Precious Prince Philly

Precious Prince Philly. Cute little Philly. That was how the king used to dote on him fondly until he was quite young. Of course, that was all in the past now...

An intense headache throbbed through him, forcing Philly to grimace. What kind of pain was this? It felt like he'd taken a punch to the temple that rattled his skull.

"Urgh..."

With a groan, he opened his eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling stared back. What? Where am I? Why am I here?

Prince Philly was lying on a sofa. A blanket that smelled pleasantly of fine fabric covered him—who had done this? The sun was already setting, bathing the room in orange hues. He'd only eaten lunch a short while ago and started the meeting, yet time had flown by like this?

The meeting...!

Right—he'd been in a private audience with Professor Obern Grimoire, who had been assigned as his personal tutor. But why was he lying here like this? He couldn't remember a thing.

"You're awake, Your Highness."

The voice came from Obern, seated in a chair by the window. A book rested in his hands—he must have been reading.

"You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't wake you."

"...I fell asleep?"

For a deep sleep, his head ached far too fiercely. But if he'd fallen asleep, then he must have. Still, when exactly?

His last memory was definitely...

"Ah, the staff!"

He'd asked for the staff. How had things gone so wrong?

Obern still had his hand resting on it. Staring at it, Philly saw the professor chuckle softly.

"Do you want to fall asleep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My staff isn't something just anyone can handle. Those without the qualifications lose consciousness and fall into a deep slumber the moment they touch it."

"I... grabbed the staff?"

"Indeed. It took about two hours for you to wake."

It was hard to believe.

"Liar! You're trying to trick me. No such staff exists."

"Shall we test it once more, then?"

Obern casually extended the staff. Philly's eyes met the serpentine ornament atop it—so lifelike it seemed like a real snake with crystal scales.

"Eek!"

Fear surged through him, and he stumbled back a step. For some reason, his head ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠throbbed again.

"Forget it, put it away."

"Then, since it's getting late, let's end today's session here."

Obern gestured toward the door with an open hand. A clear dismissal.

How could he be so unhesitating? Philly felt a mix of absurdity and irritation.

"Fine, I'm going."

He stormed toward the door—only to hear,

"Your Highness."

Obern called out. Turning back, Philly saw the young professor's face cold and emotionless as he declared,

"In private, I will show respect due to royalty. But by royal decree, at Emerald School, even Your Highness is merely a student. I will treat you as such, as your professor."

"..."

"I apologize in advance for any perceived rudeness."

Ha. A mere noble—hardly a great one—warning a prince of impending disrespect.

Philly felt a flicker of anger and disbelief, but all he could do was huff.

"Hmph."

And leave the study.

After the prince left.

3, 2, 1.

Thud.

Obern dropped the book he was holding.

"Hah, hah, hah... I faced a royal..."

He panted recklessly. Afraid he might pass out, I quickly taught him the Lamaze method.

Follow me: Hee, hee, hoo. Hee, hee, hoo.

"Hee, hee-hoo."

Thanks to the scientific breathing, Obern quickly regained his composure. Still, his hands trembled.

"I thought I'd be executed."

Executed? Over what?

"If he'd been seriously hurt..."

And you were reading your book upside down.

"What?!"

Such a worrywart. Obern had superb acting skills and a perfect mask. Fooling a naive prince like that was child's play.

While the prince slept, I'd checked his status window. And it looked like this:

A pathetic prince. Objectively, though, level 20 wasn't bad. As royalty, they'd probably sent him hunting to absorb demonic essence—definitely using some loophole.

His utterly lame skills told the story. As a prince, he'd had every opportunity to learn anything, yet even Solion Royal Swordsmanship and magic were pathetically low-leveled. Embarrassing to compare to Amaen. My benchmark for kids was Amaen, after all.

Still, nothing worth stealing...

I'd wanted to test Steal Crown properly, but nothing caught my eye. Solion Royal Swordsmanship piqued my interest a bit, but with Iron Lion Knight sword forms already? Nah.

That said, among his meager skills, one seemed vaguely useful:

The highest-leveled skill the prince had. But I didn't steal it. I already had someone with its superior version by my side.

Obern Grimoire, the man with a solid Acting lv10. What I'd gotten from Steal Crown so far was 'Elastic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Rampage lv1'. But I still hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fully integrated Elastic Rampage as my own skill. No chance to raise proficiency.

After a moment's thought, I made a bold choice: Discard Elastic Rampage and borrow Acting.

Not stealing outright, just borrowing. Why? Because:

I could use this skill the entire time I pretended to be a staff.

How's this? More staff-like now?

Yes, much more natural.

Steal Crown thrives on quick cycles. Who knows when I'd get a shot at the headmaster's tasty skills? Better stock up on miscellaneous ones in advance.

Now I was an even more perfect snake-staff. The uses for Acting were endless, too—a treat for later...

"Haa."

Obern flopped onto the sofa, clutching his head.

"Will the prince behave himself?"

Being his personal tutor must weigh on him. No wonder—the kid had been an arrogant troublemaker.

To my question if he'd stay meek?

As if. Total spoiled brat.

"You'll have it rough ahead."

Obern had to play the charismatic genius professor. A brat prince ignoring his authority was a nightmare.

What're you worried about?

But to me, it wasn't a big deal.

I've got you covered. Brats like that have standard handling methods. I can make him meek and obedient in no time.

"...Is that so?"

My confidence softened his expression.

Yeah—even the fiercest biters, give me a day and they're tamed.

"Biters...? If he bites, isn't that too much of a problem child?"

Not human kids—monster pups. Over a hundred tamed.

"Taming a prince... Haa."

Obern despaired. For real, though. He hadn't seen my skills taming those precious monster pups in Shadow Forest.

I'm serious. Don't worry.

"Kinda tense, huh? Kal, you've actually met the Third Prince, right?"

"Saw him at a party."

The handsome boy named Kal declared proudly.

"You know him? Are you close?"

"Just exchanged greetings a few times—not quite friends."

He sounded humble, but his pride shone through. Kal Rayman, direct heir of a count's family, had ties to the prince. Even without that, he stood out among the freshmen.

"Of course, he did send me a birthday gift once."

"Whoa..."

Rumors of the Third Prince enrolling as a freshman had spread like wildfire. And just yesterday, multiple sightings: He'd visited Professor Obern's study.

"They say the Third Prince has a... unique personality."

"And Professor Obern's scary too."

Two weeks into the semester, students split on Obern's classes: enchanted by his charisma or irked by feeling overwhelmed. Either way, they buzzed with excitement over this matchup. Who'd win between the infamous foul-tempered prince and the professor?

"Think he'll even show up on time?"

The boys and girls chattered, speculating—until silence fell abruptly.

Thud.

The classroom door opened. Someone entered.

Prince Philly. Brown hair, slightly hollow eyes, freckles. His clothes bore pure gold buttons symbolizing royalty.

Normally, everyone would stand and bow. But at Emerald School, etiquette was exceptionally relaxed—by royal decree decades ago, to avoid disrupting studies.

The prince trudged in, plopping into a random seat. He sneered at the sidelong glances.

"If you're greeting, do it properly. Otherwise, quit staring."

A few kids rushed over.

"Your Highness, I wish you well."

"Honored to study together."

He looked annoyed amid the greetings. Not everyone approached—Lania and Amaen hung back quietly. But some acted overly familiar, like the boy Kal.

"Haha, long time no see, Your Highness."

He straightened his clothes and bowed.

"Thank you for the gift last time. To think we'd share a class—reminds me of playing by the lake with you back then, truly..."

"Who are you?"

"Pardon?"

Kal's smile froze.

"Who the hell acts like we're buddies?"

"Kal Rayman... We met at parties before..."

"Think you're the only one who's sucked up pretending to be close?"

Kal's face flushed crimson. Humiliated in front of everyone—who'd have thought?

"I... thought we were friends..."

"Friends? You and me? Ha!"

The mood chilled. Then, unexpectedly, Bex stepped up—no one saw that coming, least of all his words.

"Unlike that guy, I wouldn't dare aspire to be Your Highness's friend!"

Everyone thought Bex had lost it. He'd always fawned over Kal.

"And who are you?"

"Bex Galants. I wish to be Your Highness's loyal servant."

He dropped to one knee in royal obeisance. Kal's friends gawked in disbelief. Lania and Amaen, watching from the back, were stunned too.

"That guy's totally nuts..."

Bex, who'd once picked on Amaen, wasn't even noble. A social climber, sure—but to grovel instantly upon meeting the prince?

Prince Philly burst out laughing.

"What a bunch of clowns."

"Heh heh..."

"Thing is, I don't need servants. Friends would be nice, though."

"I could be your friend too..."

"Obviously, I wouldn't befriend trash like you. Want to be my henchman?"

"Y-yes, of course. Just give the order."

The prince commanded with gleaming interest.

"Then slap that insolent fool who claimed to be my friend."

"...Pardon?"

He pointed at pale-faced Kal. Even desperate for favor, how could Bex slap a count's son?

"Th-that's a bit..."

"What, you lied to me? Slap him."

"Uh..."

"You. Mocking royal words?"

"Never!"

The air grew frigid. Kal stood rigid. Bex floundered.

"Do it. Slap him."

At the icy order, Bex squeezed his eyes shut. A light tap should be fine.

Smack!

Bex slapped the count's heir. For real.

"Puhahaha!"

The prince's laughter echoed in the silent room. Then, to trembling Bex's ears came an unbelievable voice.

"Kal Rayman. Feel free to punish that insolent wretch who struck a noble. As harshly as you like."

Kal clenched his fist. Bex gulped, paling and shaking. The Raymans were famed in martial arts—even Kal's punch could crush a bear's skull.

"Hit him, Kal Rayman."

"..."

"No spine?"

But Kal didn't swing. Pride? Who knows. Lania frowned.

A bit much, isn't it?

She meant to whisper to Amaen—but

Where'd he go?!

Amaen was gone from beside her. Shockingly, he stood between the prince and Kal.

"Your Highness, perhaps that's enough."

Even Lania, close to Amaen, hadn't expected him to step up like this. Yet there he stood, posture upright and resolute, blocking the prince.

"This commotion is disrupting class time."

"Who the hell are you? Daring to interfere?"

At the prince's imperious words, Amaen glanced sideways.

"Master—no, Professor, has arrived."

Everyone turned to the door.

There he was.

Professor Obern Grimoire, holding his ever-present crystal snake staff.

"Class has begun. What's this racket?"

Ice laced his voice.

Undeniable anger.