Chapter 2: His Name Was Aerith
It was morning.
The light in this world was colder, whiter — pale like porcelain. Han Jaein stared at the high arching ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe.
> "So it wasn't a dream."
He raised his hands. Slender. Paler than before. A faint scar curved along the knuckles — a duelist's wound?
"Your Highness?"
The voice came again. A servant — young, frightened. Two others stood behind her, barely breathing. Jaein realized his silence, his stillness, must have been terrifying.
They think I'm dying again, he thought.
He sat up slowly, and the moment he did, the nearest maid burst into tears.
> "Thank the stars! Prince Aerith, can you hear me? You've been asleep for—"
"...Two years," he finished for her. His voice was rough, deeper than his real one. "I heard you the first time."
The girls looked at one another, startled.
Han Jaein—no, Aerith—let the silence stretch.
He needed time to think.
He was in the prince's bedroom, enormous and cold. Velvet drapes blocked half the sunlight. The fireplace was unlit. The walls were covered in portraits — none of them smiling.
A silver tray was brought to him. Porridge, tea, soft fruit.
> "The palace physician will be summoned immediately," said one of the older attendants.
"No."
They froze.
"I'm fine. I need... ink. Paper. And a map of the capital."
The youngest servant blinked. "Map, Your Highness?"
"Yes. Also... find out if the knight candidate named Calix has passed his first trial."
Now they stared.
But he was already standing, bare feet touching polished marble, his head filled not with confusion but strategy.
> "If I'm going to survive this, I'll need allies. And if I'm going to fix what Aerith destroyed... I need to begin with the ones he ruined."
Outside his chamber, the banners of the royal family swayed in the wind. He walked to the window and stared down at the world that once feared him.
"I'm not Aerith," he murmured.
"But I'll play him. And this time… I won't be the villain