other princes."
"He's never been loved by the emperor. Everyone knows he's just the emperor's illegitimate child."
The words drifted through the air, crisp and cold. "Illegitimate child?"
Information flickered through her mind. She remembered hearing about him—the prince named Kael Moonstone.
Three years ago, the current emperor suddenly took in an unknown young man as a prince, despite the court's outrage. The boy was rumored to have been born from an affair and had crippled legs. There were even whispers that he was useless—no talent, no backing, no support.
In the first year, the emperor favored him. Then nothing.
The light dimmed.
The attention vanished.
Soon, the entire capital treated him like a joke with a title.
Zora's steps slowed.
An unlucky prince and an unfavored daughter of the General's Manor, our lives sound painfully similar.
Curiosity tugged at her. She followed the crowd toward the noise.
The moment she pushed through to the front, she noticed figures on the second-floor balcony of the Drunken Immortal Building. And the first face she saw made her lips tighten—
Prince Philip, her old fiancé.
The scum she'd happily kicked earlier.
He stood there smirking, looking down at a young man in pale gold robes sitting calmly in his wheelchair.
Kael Moonstone.
"Kael," Prince Philip sneered, leaning forward slightly, "what if I accidentally bump into you and you fall from the third floor? Hm?"
His tone was light—almost playful—but his eyes glowed with cruelty.
Zora's stomach twisted.
She didn't like this at all.
The man in gold lifted his head slowly. His features were obscured by the angle, but his voice drifted out—calm, steady, and strangely elegant.
"If the prince wants to push, then push. What can I do?"
The breeze might as well have carried his words. So light. So impossible to shake.
Philip's expression froze for a moment, annoyed.
This was exactly what he hated most about Kael Moonstone—his calm, his unbothered air, his quiet resilience. It made Philip feel like a clown jumping around for attention.
The second prince, Damien, laughed loudly. "Big brother, if you want him gone, just push him."
And then it happened—
Damien took a careless step. His foot slipped. Or so it looked.
His entire body lurched forward, hands slamming into Kael's chest.
Crash!
The railing shattered.
A golden figure fell straight from the third floor like a broken sunbeam.
Zora's pupils shrank sharply.
These two are really vile!
Kael Moonstone's legs were already ruined. Falling from this height—
This wasn't bullying. This was an attempt to cripple him further—or kill him.
"Amazing," she thought coldly. "Prince Philip still hasn't changed. He only knows how to step on those weaker than him."
Her fists clenched tightly.
Around her, people looked away in fear or pity.
The citizens whispered, "Poor prince," But none dared step forward.
They were civilians. What could they possibly do?
As Kael plummeted, Zora took a step forward—eyes dark, cold, and sharp like a blade being drawn.
*
But the heavy crash everyone expected never came. Instead, a sharp scream tore through the air—
"Ahhh! Big brother, save me!"
The voice trembled with fear, high and panicked. It wasn't the crippled prince. It was the second prince, Damien.
The entire crowd jerked their heads upward.
Gasps exploded across the street.
Damien was dangling awkwardly between the second and third floors, half his body stuck in the broken railing. His limbs flailed helplessly, and his backside—completely exposed where his robe had torn—pointed straight at the sky.
For one stunned heartbeat, the street was silent.
Then someone snorted.
Then someone else choked.
And in the next moment, the entire street burst into laughter.
"Look! His royal backside is whiter than steamed buns!"
"My heavens, today we get to see the imperial butt! What an honor!"
"The great second prince—hanging like laundry! Hahaha!"
Usually, Damien strutted around the capital, bullying civilians and throwing around his title. To see him stuck like a helpless duckling? The crowd couldn't contain itself. Laughter echoed from every corner.
Damien's face flushed red.
Humiliation burned hotter than the sun.
He instinctively reached back to cover himself—
But the moment one hand released the railing, his body slipped several inches.
He shrieked and clung harder, shaking.
His pride was shattered in front of hundreds of people.
"Big brother! Help me!" he cried again, voice cracking.
Prince Philip's expression turned foul. He had come here specifically to humiliate the crippled prince
But now his own brother was the one being mocked by the whole city.
He cursed under his breath, forced himself to ignore the laughter, and reached forward to help pull Damien up.
Only when the situation calmed did the crowd look back to the fallen prince and then their expressions shifted to confusion, disbelief, and even amusement.
Because the prince wasn't on the ground.
He wasn't injured.
He wasn't even sitting strangely.
Instead—
Two tiny, round furballs sat beneath him like perfect cushions, soft and fluffy, keeping him from hitting the ground.
Gasps turned into bewildered chuckles.
"What in the world?"
"Did those furballs save him?"
"That's what you call divine retribution! They tried to hurt him and he lands on fluff!"
Prince Philip's face twisted. "What kind of cursed furballs are these?! Who do they belong to?!"
At that moment, a gentle voice drifted from the crowd.
"Ah—sorry about that."
The crowd parted as a white figure stepped forward, sunlight catching on her sleeves. Her smile was soft, clean, almost lazy, like a breeze on a quiet afternoon.
"I just bought those cushions," she said lightly. "They must've rolled out of my hands without me noticing. I hope the young masters don't mind."
Zora stood there in a simple white dress that hugged her slender waist and flowed gracefully around her legs. Her long hair was pinned loosely, strands falling around her cheeks in a casual, charming way. Under the warm sun, her skin glowed like porcelain jade.
Her phoenix eyes were clear as glass, bright and luminous.
The curve of her lips held a faint, teasing smile.
Her entire presence felt gentle yet impossible to ignore.
Several people in the crowd forgot how to breathe.
Prince Philip blinked hard, stunned. "She looks familiar. She looks like Zora, but..."
He stared harder.
The face was similar, yes—but the aura was completely different.
That timid, depressed girl he despised could never look like this.
Her beauty now was striking—fresh, elegant, dazzling. No one would connect her to the pale, scrawny girl from a month ago.
"What's your name?" he asked, voice unconsciously lowering.
She bowed lightly. "My name is Zora. Zora of House Phoenix."
He froze.
Then shook his head quickly.
No, impossible.
The old Zora looked half-starved.
This woman was the kind men dreamed about.
His eyes flashed with desire.
If he could take her, he didn't care how many men envied him.
Zora, however, saw straight through him.
Her eyes glinted like a hidden dagger.
Good. He didn't recognize me.
A month of training had changed her skin, posture, and aura entirely. Starved and ignored her whole life, she once looked sickly and dim. Now, with spiritual energy nourishing her, her face had filled out, her skin glowed softly, and her presence grew calm and sharp.
Even if her old self stood next to her, no one would believe they were the same woman.
She stepped toward Kael Moonstone, ignoring Prince Philip completely.
In her mind, the two furballs wailed dramatically—
Master, how could you let us get flattened on our first day out?!
We saved him! You owe us snacks!
She almost laughed.
Standing beside the fallen prince, she bowed slightly.
"Young master," she said politely, "since my cushions saved you, don't you think you should,,,"
Her sentence trailed off.
Because at that moment, the young man in golden robes turned toward her.
And his face—unexpectedly beautiful and calm—appeared before her eyes.
Zora's voice halted mid-sentence.
Even though she had heard plenty of rumors about the crippled prince's looks...
Hearing was nothing compared to seeing.
Up close, Kael Moonstone was unreal.
His features were carved with impossible precision, every line clean and elegant. His eyes were bright and deep, like polished obsidian under moonlight. His lips held a soft curve, gentle yet indescribably alluring. The faint smile resting on his face didn't feel like something crafted—it felt natural, effortless, like it belonged to the air around him.
As the sunlight brushed over his golden robes, it cast a halo around him. Quiet nobility—calm, dignified, unforced.
Compared to the noisy, arrogant princes upstairs, his presence was like a serene lake in the middle of chaos.
"Girl," he said gently, "thank you for your cushions."
His voice was warm and smooth, dipping into her ears like warm wine. For just a second, Zora forgot to breathe.
Then she snapped out of it. Even after falling from the third floor, this man had not shown a speck of panic. He was graceful, calm, and elegant.
She had definitely underestimated him.
Stretching her fingers with a bright smile, she flicked an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve. "Since my cushions saved you, shouldn't you compensate me? Let's say one hundred gold coins."
His dark eyes flickered—almost amused—but his expression remained serious.
"May I trouble the girl for a favor then?"
Her brows rose. What favor? After surviving a fall, why would he need another?
Before she could ask, he moved.
With a smooth motion, he leaned back and lay on the ground again.
Her jaw dropped.
"The girl may push me off the third floor again," he said calmly, "then throw your cushions down. Then we will be even."
Zora stared at him, speechless. Did he really expect her to climb up and toss him off a building?!
Is he insane?!
More importantly—how could someone so beautiful act like such a shameless rogue?!
"Hello," she snapped, "you're a prince! Shouldn't you at least try to pay properly?"
He looked up at her innocently, his face the picture of sincerity.
"I am not refusing to pay."
"Oh really?" she said coldly.
"But" he added softly, "I truly have nothing valuable on me."
Then he paused, touched his chin thoughtfully, and continued in a tone of deep seriousness—
"But my face is still intact. I suppose I can reluctantly offer that."
Silence.
Pure silence.
Zora felt a vein throb in her forehead.
He even lowered his gaze shyly, like a maiden offering herself in marriage.
This man, this prince
He's not elegant—he's dangerous!
Dangerously shameless!
She pressed a hand to her temple, fighting the urge to throw him back to the second floor herself.
In the crowd, people whispered:
"Is the prince flirting?"
"Did he really offer his face as payment?"
"He looks like a beautiful bride!"
Zora inhaled sharply.
If she didn't get a grip on herself, she might break his other leg...