Garden of Joy C8

Chapter 8

As soon as the car came to a stop, Hwan stepped out looking perfectly fine, as though he hadn’t suffered from motion sickness at all just moments earlier.

It wasn’t quite on the scale of the previous day’s event at Gyeongbokgung Palace, but camera flashes still burst sporadically from all around them. In particular, it seemed there were many reporters and fans who had gathered today to capture images of Hwan together with Heeseo, likely stirred by yesterday’s news of his sulking.

“Hwan—no, Your Highness!”

“Heeseo!”

“Over here, please!”

Naturally, outsiders were not permitted inside the school grounds. But that rule was hardly enough to deter them.

Modern cameras boasted zoom functions so powerful they were almost frightening; a mere school fence was nothing. They could capture Hwan and Heeseo as though they were standing right in front of them.

“Oh my god! They’re so pretty!”

The fans were delighted, but for the two of them, this could easily have been unsettling.

Even the smallest, unconscious gesture drew the attention of hundreds—thousands—of eyes.

Yet Hwan, having long grown accustomed to such things, merely swept an indifferent glance around him. The fact that he didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow in the face of so many people and cameras was enough to make one marvel at his nerves of steel.

Heeseo, walking closely behind Hwan, was similarly composed—though in his case, it was less a matter of hardened nerves and more the firm belief that all those people were there solely to see Hwan, the prince, and had nothing to do with him. In other words, he couldn’t even imagine that they might be photographing him as well. It was absurd, but entirely true.

Normally, Hwan would simply ignore such chaos and head straight into the school building, knowing that was the quickest way to put an end to it.

But for some reason, today was different.

When Hwan suddenly stopped and turned to look at Heeseo, another stir rippled through the crowd.

“Heeseo.”

Called by name in that gentle voice, Heeseo lifted his head and looked at Hwan, puzzled.

His lips parted as if he were about to ask what was wrong—but before he could, Hwan’s hand suddenly appeared in front of his face. Startled, Heeseo flinched slightly.

Hwan’s hand settled softly atop Heeseo’s light-colored hair.

“Your hair’s sticking out.”

With unexpectedly careful fingers, he slowly smoothed it down, neatening it.

Strangely enough, the very first thought that crossed Heeseo’s mind as he stared at Hwan was simply, What is this?

…You were silent until now, and suddenly?

Here?

True, his naturally curly hair tended to do as it pleased, and it might have been a bit mussed during the car ride. But the instincts he’d honed from years spent with Hwan told him clearly that this was suspicious—another one of Hwan’s schemes.

“All done.”

Yet Hwan’s calm, matter-of-fact tone only added to the confusion. He’d seemed ready to cling as usual, but instead his hand withdrew quickly, cleanly.

This is strange.

He thought so—but with nothing more than a hunch, Heeseo hesitated, standing there and watching Hwan.

Click-click-click.

In that brief moment, the fingers clutching cameras moved with ruthless speed—something Heeseo never noticed.

He was undoubtedly far more intelligent than most, surely aware of countless things far more complex than this. But since his only reason for using the internet was to search for information, he was hopelessly naïve when it came to matters like these.

So only the corner of Hwan’s lips lifted silently into a grin as he turned away without hesitation.

Unlike Heeseo, Hwan knew very well that this perfect moment would soon spread across the internet, polished and enhanced, everywhere.

Second year, Class 1. The very last seat by the window.

It was famous enough to be considered their designated spot.

Since meeting in childhood, Hwan and Heeseo had remained together without interruption—elementary school, middle school, and now high school—always in the same class, always in the same seats.

Of course, this arrangement had only been possible thanks to the influence of adults.

It was like tying a trustworthy companion to a “colt” who might bolt at any moment, keeping him where he could be seen. The imperial family, who couldn’t afford to let Hwan run wild, and the school, tasked with supervising him, had found their interests neatly aligned in this rather blatant decision.

But Hwan liked it. He liked it very much.

At the very least, while he was at school, he could stay glued to Heeseo’s side without worrying about appearances.

Seated together in that corner, creating a small world of their own, they could feel even classmates—and sometimes teachers—hesitate to intrude. For Hwan, there was no reason to be dissatisfied.

If only it could stay like this forever.

It was peaceful.

In those tranquil days, Heeseo would study whatever he wished, while Hwan propped his chin on his hand and watched him. When boredom struck, he would reach out and lightly tap the textbook spread open in front of Heeseo.

The left margin of the page—closest to where Hwan sat—was invariably filled with small doodles: stars, hearts, little sticking-out tongues.

Heeseo usually pretended not to notice, but true to his reputation as a model student, he absolutely refused to tolerate scribbles encroaching on the text itself.

Because of that, Hwan would sometimes earn a sharp smack on the back of his hand. Instead of scolding such insolence, however, Hwan would beam even more brightly.

“…Why are you happy even after getting hit?”

Half joking, half serious, even that look of mild contempt was amusing and delightful.

Such rudeness was permitted only to Heeseo.

The reason for recounting all this was simply to say that Heeseo had his own standards.

When Hwan doodled in his textbooks, only crossing into the printed text drew reprimand. Likewise, in the palace, Heeseo would scold him mercilessly only when Hwan clearly crossed the line as a prince—like the previous day, when he’d thrown his authority around and bullied a palace attendant in front of Heeseo’s door.

Seen another way, as long as Hwan didn’t cross that “line,” Heeseo generally let him do whatever he liked nearby.

Even now.

Click!

Hwan suddenly raised his phone and snapped a picture of Heeseo.

It would have been reasonable to take offense at being photographed without warning, but Heeseo merely cast Hwan a brief sideways glance and showed no other reaction. Perhaps he’d already been conditioned after enduring countless clicks under one pretext or another.

So he returned to what he was doing, offering only a single reminder.

“Don’t post it somewhere strange.”

“I won’t post it somewhere strange.”

“So you are posting it.”

Though he added the remark like a scolding, it was clear Heeseo didn’t truly care.

Do whatever you want. Who’s even going to see it?

That was likely his attitude. As mentioned before, he didn’t use social media at all, and only went online to check the news or look things up while studying. He couldn’t possibly imagine—

How many people were watching him.

Hwan’s social media followers had surpassed twenty million long ago. Anything he posted spread through various communities and easily reached even more people.

Sometimes, photos he uploaded even became news articles—but perhaps because Heeseo paid no attention to entertainment news, he knew absolutely nothing about it.

Idiot.

Clueless enough to rival a scholar living in the Joseon era.

In fact, the majority of photos viewed by Hwan’s countless followers were of Jung Heeseo. Heeseo reading, Heeseo studying, Heeseo eating, Heeseo sitting beside him… Hwan’s feed was filled with Heeseo in all sorts of moments, transparently reflecting his heart.

It couldn’t be helped.

How could I keep this to myself?

He looked beautiful even in careless snapshots.

It would be a lie to say Hwan had never wanted to keep him hidden away, for his eyes alone. But through long experience in what people called “stanning,” he had learned that when someone was this beautiful, it was only right—on a grander scale—to share and boast.

That was why he couldn’t help posting the photo he’d just taken as well.

Satisfied, Hwan naturally opened his social media app.

As usual, he uploaded the photo without any caption, adding only a small heart ♥ beneath it. As soon as it went up, countless hearts and comments poured in, as if they had been waiting for this exact moment.

[It’s Heeseo!]

[Studying hard again today]

[So cute]

[LOVE U]

[Pretty ♥]

[♥♥♥]

[So Cute ♥]

That’s right.

Watching the familiar wave of bright red hearts praising Heeseo, Hwan couldn’t suppress a satisfied smile. But as he continued to watch, perhaps because he had—as always—posted only a photo of Heeseo, a few dissatisfied reactions soon began to appear.

[Post a selfie, Your Highness]

[Your front camera’s going to grow mold]

[I MISS U]

Reading those comments, the corners of Hwan’s mouth drooped noticeably.

They were asking for him, not anyone else—but to be honest, he didn’t like it.

I posted Heeseo.

Focus on Heeseo! What are you all doing!

Annoyed that the conversation kept drifting elsewhere, Hwan let out a sigh and reluctantly used the supposedly moldy front camera to take a picture of himself.

That should do it, right?

He snapped a quick photo and uploaded it—only for chaos to erupt all over again.

[There’s no sincerity at all]

[Please put in even half the effort you use when photographing Heeseo]

[How do you manage to use that face like that?]

[Selfie ban (X)(X)(X) Selfie ban (X)(X)(X)]