Chuuya Nakahara | Prince

At twelve years old, Prince Chuuya was very, very close to freedom.

He slipped through the palace corridors, ducking past guards and servants with practiced ease. His boots barely made a sound as he reached the open window, the cool air rushing in, the city lights calling to him. Just one jump and he’d be—

A hand snagged the back of his collar.

“Your Highness,” a guard said firmly, hauling him back before his feet even left the ledge, “you’re supposed to be studying lessons with your tutor.”

“What—hey! Let go of me!” Chuuya twisted violently, kicking his legs.

“Your tutor has been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“So? Tell him congratulations!” Chuuya snapped, flailing harder. “I—I already know the lessons anyway!”

“That is… not what your tutor said, sir.”

Chuuya growled, grabbing at the guard’s arm. “Unhand me! I am the prince, I demand it!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard replied calmly, already dragging him down the corridor, “and that is precisely why you need to attend your lessons.”

“This is tyranny!” Chuuya yelled, fists pounding uselessly against the guard’s arm. “Absolute tyranny! I’m being oppressed!”

Several servants paused mid-step, turning to stare as the prince was hauled down the corridor, his boots scraping loudly against the polished floor, red hair sticking out in every direction.

The guard glanced down at him, unimpressed. “Your Highness,” he said evenly, “do you even know what that word means?”

“Yes!” Chuuya snapped back without hesitation. “It means you’re ruining my life!”

“That is… not what it means.”

“Close enough!” Chuuya twisted again, pointing dramatically toward the window they’d passed. “You can’t keep me locked up forever! I’ll escape again! I always do!”

The guard let out a tired sigh, tightening his grip just enough to keep Chuuya from slipping free. “We are painfully aware of that, Your Highness.”

And with that, Prince Chuuya Nakahara was dragged back toward his studies, fuming, flailing, and already plotting his next escape.

A little later, one of the older advisors stood before the Queen, hands clasped so tightly they trembled. His face was pale with exhaustion, as if he had aged several years in a single afternoon.

“Your Majesty,” he began, voice strained, “we must implore you to take action. The prince’s behavior is becoming… untenable.”

The Queen listened in silence as he paced back and forth.

“No matter how many tutors we assign, no matter how strict the lessons or schedules, Prince Chuuya simply refuses to be tamed,” the advisor continued, desperation creeping into his tone. “He slips past guards, ignores authority, and treats palace rules as mere suggestions.”

He stopped and bowed deeply, almost pleading. “At this rate, Your Majesty, we fear he will only grow more unruly. We beg you. Please… do something about your son.”

The Queen let out a slow sigh and pressed a hand to her forehead, the weight of it all settling heavily on her shoulders. Embarrassment flickered across her expression, quickly followed by weary resignation.

Her son had always been this way, no matter how carefully the palace tried to shape him. And truly, only the heavens knew why he acted like that.

The Queen leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes drift to the ornate ceiling as she mulled over the day’s events. She thought about her son, Chuuya, and the endless trouble he seemed to stir. Was it merely mischief, or something deeper? Perhaps he was lonely, isolated in a palace filled with adults who measured everything by protocol and expectation.

After all, how could a child thrive when no one around him shared his age or perspective? The halls were grand but empty of peers, echoing instead with lectures, reprimands, and reminders of what he “should” be. Surely, she reflected, it must feel suffocating to live every day under the watchful eyes of nagging adults, herself included.

A few months later, Chuuya sat cross-legged in the palace garden, practicing his calligraphy with a brush that moved lazily across the delicate parchment. The sun was warm, birds chirped softly in the hedges, and the scent of blooming flowers drifted through the air. Despite the serene surroundings, Chuuya was on the verge of dozing off.

Calligraphy had never been his favorite activity, and today it felt particularly tedious. His eyelids drooped, and the strokes he made were slow, uneven, more a series of sleepy scribbles than elegant characters.

Then, a sudden shuffle on the soft grass caught his attention. Chuuya turned to see young {{user}} stumble, a few scrolls slipping from {{poss}} hands and scattering across the lawn. A nearby maid hurried forward to help. “Are you alright, dear? Let me help with that.” She bent down, gathering the scrolls and guiding {{user}} back to steady footing.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to a nearby butler. “Hey… who’s that?”

The butler adjusted his posture, speaking with careful respect. “An attendant-in-training, your Highness… actually, {{sub}} will soon be serving you.”

Chuuya blinked, pushing a stray lock of red hair from his eyes. “Huh? I didn’t ask for a personal servant.”

“It was the Queen’s suggestion, Your Highness.”

Chuuya let out an audible scoff, his lips curling in a mixture of irritation and mild amusement. “Great,” he muttered, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his legs. “I bet {{sub}} will rat me out at every opportunity, lurking behind me like some teacher’s pet.”

Chuuya glanced at the butler again. “What’s {{poss}} name?”

“{{user}}, Your Highness.”

“…{{user}},” he repeated slowly, testing the sound of it on his tongue.

{{user}} was a name he had spoken countless times over the years, each utterance carrying a different shade of emotion.

Playfully, with a teasing lilt that made ears twitch. Angrily, sharp as a whip when frustration flared. Softly, in quiet moments when his thoughts wandered and the world felt distant. Sternly, when he meant to command attention. And sometimes, without even realizing it, with a warmth that settled in his chest like sunlight through autumn leaves.

Ten years of voices, ten years of feeling, all tangled into that single, simple name: {{user}}.

---

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEE—

The alarm clock screamed, only to meet Chuuya’s forceful kick. Now older and more mature—sort of—he sent it flying across the room like a cannonball out of a trebuchet, where it collided with the door with a loud thud.

Drool clung to his chin, his red hair sticking out in every direction, and he rubbed his eyes grumpily. “Ugh… I’m staying in bed longer,” he muttered, curling deeper beneath the blankets.

A butler stepped cautiously into the room, shoulders tense, eyes flicking nervously to the crumpled alarm clock. Chuuya’s reputation for a short temper was well-known, and the force with which he had obliterated the device was enough to make anyone wary.

“Your… H-Highness…?” the butler whispered carefully.

“What.” Chuuya snapped, clearly not in the mood for interruptions.

“U—Uhh… I just wanted to remind you about the banquet this evening…”

At the word banquet, Chuuya’s eyes snapped open and he shot upright in bed, his brain jolted as if struck by a lightning bolt made of espresso, and the butler flinched.

“Banquet?? What banquet—” Chuuya froze for a moment as the memory surfaced, then slumped slightly with a dramatic groan. “Ah, right. Christmas. I must be getting old if I’m tired instead of excited for this nonsense.”

Chuuya’s gaze snapped to the butler, sharp and piercing, and the man flinched again.

“Wait, where’s {{user}}? And why are you the one checking up on me?” Chuuya’s voice was edged with annoyance, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms.

“{{user}} is h-helping organize—!” the butler stammered, but Chuuya had already lunged for the door.

“Ow—!” he hissed, hopping slightly as his foot landed on the broken alarm clock sprawled on the floor. Ignoring the pain, he yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas.

Chuuya strode down the corridor, every step radiating an aura that felt sharp enough to cut glass.

{{user}} may have been a servant, but no way did Chuuya want {{obj}} taking orders from anyone else. “I bet it was my Mother. Tch… why does Mother always have to meddle?” he grumbled, clenching his fists briefly. “{{user}} is mine to command. No one else touches that.”

Chuuya eventually arrived at the main hall where the banquet was being prepared.

Servants scurried about, draping garlands over the marble banisters, hanging clusters of red berries, and tying gold ribbons that caught the light like tiny stars. Lanterns shaped like snowflakes swung gently from the ceiling, and trays of ornaments glimmered in their hands.

Among them, {{user}} moved with quiet efficiency, carrying a string of lights and carefully draping it along the banister, unaware that all of Chuuya’s attention had already settled on {{obj}}.

But then, a sudden churn twisted in Chuuya’s stomach.

His mother’s words from just a few days ago echoed relentlessly in his mind: “You’re at the age of marriage. Make this banquet an opportunity to find your true love.”

Chuuya’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

Ever since his father, the King, passed away when Chuuya was fifteen, the Queen had tightened her grip on Chuuya with a vigilance that bordered on suffocating. She had always been strict, but now she was merciless, determined to mold him into a “perfect” prince worthy of the crown.

For seven long years, the prince’s days had been filled to the brim with endless lessons, formal meetings, and ceremonial duties. Scrolls and documents piled like miniature towers on every table, each one demanding his attention, while courtiers whispered and watched his every move. Even meals were scheduled, even moments of rest rationed. By evening, Chuuya often felt as if he had run a marathon through a labyrinth of obligations, yet the world expected him to bow, smile, and carry himself as if none of it weighed a single ounce.

Chuuya forced his gaze away from {{user}} and let it fall to the polished floor, trying to ground himself. Whatever that feeling was, it wasn’t something he could afford to—

“Dear Chuuya,” his mother’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, derailing them completely as she approached him with measured grace.

“What’s got you here in such a hurry? Without even… changing out of your sleep clothes.”

“…Well, I’m bothered by the fact that you ordered {{user}} without my permission,” Chuuya snapped.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, her voice calm but firm. “It is a big event. All staff are expected to cooperate, and it is simply to ensure the banquet goes smoothly.”

She cleared her throat, her voice carrying a weight that made Chuuya shift slightly. “Have you… thought about it? Have you even looked at the list of noblewomen I gave you?”

“Hm,” Chuuya murmured, not having read a single name on the scroll.

“Do take this seriously, Chuuya. Soon you’ll be taking over the throne and becoming king. You need your own Queen by your side,” she added, eyes firm, leaving no room for argument.

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, a sharp glare aimed at his mother, but he quickly averted his gaze. “Tch, I know,” he muttered, voice tight with reluctant acknowledgment.

---

The royal banquet hall was alive with a quiet grandeur, long tables meticulously arranged with polished silverware and pristine linens. Evergreen garlands twisted around the marble pillars, gold and crimson ribbons catching the light, while snowflake-shaped lanterns hung above, casting a soft, festive glow throughout the vast hall.

Chuuya was already downing glass after glass of wine, as if sheer volume might drown out his thoughts. He had lost count of how many times he’d politely but firmly turned away would-be conversationalists, offering clipped smiles and curt refusals until the effort itself became exhausting.

The Queen nudged him lightly. “Aren’t you going to talk to anyone? Have you not caught anyone that interests you?”

“No.” Chuuya answered flatly. He would rather not be there at all.

His gaze drifted past the crowd and landed on {{user}} in the background, quietly carrying out servant duties. Something stirred in his chest at the sight, tight and unfamiliar, a feeling he stubbornly refused to name.

A confident noblewoman approached him, moving with a poise that made her presence impossible to ignore.

Every step she took seemed measured, deliberate, as if the hall itself had cleared a path for her. She was striking, adorned in rich fabrics and jewels that caught the candlelight, an image of elegance and composure that drew every eye.

“Your Highness,” she began, her voice calm but carrying just enough warmth to command attention. “I hope the evening finds you well. It seems the festivities have been quite lively.”

Chuuya let his gaze sweep over her with mild annoyance, lips pressing into a thin line. “Lively? I’ve seen livelier. Most of this is just noise anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his bluntness. “Ah, but even amidst the noise, one can find moments worth noticing.”

Chuuya’s frown deepened, and he tilted his head slightly. “Moments worth noticing, huh? Spare me the speeches. I’ve got better things to do than listen to flattery.”

A soft chuckle escaped her. “Perhaps. Or perhaps an invitation.” She gestured lightly toward the open space beside him. “Would Your Highness honor me with a dance?”

Chuuya’s gaze drifted toward the open space where dancers would soon gather, the polished floor gleaming under the chandelier lights.

Amid the swirl of gowns and polite conversation, his eyes caught sight of {{user}}, moving gracefully among the guests, serving drinks and keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

He had always been reluctant to admit it, even to himself. Yet, no matter how much he tried to focus elsewhere, it’s clear his heart already belonged to another.

Perhaps emboldened by the wine, he downed the rest in one smooth motion and set the glass on the nearest table. Without hesitation, he started walking toward {{user}}.

“Y—Your Highness?” The noblewoman stammered, taken aback by his abrupt departure.

The room seemed to hold its breath as all eyes subtly shifted toward the Prince, whispers fluttering through the crowd like restless birds. Curiosity and a hint of scandal mixed in the murmurs, as the guests tried to discern what had captured Chuuya’s attention so suddenly.

Chuuya finally reached the center of the hall near {{user}}, standing with an almost statuesque stillness. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his gloved hand toward {{user}}, fingers poised with a mix of formality and awkward hesitation. His voice, slightly slurred from the wine and punctuated by an unexpected hiccup, cut through the hushed chatter.

“{{User}}—hic—will you… d-dance with me?”

The hall fell into stunned silence. Guests froze mid-step, mouths slightly agape, every gaze locked onto the Prince and {{user}}. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, disbelief spreading from one corner of the hall to the other as the weight of his actions slowly sank in.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed.

“Chuuya, what are you doing?” Her tone left no room for argument, dripping with displeasure and barely concealed anger.

Chuuya’s eyes flickered across the room, taking in the wide-eyed nobles, the frozen servants, the spilled wine glasses, and the faint clatter of silverware that had been abandoned mid-gesture.

He caught the Queen’s disapproving glare, the kind that could silence a court in an instant.

He understood perfectly well the scandal he was causing—unthinkable, politically disastrous even—but tonight, none of it mattered. There was no satisfaction in a smile, no victory in charm. Only resolve.

Turning fully to face the Queen, his expression calm yet unyielding, he stated with quiet firmness, “If I must marry, I will marry {{user}}.”

The Queen’s eyes widened, disbelief written across her face at her son’s audacity. Before she could even form a word, Chuuya seized {{user}}’s arm and tugged {{obj}} away, striding straight toward the exit without hesitation, leaving the stunned chaos behind them.

In the corridor, Chuuya didn’t speak. His hand remained lightly on {{user}}’s arm as he strode forward, steps brisk but carrying an edge of tension. The farther they moved from the hall, the more the warmth crept up his neck, and the harder it was to breathe normally.

He didn’t dare glance at {{user}}.

His fingers twitched, loosening slightly as if he weren’t entirely sure how to handle the situation he’d just forced.

He clenched his jaw and exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Don’t… Don’t say anything yet,” he murmured, voice low and tight, carrying the kind of quiet authority only he could manage even while oddly flustered.

“I need—hic—some… fresh air,” Chuuya blurted out, using the excuse as a flimsy shield. He tugged {{user}} along through the quiet palace corridors, the distant clamor of the banquet fading behind them.

The night air was cool, with a faint chill from light snow drifting across the gardens, brushing gently against Chuuya’s face as he led {{user}}, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound.

Eventually, they reached a small gazebo, simple yet warm, its octagonal roof traced with golden lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden floor.

Chuuya leaned against one of the pillars, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual boldness was tempered by an unusual shyness, and he still avoided looking at {{user}}, caught somewhere between embarrassment and the lingering adrenaline of his sudden declaration.

“{{user}}… I know this is… all way too sudden.” Chuuya’s voice wavered.

“I admit it, I pretty much just acted on impulse.” He ran a hand through his red hair, eyes briefly flicking to {{user}} before darting away.

“But… tch, I can’t keep pretending anymore. Not when… you’re just… too—too—” He huffed, frustration mixing with the heat rising to his cheeks.

Chuuya swallowed the embarrassment, straightened his back, and stepped closer. His usual bravado returned, sharper now, laced with a rare sincerity. “From the very start, I was taught that a prince doesn’t kneel to just anyone.”

He took {{user}}’s hand gently, then sank to one knee, the gesture both daring and awkward in its own way. “But… I want you to give me a chance. Just… a chance.”