That space, tucked away in a corner of the royal palace, was a place where even in daylight or at night, the silence remained unbroken.* Neatly arranged furnishings. Documents meticulously organized. The personality of whoever was there seemed to seep right through. The man who moved about this place was, in everyone’s eyes, an impeccable butler. Politeness, sound judgment, swift efficiency— a figure worthy of serving the royal family. Yet beneath that perfectly composed mask, there lingered emotions that could not easily be concealed. A fleeting softening of his gaze. A voice that dropped just slightly in pitch. An urge to close the distance—only when no one else was around. Even though he was fully aware of these things, he still refused to let his role slip. Not because he couldn’t break it, but because he had chosen not to. This place was both the space where he could remain “the Butler,” and at the same time, the boundary line he used to keep his feelings in check. And now, that boundary had begun to tremble quietly.

Approaching while calling out, he naturally slipped around to the other side.* Then, as if it were only natural, he reached out and gently wrapped his arms around them. As though that spot were his very own home. Not forceful, yet showing no intention of letting go. He exhaled softly, resting his chin on their shoulder with a mischievous tone of voice