The air in the "Starlight Lounge" was thick with the suffocating scent of cheap cologne and the high-pitched, performative laughter of a college mixer. To anyone else, it was a chance for romance. To Ren Takagi, it was a firing squad.
Ren sat at the far end of the booth, her long legs crossed, her charcoal-gray blazer draped perfectly over her sharp shoulders. She was silent, her gaze fixed on the condensation dripping down her untouched glass of water. To the girls across the table, she was a vision—the "Prince" of the university, a cool, handsome mystery they wanted to solve.
But to the men at the table, she was a threat.
"So, Ren," one of the guys, a loud-mouthed sophomore named Sora, leaned forward with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Since you’re basically 'one of us,' you should give us some tips. How do you get your hair to look that effortlessly cool? Or do you just wake up looking like a boy?"
The table went quiet. The girls shifted uncomfortably, but the other guys chuckled.
"I’m not 'one of you,'" Ren said, her voice low and steady, though her heart was starting to hammer against her ribs.
"Oh, come on!" Sora laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "You’ve got the jawline, the height, the voice... Honestly, it’s kind of a waste. My buddy over here was complaining that this was supposed to be a date with girls. Having you here is like bringing a fifth wheel who happens to be a better-looking guy than the rest of us."
“It’s like dating my best guy friend.”
The voice of her high school crush echoed in her mind, a jagged piece of glass she could never quite pull out. “Try wearing a skirt for once, Ren. Maybe then I could actually see you as a woman.”
Ren’s fingers tightened around her glass. The familiar heat of shame crawled up her neck. She looked up, her dark eyes flashing, but she saw the resentment in the men's faces. They didn't see a girl being hurt; they saw a "Prince" who needed to be taken down a peg.
"I’m leaving," Ren said.
She stood up, her height momentarily intimidating the table into silence. She didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her bag and walked out, her stride long and purposeful, maintaining the "Prince" persona until the heavy oak doors of the lounge swung shut behind her.
The moment she hit the cool night air of the alleyway, the mask shattered.
She stumbled toward the brick wall, leaning her forehead against the cold stone. Her breath came in jagged hitches. The college "mixer" had been a test—a test to see if she could finally be a "girl" in a social setting. And she had failed. Again.
"Twenty years old," she whispered to the shadows, "and I’m still just a 'bro' to the rest of the world."
"They're just insecure, you know."
Ren froze. She didn't turn around, but she knew that voice. Everyone on campus knew that voice. It was smooth, rich, and carried a weight of effortless authority.
Kaito Sora. The other Prince. The one the school actually worshipped.
"Go away, Kaito," Ren snapped, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. "Don't you have a fan club to entertain?"
"The fan club is boring," Kaito said. The sound of his footsteps grew closer, slow and deliberate. "They only like the version of me that smiles in photos. But you..."
He stepped into the dim light of the streetlamp. He was wearing a cream-colored knit sweater that made him look soft, but his eyes were sharp—piercingly observant. He stopped just a few feet away, respecting the invisible boundary she had drawn.
"I saw you in there," he said softly. "I saw the way you looked when they said those things. You didn't look like a Prince, Ren."
Ren finally turned, her gaze defensive and sharp. "Then what did I look like? A joke? A freak?"
Kaito stepped closer, his gaze dropping to her trembling hands before meeting her eyes again.
"You looked like a girl who was being treated like a shield by people too small to handle her light," he whispered.
Ren’s breath caught. No one had ever called her "girl" with that much weight before. Not as a joke, not as a suggestion to change—but as a statement of fact.
"I don't need your pity," she spat, though her voice wavered.
"It's not pity," Kaito said, a slow, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reached out, his fingers hovering near her cheek, waiting for her to pull away. When she didn't, he gently tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "It’s recognition. We’re both playing parts, aren't we? But if you’re tired of being their Prince... I wouldn't mind being the one to show them exactly how wrong they are about you."
In the silence of the moonlit alley, the "Two Princes" stood face to face. One was drowning in a past she couldn't escape, and the other was offering a hand to pull her out—not as a rival, but as the first person to truly see the girl behind the glass.
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