Click.
The sound of Ji Hoon's bedroom door closing felt like the first true silence he'd heard all day. Ji Hoon leaned back against the heavy wood, the last vestiges of courtly posture dissolving into pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
With a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet, he pushed himself forward. His fingers, usually so precise and steady, fumbled with the intricate fastenings of his formal noble attire.
He didn't carefully unbutton them; he all but ripped the coat off, letting it fall in a heap on a nearby chair. The waistcoat followed, then the cravat, tossed aside without a second thought.
It was a level of disarray the neat-freak chef in him would have found appalling on any other day. But today wasn't any other day.
He changed into soft, simple nightclothes, the familiar fabric a small comfort against his skin. The events of the week played in a jumbled loop behind his eyes: the blinding tension of the ICC arena, the flour-dusted chaos of the alley fight, the crushing weight of a thousand noble stares tonight.
Seeking an anchor, he walked to his desk and picked up the top book from the small stack he'd borrowed: Our World: Terra. He carried it to his bed, the thick mattress dipping as he climbed in.
Reaching over, he touched a small, smooth button on the base of his bedside lamp. With a soft hum, the light stones within it glowed to life, casting the room in a warm, golden pool that pushed back the shadows but did little to quiet the ones in his mind.
He tried to read. His eyes scanned paragraphs about continental maps and foreign flora, but the words blurred and slid away, replaced by a single, sharp image: Princess Yuliana's green eyes, first narrowed behind a mask in a competitive kitchen, then wide with shock when he'd called her a cook in the moonlit garden.
'Yuna. Yuliana... I don't know why she reminds me of 'her'...'
He let the book fall closed with a soft thud onto his chest. Staring up at the intricate patterns on his canopy, he replayed the entire, surreal conversation.
For the first time in a long while, talking about Yoon-Ah hadn't felt like picking at an old wound, but like sharing a quiet, cherished memory.
This whole week—this whole new life—had been a whirlwind, and only now, in the stillness, could he feel the true weight of it all.
A final, weary sigh escaped him. The competition's second round was tomorrow. He needed a clear head, not one cluttered with princesses and political pitfalls.
He placed the book neatly on his nightstand, his neat-freak habits finally reasserting themselves. With another tap of the button, the light stones dimmed and went out, plunging the room into a darkness that promised, if not peace, then at least a few hours of respite.