Special Administrative Officer of the Crown Prince's Office
The crown prince pulled a notepad and fountain pen from his pocket, alternating glances between the shattered magic stone floor, the crumpled steel door, and his two siblings as he scribbled something down furiously.
"Steel door destroyed, full replacement of 40 pyeong of top-grade magic stone flooring, three squat racks wrecked, dumbbells and plates lost... The Empire's hard-earned taxes, flushed away over a silly sibling squabble."
Crown Prince Maximilian von Arzenheim.
Compared to the muscular builds of Arthur or Victoria, his body looked endlessly frail.
Dressed in formal attire with glasses perched on his nose, he had the unassuming frame of a pure desk jockey.
But in that moment, amid the ruins of the gymnasium, he appeared the most imposing figure of all.
The charisma of a ruler—most resembling the current Emperor—radiated from his every pore.
"...You've caused quite the mess. Arthur, Victoria. On your knees."
At Maximilian's icy command, the two idiots knelt obediently without a peep.
"The full restoration costs will be deducted from your personal allowances. Looks like you'll be living without pocket money for about three months."
"B-Brother! But she barged into my training hall first—!"
"Silence, Arthur. There's no excuse for damaging palace property."
"Brother, hear me out. I was just— Ian was—"
"Ian this, prince that— you think slashing at family is normal, Victoria?"
"...I figured Arthur could dodge something like that."
Faced with the crown prince's merciless verdict, the two muscleheads fell silent as the grave.
No matter their overwhelming might, they were powerless before true authority.
"And Ian Sterling."
"...Yes, Your Highness."
"Come with me. Since those two airheads seem to be fighting over you... I'll take you off their hands."
"B-But Brother, today's Ian's leg day...!"
"Is now really the time to speak up, Arthur?"
"...Sorry, Brother."
With a single phrase, the crown prince silenced the second prince, then beckoned me over.
"Follow me."
Maximilian led me to his office in the heart of the Imperial Palace.
In stark contrast to the palace's ornate, antique grandeur, his workspace was ruthlessly practical and austere.
No artwork or decorations cluttered the space—only wall-to-wall filing cabinets and towering stacks of documents reaching toward the ceiling.
It felt like I'd been dropped into a hectic modern office from my past life; the air was thick with the scent of ink, paper, parchment, and the hurried footsteps of bureaucrats filling the barren room.
"Sit at that table over there. I've got some unfinished paperwork to handle—give me a moment."
Maximilian nodded toward a round conference table in the corner before heading straight to his desk.
He sat down and, ignoring me entirely, began madly signing off on the backlog of approvals.
"Rejected the Finance Ministry's palace repair budget proposal. Who submits something this sloppy without even following the format?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Tell them to redo it by morning. If they drafted it like this, they should've been prepared to pull an all-nighter. Oh, and execute the southern territory flood relief funds that came with it right away. That one's surprisingly clean. Stamped it—take it to His Majesty."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Two sweating officials clutched the documents to their chests and bolted out like they were fleeing for their lives.
As they left, another man knocked and entered.
"What is it?"
"From the Magic Division, Your Highness. Regarding additional budget for magic crystal improvements—"
"I already increased it. Still not enough?"
"W-Well..."
"No dice. Until the Minister or Tower Lord shows up personally, I won't even glance at the paperwork. Out."
"Excuse me..."
Once the storm of duties subsided, Maximilian adjusted his glasses and rose, approaching my table with two sheets of paper in hand.
"Here, take a look."
He slapped the first document down in front of me.
It was a policy proposal to overhaul the Empire's convoluted measurement systems into a decimal metric-based standard.
"This is..."
"My original draft. But then you submitted something like this to His Majesty."
Maximilian overlaid another sheet on top.
I blinked in disbelief.
It was the draft I'd handed over at my recent tea party with the Emperor—covered in red ink circles and dense annotations in Maximilian's own hand.
"An excellent document, Prince Ian. It clearly organized my scattered thoughts and even highlighted issues I hadn't considered—like how cumbersome yard-pound conversions are."
Maximilian leaned in, his purple eyes gleaming.
"Thanks to your brilliant submission, I had to scrap half my practical draft and rewrite it. Doubled my workload, in fact."
"...Ah."
"So, don't you think you should take responsibility?"
"Responsibility? Your Highness, I merely suggested an idea..."
"Once the social season ends, you'll come here and assist me."
His firm declaration left my jaw hanging in absurdity.
A hostage from a defeated nation handling imperial administration? What law allowed this madness?
"I don't understand, Your Highness. I'm a hostage from the Sterling Kingdom. Assisting in the crown prince's office—the Empire's nerve center? That's absurd."
Maximilian snorted at my protest.
"Normally, yes. But from what I've seen, you're the continent's top talent. Wasting such administrative prowess right under my nose would hinder the Empire's progress."
"Yes, but—"
"And what do we call those who hinder the Empire's progress?"
His eyes flashed.
"Traitors."
"...Your Highness?"
"Ian Sterling, are you a traitor?"
"Of course not, Your Highness."
"Good. Then you're clearly willing to aid the Empire's development."
"Yes, but—"
"Perfect. From now on, you're my office's special administrative officer."
"Your Highness, this is too much!"
"Too much? Fair enough, it is."
He set the papers down and cracked his knuckles with a sly grin.
"But aren't you a hostage dragged here after defeat? You have to grit your teeth through whatever the Empire dishes out. If it's unfair, you should've won the war. Right?"
"..."
"Kidding. Force like this breeds resentment... so here's a carrot. I'll protect you perfectly from my two siblings."
"...!"
He smirked knowingly, as if he'd witnessed my earlier life-or-death dilemma sandwiched between the muscle duo.
"Let me paint a picture. You toss a teddy bear between two kids who never share—what happens?"
"...It gets torn in half between them."
"Exactly. So how do you save the bear?"
"...Someone else takes it away."
"And puts it to work. Precisely."
"..."
Maximilian crossed his arms leisurely, driving the nail home.
"I'm no sadistic demon, of course. No daily grind—just drop by twice a week to help with paperwork. Salary included."
"But Your Highness, if His Majesty finds out—!"
"No worries there."
He flashed a permit sealed with the imperial red wax.
"Father already approved my proposal. By His Majesty's command."
"..."
"No more excuses, right?"
With the Emperor's blessing confirmed, I knew escape was impossible.
I sighed deeply, bowing with the sourest expression imaginable.
"...P-Pleased to work with you, Your Highness."
"Good attitude. I like it. And if you ever slip up and cause trouble—which I hope you won't—working here means I'll cover for you. Unless it contradicts His Majesty's orders."
"...Thank you."
"Alright, let's check the next room."
He sprang up, grabbed my shoulder, and dragged me out to the adjacent office.
"Your dedicated workspace."
"Pardon?"
The room was fully equipped: mahogany desk, plush office chair, ink and quill, and stacks of metric reform paperwork piled as high as I was tall.
A nameplate even sat on the desk.
Crown Prince's Office
Special Administrative Officer
Ian Sterling
"Browse around, then head back to your quarters when you're ready. No work today—you must be exhausted from all the chaos."
"...Thank you for your consideration."
"Yeah, yeah. I've got more papers to tackle."
Leaving me in the side office, Maximilian returned alone to his desk. His usually icy face twisted into an unimaginable grin of triumph as he silently pumped his fists in a victory cheer.
Gotcha, Ian Sterling...! You're mine now!
Overcome with joy at finally securing a competent, cheap administrative slave who actually understood him, he flailed wildly—only to smack his desk with his elbow...
Crash—!!
...toppling hundreds of meticulously sorted document stacks onto the floor.
"Ah, fuck."
The crown prince's curse echoed hollowly through the empty office.