Garden of Joy C9

Chapter 9

…Didn’t they just ask me to post one? And now it’s banned?

At the sharply flipped public reaction, a hollow laugh slipped from Hwan’s lips.

I mean—why? …Wasn’t it just normal?

Unable to understand what exactly had lacked “sincerity,” Hwan tilted his head in confusion. Being scolded so harshly left him looking a little sheepish, but he soon shook it off and refocused on Heeseo’s photo. Unlike his own selfie—drowned in disappointment, sighs, and mockery—the comments under Heeseo’s picture were, thankfully, still filled with praise, even in multiple languages.

Good.

The corners of Hwan’s mouth lifted.

But then—though it was good—something felt missing.

Knowing exactly why, Hwan glanced sideways at Heeseo, who was reading beside him, and subtly angled his phone screen toward himself so that only he could see it. It had already been that way, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

Only then did he quietly move his finger and open a page he had long kept hidden deep within his bookmarks.

After a brief loading screen, the site’s main page appeared—small white letters gleaming against a backdrop of lush green foliage.

Garden of Joy.

This was a secret place Hwan had been visiting incessantly as of late.

Unlike Heeseo, who wasn’t particularly savvy about the internet, Hwan spent most of his idle time glued to his phone whenever Heeseo wasn’t around. Wandering through the web, searching his own name, Heeseo’s name—this was, in fact, one of the few hobbies he had.

Of course, there was no way it was all praise.

Especially not for Hwan, who stirred up one minor scandal after another.

But unless the criticism came directly from Heeseo, none of it ever truly hurt him. Faceless strangers shouting things like “unbefitting of royalty” or “attention seeker” could rant all they wanted—one swipe of his thumb and it all vanished.

What he found far more entertaining were the occasional creative, over-the-top comments people came up with along the way.

What he thought was “dirty” turned out to be The Love, and what sounded like a sudden war became a beautiful war.

This was just the bare minimum. Once hooked, there was no escaping the sheer wit of people online.

Garden of Joy was a site Hwan stumbled upon by chance while roaming around like that.

…What exactly is this place?

A site for sharing gardening tips?

At first, Hwan had no idea what it was.

When he searched his and Heeseo’s names, the site kept popping up together, so curiosity got the better of him and he clicked in. But on that fresh, eco-friendly-looking main page, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to proceed. He tried tapping randomly at the background, but nothing happened.

Is this a riddle or something?

However, after some more persistent digging, he soon learned the true meaning behind the name—and sprang upright from his half-reclined position, smacking his forehead with a sharp thwack.

This is insane.

Garden of Joy.

“Joy” formed from Hwan and Hee—Hwanhee.

The place was filled with people who supported Hwan and Heeseo together, in that particular sense. The moment he realized that, Hwan clicked the sign-up button as if possessed. The fact that registrations happened to be open at the time felt like fate.

But joining wasn’t easy.

There were quizzes about the two of them, essay-style questions that required thoughtful answers—it demanded a considerable amount of time and effort. Still, such trials were nothing to Hwan. In fact, they barely qualified as trials at all.

After all, he was the Hwan of Hwanhee.

He prided himself on knowing Heeseo better than anyone—and loving him more than anyone. There was no question he couldn’t answer.

This is a piece of cake.

There was no way he wouldn’t pass. If only studying were always like this. In another era, he would have topped the imperial exams.

He participated so enthusiastically afterward that before he knew it, a gleaming crown icon appeared beside his username. There wasn’t a single post he hadn’t read—anguished ramblings, photos, fanworks—Hwan devoured them all with shining eyes.

This is fun!

There were so many incredibly talented people. Every post was fascinating.

Of course, none of them could ever imagine that Hwan himself was watching.

Back in that secret space Hwan frequented, unlike the SNS where everything was visible to the public, the comments were far more raw and unfiltered.

[Those are what you call jade-like hands]
[That side profile is insane, perfect, kiss him]
[What is today’s feast of content, are you trying to kill us? More!]
[The difference in photo effort is hilarious lol]
[Why does Heeseo look extra pretty when Hwan takes the pic? Why do you think—because he’s in love]

Each line rang so true that Hwan found himself nodding along.

Yes. This is it!

He had to fight the urge to clutch his nose in sudden emotion.

Seeing people cheer like that made Hwan happy too. As always, Garden of Joy was fun and joyful. Here, no one knew—or cared—that he was a prince. He was free.

Buoyed by that feeling, Hwan blended in and casually left a comment.

[What would happen if they took a selfie together? lol]
[↳ Heeseo wouldn’t take itㅠㅠ (edited/deleted)]
[↳ …Can’t argue with that]

Though he used a crying emoji, a subtle smile spread across Hwan’s lips.

Of course, he knew. The people gathered here were mostly just enjoying themselves—out of curiosity, as a hobby, for laughs—pairing the two of them together for fun. The time spent here was genuinely enjoyable, but it would be foolish to believe that everyone truly understood or accepted his real feelings.

It’s pointless.

He knew that.

And yet, this place had quietly become his only bamboo grove—a place to vent his heart.

Where else in the world could he speak honestly about his feelings? For Hwan, there was nowhere else.

And damn it—once again, it was because he was a prince.

To others, Hwan might seem like someone who didn’t hide much. He openly showed his moods and threw tantrums whenever he felt like it. But if that were the case, Hwan felt deeply wronged.

From his perspective, he was already exercising immense restraint.

Because he truly liked him. Truly—deeply.

I’m not joking….

Having to brush it off as a joke every time hurt more than anything.

Why are you crying?

From the moment they met that day—when Hwan had stumbled upon him crying in the farthest corner of Gyeongbokgung Palace—he’d liked him as if it were destiny. A small boy clutching thick books with impossibly difficult titles. The moment Hwan took his outstretched hand and stood up, his world flipped completely.

As those little boys grew bigger, those feelings grew clearer and stronger with each passing day. When puberty first hit, there were times he wanted to shout his feelings just from making eye contact.

I like you, Heeseo. I like you so much.

Far too much to be satisfied with being just friends.

In truth, that feeling hadn’t changed even now. But as he grew older, Hwan learned—no matter how immature he was—that he could never say such words aloud. Just as before, it was all because of that useless, wretched title of prince.

The prince of the empire liking his friend—liking a boy.

If that became known, it would be on a completely different level from wanting to go to a PC café or dye his hair.

The country would be thrown into chaos.

No matter how much people claimed the world had changed and minds had opened, deep roots remained beneath it all.

For now, as long as it fit within the frame of “friendship,” people found his devotion to Heeseo amusing, even endearing. But if the truth ever came out, even those people might turn on them—filling Gwanghwamun Square, each holding a stone.

No.

It couldn’t happen.

He couldn’t ask Heeseo to be struck by those stones with him just because he loved him.

So this was a secret he could never tell—not to Heeseo, not to anyone.

“Among the people who got three answers right on the English quiz, I’m sure Your Highness has the brightest smile.”

Pulled from his thoughts by Heeseo’s pointed jab, Hwan hurriedly put his phone away. The way Heeseo so kindly—and precisely—called him out made Hwan’s chest ache again.

Three.

Embarrassingly enough, that was correct.

He’d scrambled to cram at the last minute, but reality proved unforgiving.

Perhaps Heeseo hadn’t expected much to begin with, because after that he didn’t scold Hwan any further.

Still, after boasting so confidently and then getting only three right, Hwan felt awkward and apologetic even to himself. All day long, he couldn’t help but keep an eye on Heeseo’s reactions.