The lunch bell shrieked—a high-pitched signal for the vultures to swarm the cafeteria.

  Yet Rio didn’t budge.

  He stayed anchored to his desk, arms folded like a makeshift pillow, head tilted at an angle that looked borderline painful. To him, the chaotic classroom was just a noisy bedroom with worse lighting.

  Ellen had already vanished. She’d learned the hard way that poking the sleeping bear—or in this case, the sleeping sloth—was a waste of oxygen.

  She simply didn’t have the grit to deal with him today.

  Then—

  The noise died.

  Not gradually.

  It was a sudden, chilling silence.

  Students scrambled aside, clearing a path with the kind of frantic respect usually reserved for natural disasters.

  Lylya Minakaya had arrived.

  She moved with lethal grace, her uniform so crisp it looked laser-ironed. She didn’t glance at the elite’s table or the socialite cliques.

  Her destination was the messiest, most forgotten corner of the room.

  Rio’s desk.

  Lylya stood beside him, a silent statue of perfection against Rio’s clutter.

  She didn’t shout.

  She didn’t shake him.

  Her fingers tapped the wood instead.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Rio let out a low groan. One eyelid flickered open—only to be blinded by shoes so polished they probably cost more than his entire apartment.

  “Break time, Rio,” she said. No fluff. Just command.

  “You haven’t touched food since dawn.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Rio rolled his head the other way.

  “Pass. My stomach’s still doing somersaults from this morning.”

  A sigh slipped from Lylya—soft enough to barely disturb the air.

  “You’re a master at neglecting yourself.”

  “I care,” Rio mumbled hoarsely. “I care about my missing sleep. Deeply.”

  Without another word, a sleek lunch box landed on the desk.

  “Eat. I’m not reading a report about you collapsing from an ulcer.”

  Rio pushed himself upright, hair resembling a bird’s nest. His gaze flicked between the box and the girl who looked throne-ready rather than classroom-qualified.

  “What’s the catch? Royal protocol? Some boring conference I have to nap through?”

  Lylya went quiet.

  For a heartbeat, her icy gaze wavered—a faint crack in porcelain.

  “I just wanted to make sure… you’re still here.”

  Whispers began to sizzle around them.

  “Seriously? The school’s goddess is talking to that trash?”

  “Luckiest bastard alive.”

  They had no idea.

  They couldn’t even imagine that the two were bound by a ring—and a bloodline.

  Rio’s heart skipped.

  He knew exactly what she meant.

  Not his body in the chair.

  His soul—fraying at the edges, drifting toward places no human should ever witness.

  He turned toward the window.

  “Heh. You worry too much, Princess.”

  “Eat,” she repeated, voice snapping back to formal frost.

  “Finish it. Or I’ll have Ellen grill you later.”

  “Tch. Yeah, yeah… noisy.”

  Lylya turned to leave.

  Then paused.

  A whisper—lighter than the draft slipping through the window—brushed his ear.

  “Don’t daydream too much. I don’t like talking to an empty shell.”

  And then she was gone.

  Close—

  yet painfully distant.

  Rio stared at the box.

  It looked absurdly elegant on his scarred, graffiti-carved desk.

  He opened it.

  Rice balls.

  Perfectly sliced meat.

  Vegetables arranged with surgical precision.

  He knew the truth.

  Behind this perfection stood a princess who carved time out of a suffocating schedule… just to pack lunch for a pillar who refused to stand straight.

  One crown to lead. One pillar to support.

  He took a bite.

  It was good.

  Almost too good.

  Heavy as it slid down his throat.

  “Vegetables? Tch. I hate ’em… but I guess these aren’t total garbage.”

  He grumbled with every bite—a pathetic defense mechanism to hide the fact that he felt like the luckiest guy alive.

  A guy who never wanted to be lucky.

  He just wanted to be a ghost.

  When he finished, Rio buried his face back into his sleeves.

  Hidden from the world—

  A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

  Author note:

  I may or may not be slightly jealous of Rio.

  The guy sleeps in class, ignores life, and still has a princess worried about him.

  Some people grind.

  Some people suffer from success.

  Yes.

  I’m jealous.

  This sleepy idiot gets a beautiful, powerful, world-famous fiancée who makes him lunch and worries about his existence.

  I get instant noodles and bad life decisions.

  Rio doesn’t appreciate what he has.

  I do.

  And it hurts.

  So if he keeps acting like he wants to be a ghost, it’s because the author wants to punch him and take his place.

  Sincerely,

  A very salty.

  Very sad. Author.

  T/L: Rio is basically the definition of “suffering from success.”

  Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

  [CHAPTER 2 – END]