Sunny-Side-Up Fried Egg Set
The banquet was drawing to a close. The fountain that had endlessly sprayed wine and drinks like an inexhaustible spring had finally gone still, and the tables laden with every delicacy from land and sea were being cleared away by the servants in a frenzy. Half the grand imperial orchestra had already packed up and left for the night, leaving only a minimal ensemble of strings and winds to weave a subtle ambiance for the lingering VIPs.
But there was no need for regret. This was merely the end of today's festivities. Tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that—they would pour, sip, lick, devour, and savor once more. The magic of the Winter Palace wasn't a one-night thrill.
That said, for a few souls, this was the last chance to revel without restraint—those who had new power players to schmooze, or couples sneaking off for secret trysts away from prying eyes. Or, say, the case of Suhwa, who'd lobbed a bombshell at the emperor, and Jepeto, who'd jolted upright beside him in shock.
"From that first meeting, I figured you weren't your average punk," Jepeto said, unable to stop grinning now that they were out of the emperor's sight—though he'd barely held it together in there.
"Shouldn't you have given me a heads-up? My neck was on the line; I could've used some prep."
"If I'd told you ahead of time, would Your Excellency have even brought me to His Majesty?"
"Hell no. But I'd have made damn sure you carried a last will in your pocket."
Suhwa, casually declaring rebellion against the empire right in the emperor's face—and Jepeto, who wouldn't have stopped him even after hearing it. Pondering which of them was truly unhinged had Suhwa chuckling despite himself.
"What on earth are you two talking about?"
Helena, who'd waited outside while Suhwa and Jepeto had their audience, had no clue what they'd discussed.
"Can't spill it, but keeping it to myself makes my mouth itch... Kahahahaha!"
"What happens in the room stays in the room. I trust you gentlemen won't make me say it twice, Warden."
Jepeto nodded with that unreliable guffaw of his. Helena, by contrast, seemed faintly miffed.
But even if he spelled it out—"I'm about to openly rebel against the empire, so I can't accept the Utopia warden post, Your Majesty"—who'd believe him? They'd probably just give him that look, like he was still drunk. The road back to Utopia was bound to be rough, but some risks were unavoidable.
"Still... bold declaration and all, but what's your next move?"
"My first play's still Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek. The banquet's not over yet, so I'll set something up."
Jepeto's face soured the instant that cocky young upstart's name dropped—blood not even dry on his ambitions.
At this point, it wasn't just pre-meeting dislike; the guy rubbed him raw from the jump.
"You've only heard the name, but that knee-jerk reaction's a bit much, no? I was gonna ask you to help arrange it."
"Hmph! No interest in chasing down some booze-ruining brat myself. Handle it solo."
The audience had run long; most guests had already trickled out. They crossed the once-packed central hall—now sparse enough to breathe—and headed for the main doors.
The moment the guard knights swung them open, a gut-punching chill slammed in. The entire Palatium must've been wrapped in climate wards; the outdoor air was brutally sharper than imagined.
"Eugh! Freezing my balls off. Where'd you park the horses?"
"Suhwa and I left ours a bit farther back... but looks like we're not riding to the inn tonight, sir."
"What the fu—"
Jepeto whipped around at Helena, his griping face twisting into something sour. Suhwa, arms crossed tight against the cold and hustling along, halted when the pair ahead did.
All eyes locked on the figure who emerged silently from the shadows.
Expressionless as if the bone-numbing freeze—enough to scream at nose and ear tips—didn't touch him. Eyes like a honed blade. Gait steady, unshaken even in the gaze.
"I've been waiting. Vice Warden Suhwa Romanov. Lord Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek requests a private audience."
Gustav, knight commander of Manrmursk, greeted them with a crisp heel-click salute.
The servants were hauling away the picked-clean perch skeletons, bowl and all. Empty bottles that had spilled their secrets under brutal pressure and sly coaxing were dragged off in droves. Fairy Tears, Agram Sapphire, Manrmursk '55... A lineup that would've had any boozer dropping everything to dive in.
But the clearing staff and the man at the table's head paid them no mind.
Suhwa Romanov...
No din from the cleanup grated on his ears, despite the volume. Only the empire's top-tier attendants—those who served VIPs up close—earned the honor of the emperor's presence. Natural, really. Even if they were cuckoos planted in the nest.
"From now on, I must rebel against the empire, so I cannot accept the Utopia warden post. Your Majesty."
Suhwa's voice, boldly proclaiming rebellion before the emperor himself, echoed in his mind. Jepeto's stifled snickers—barely masked by his glass—were the cherry on top.
"Your Majesty, the audiences are complete, and the banquet winds down. Might I suggest retiring to your chambers?"
The ruthless booze massacre had been tidied in no time. The Palatium office, used for audiences, gleamed pristine once more.
"Ah, is that so? Good work. Headmaster of Servants—go rest. I've some thinking to do."
A boss sending off a subordinate after a job well done. In a normal office, the underling might demur once or twice out of courtesy before clocking out.
But when the boss was the emperor? Clock out on command, only for His Majesty to sulk later? Good luck weathering that storm. Who'd you report imperial bullying to?
Of course, the great Rudolf von Romanov II wasn't that petty... probably.
The head servant had zero interest in testing it.
"You seem burdened with thoughts, sire. Allow me to fetch some clarity tonic."
Rudolf von Romanov II answered with a faint smile. Smart choice.
Rebellion...
The word every monarch and lord across the continent dreaded second only to "wife." And the emperor was still unwed.
By rights, uttering it should've earned stern punishment. But he felt no urge.
Jepeto wouldn't drag some fool to him.
But can I fully trust Jepeto? Is he truly my man?
No. Precisely—he'd been the late emperor's. The peerless general who'd crushed countless battlefields, carving the north into the empire proper. The empire's fang, Jepeto Cervantes.
Did that loyalty hold for the current throne? The more he mulled, the more doubt gnawed—like spring sand tainting his sleeves, dragging him down.
That said, the proposal isn't entirely absurd.
For the empire, the throne, the masses. They needed ways to curb the overmighty electors.
Until now, he'd leaned on Sachsen Duke for provincial tours to check the power players. But that wouldn't last.
Sachsen's methods were too blatant, too blunt. The emperor borrowed his roads; Sachsen wielded the imperial name to crush noble backlash.
It worked for now, but bottled resentment would explode catastrophically someday.
Case in point: that near-disaster of a chat with Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek just now.
Sachsen knew the risks yet pressed on. What did he gain from this tightrope? Questions coiled like a self-devouring serpent, tongue flicking at his thoughts. Logic and reason froze like cornered rats.
"Haa~."
The sigh escaped heavier than expected, startling even him. Shifting as if to stretch, he heard faint creaks from stiff joints.
Clink—
"Always grateful for you."
"Your Majesty's honor. Command me anytime."
Steam rose faintly from the cup—hot enough to scald lips. Bringing it near his eyes felt like melting tension.
The emperor's night deepened, his first post-accession taste of rebellion.
"Gustav came out in that frigid weather and struck out, eh?"
"You must've had your reasons to snub Knight Commander Gustav's invite... but is it really okay?"
"Yeah, well. You weren't scheming something with that pint-sized hothead, were ya?"
In their inn near Palatium, the clear morning sky stirred vague expectations in passersby. Suhwa had pushed back on Jepeto's early-bird breakfast plan—"Feast leftovers trump inn slop"—but seniority won.
Jepeto's face lit up at the simple, tidy plate of sunny-side-up fried egg set.
"If the man himself had shown, I'd have met no questions asked."
Not much of a breakfast guy, Suhwa just poked at the runny yolk with chopsticks.
"Heh... kid's still a border lord. You know he can't just loiter outside waiting on anyone."
"This feels deliberate. Never pegged you for defending Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek, Warden."
"Oi! Spoiling my meal first thing? Just saying."
True enough, by Suhwa's lights. A border lord wouldn't wait personally; sending Gustav screamed intent clear enough.
But that's not enough... Time to turn up the heat.
"And if I'm right, someone else'll show soon."
"From who?"
"Who else but the border lord?"
"You don't get noble pride. They won't reach out first after a snub."
Helena nodded agreement.
"We'll see when it happens. But I've got a confident hunch. Ever hear, 'The thirsty one digs the well'? I'm not the desperate one here."
Whatever Suhwa was banking on to sound so cocksure, Jepeto prioritized his fried eggs. Either way, it was entertaining enough—no need to overthink.
As Suhwa prodded his yolk, watching Jepeto, a pigeon feather clung to his shoulder.