I Start with a Bad Hand!

From the beginning, he hadn’t intended to say those words. He hadn’t even thought it was possible. Icarus knew he didn’t have much to offer Dietrich. Small trinkets, exotic teas—insignificant things anyone could give. Even then, Dietrich rejected them, as if he already knew those tiny tokens carried Icarus’s feelings within them.

A prince with no foundation, pushed out of succession. While Icarus never lamented his own situation, the thought of involving someone he cared about in such circumstances was unbearable. And the idea was even worse when considering that Dietrich didn’t reciprocate his feelings. If Dietrich were to receive unwanted affection from a prince, what expression would she make?

‘She would avoid me completely.’

A future where Dietrich and Icarus were together seemed like the worst possible outcome for Dietrich, who had so many choices. Icarus reminded himself of this again and again, knowing that there was no chance for them to be together. Yet, the thought always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

‘Enough. This is for the best.’

Just as he had resolved someday before, Icarus hoped that even if they remained parallel lines, they could continue walking together for a long time, like something orbiting in a steady path. Every time he had the chance to close the gap, Icarus took a step back instead, striving not to stray from the orbit he shared with Dietrich.

But lines never go as the drawer intends, and even stars don’t deviate from their paths by choice.

Even if he didn’t maintain a distance, Dietrich, always charging ahead, would pull far away the moment Icarus let his guard down. To keep up with Dietrich’s swift strides, Icarus had to constantly hurry to stay close. But Dietrich’s steps were unpredictable, making it hard for Icarus to keep up.

“So, I want to finish this game quickly. I guess we’ll have to go our separate ways. I’ve rested enough; I’ll be going now.”

Whenever Icarus thought Dietrich had stopped, he would always dart ahead.

“That’s irresponsible.”

“…What?”

“You should be thinking about how to not get eliminated. What are you saying?”

But whenever Icarus tried to forge ahead, Dietrich would pull him back.

“I’ll just walk and carry it myself. You can ride your horse.”

And when he finally stayed close, Dietrich would find a way to push him away again.

Even in those brief moments, Dietrich’s erratic movements left Icarus tangled. Keeping up with those rapid steps left Icarus feeling like his entire being was in disarray.

So, what Icarus couldn’t stand wasn’t the moments when he failed to catch up with Dietrich. It was when Dietrich stopped moving.

Like right now.

Dietrich, who brought Thomple its first victory in five years, did not show up at the friendly match afterparty or the preliminary knight’s oath ceremony. When Icarus found out that Dietrich had come alone to the ball, which she said meant nothing if not attended by “that person,” Icarus couldn’t help but head towards her upon seeing her standing alone in a dimly lit hallway on the second floor, overlooking the grand ballroom below.

‘If I can be by her side now.’

But that resolve was crushed the moment the eldest Horatius called out Dietrich’s name. This wasn’t his place. Icarus turned back, his steps heavy.

‘What is he doing there?’

The foolish third son of the Usher family was wandering around the ballroom with another partner. Dietrich, as always, was listening earnestly. Annoyed, Icarus moved closer, disliking what he was hearing.

“Ah! Don’t pretend you don’t know. Your partner! Why did you let him go?”

Even that was thwarted. The loud yelling from the small, curly-haired figure carried all the way to the secluded terrace where Icarus stood. Soon, the two had left the terrace and were dancing, now joined by the Marquis’s eldest daughter, enjoying the ball.

So, Dietrich was fine without Icarus. Every hesitant step of his was met by someone pushing him forward.

It was just a fleeting moment when Dietrich, usually surrounded by people, stood alone.

In that moment, Icarus felt an impulsive, almost desperate desire to see Dietrich smile because of him.

‘…No, it’s not necessary.’

It was okay if it wasn’t because of him. It was okay if Dietrich didn’t smile at him. He just wanted to see her smile, even if just for a moment, without any worries. Watching Dietrich standing still by the wall, deep in thought, Icarus decided to cross a small line and tilt their orbit slightly, wanting to give Dietrich a small flower.

Once he made up his mind, it happened in an instant. Contrary to his expectations, Dietrich didn’t smile. Instead, he simply touched the flower bud on his palm a few times before turning away. When Icarus realized Dietrich’s destination was him, his heart ached.

In the moment Icarus fought to stay conscious, Dietrich’s face came into sharp focus. Her slow words rang clearly in Icarus’s ears. The face he met wasn’t smiling, but it was looking straight at him. Flower petals were still scattered in Dietrich’s black hair. Icarus had given Dietrich flowers. Dietrich, thinking he had brushed them all off, still had a few lingering petals clinging to her.

Perhaps that’s why Icarus clung more desperately, without even realizing it. Exhaustion prevented him from keeping his emotions in check, leading him to latch onto Dietrich’s hand, the handkerchief, and the fictional legend. Clinging to the feeble excuse that it was okay because Dietrich didn’t believe in legends.

“I’m not very perceptive and often can’t distinguish between human kindness and something more.”

So Icarus felt his heart plummet to a precarious edge at Dietrich’s words. Dietrich, whom Icarus knew, wasn’t someone to get confused by others’ feelings. Yet, the way he spoke indicated that he knew.

‘She knew.’

She knew Icarus liked him.

…Since when? I thought I was hiding it well. I thought I always stopped at the right distance.

Despite her unsure tone, there was no hesitation in Dietrich’s eyes. It seemed she had been preparing for this moment for quite some time. Otherwise, she couldn’t have rejected Icarus’s feelings so swiftly, even now, when only a small part of his heart had been revealed.

Realizing the truth in Dietrich’s eyes, Icarus felt a part of his heart, barely hanging on, collapse entirely. His heart shriveled, feeling as if it was being pushed to the outskirts of where it belonged.

“They say love and sneezes can’t be hidden.”

“If it becomes too obvious, I’ll let you know. For now, hide it well.”

This clever girl was skillfully and subtly rejecting Icarus’s feelings. Moreover, she was even providing an escape route for the feelings that had already been exposed, just as she had promised herself someday.

Icarus now knew what he had to say. Out of respect for her effort, he had to join in this play. The playwright, who had always given him terrible roles and lines, was finally offering him a somewhat decent part.

So he had to smile naturally and respond playfully. That was the line Dietrich had cleverly written for him, his stage direction.

‘So what I need to say is….’

But his mouth wouldn’t open. His body didn’t follow his mind. No, his body followed his true feelings. As he had once resolved, hiding his feelings, he just wanted to ensure that the girl in front of him could be happy, whether or not she was by his side. Yet, beneath that resigned resolution, a selfish desire slipped out.

Defying the destiny carved into his name, warning him not to covet the unattainable.

“I appreciate your kindness. But beyond that, I can’t afford any misunderstandings…”

“I like you.”

Icarus, unknowingly clutching his aching heart, let his feelings slip out. The exhaustion that had been suppressing his tightly locked emotions finally broke loose.

“I like you.”

He said it so completely that there was no way to take it back.

When Icarus slowly opened his eyes, what he saw was a face gone pale. Even in the darkness, Dietrich’s expression was vividly cold.

It felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him.

“Dietrich.”

Despite Icarus’s urgent call, Dietrich hesitated and retreated out of his sight. Stumbling steps hurried after him, but soon Dietrich disappeared into the crowd at the ball. Anyone who had seen that expression would have done the same—hesitated to stop him. Back at the dormitory, the memory of his clumsy confession, the poor manner in which it was delivered, and Dietrich’s unfamiliar expression lingered painfully in Icarus’s mind. The pain of that memory caused him to fall ill for several days.

Since that night, Dietrich was nowhere to be found. Neither in the classes they took together, nor at the archery range he always passed by, nor even at the library in the old building where he stayed until late. Icarus wandered through all the places Dietrich might be but never saw him.

“Dietrich? No, I saw him going to catch a carriage earlier.”

When Icarus, driven by a lingering hope, asked Dietrich’s curly-haired companion, the response left him feeling deflated. So she was avoiding him.

The sense of disappointment quickly faded. The moment Dietrich, who had never sought him out first, was waiting for him and knew what he needed to say. During those days when Icarus was ill, Dietrich, looking a bit more exhausted than usual, seemed otherwise unchanged.

“Let’s talk.”

Seeing Dietrich’s face again brought a wave of relief over Icarus. The warmth of seeing his familiar manner outweighed any sense of strangeness from Dietrich’s somewhat altered tone.

Dietrich led Icarus to his chilly dorm room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dietrich stared at the floor in silence. The lightness Icarus felt slowly faded along with the room’s warmth. Perhaps now was the time to face the result of his confession. Just as Icarus was about to speak about that night, Dietrich spoke first.

“Icarus.”

Dietrich looked up, meeting his gaze with an unfamiliar, businesslike expression.

“Listen carefully.”

Her voice was dry.

“The person you like is not me.”

Icarus felt his face gradually harden. Although he heard Dietrich’s words, their meaning didn’t fully register. Yet, as always, Dietrich didn’t wait for him to understand.

Before Icarus could fully grasp what he was hearing, Dietrich spoke words that would become an unforgettable moment in his life.

“That person is gone.”