Chapter 65: The Flower of the Empire

“Guide training?”

After a round of petting, Enoch lifted his head, his hand tracing Scott’s collarbone before subtly gliding down to his side. Scott, his face bright with anticipation, nodded in response.

“While I’ve always been an Esper-Guide enthusiast, I never actually received proper training. If I hadn’t started working with you immediately after my awakening at the center, I would have been attending classes there.”

“…That’s true, I suppose…”

Enoch’s words trailed off as his hand began to move again, eliciting a languid sigh from Scott. Just as Enoch leaned in for a kiss, Scott deftly turned his face away and continued speaking.

“So, I should be able to get that training here at the center too.”

“Sweet talk on the pillow is typically reserved for *after* the act.”

Enoch teased, lightly nipping Scott’s nose, which immediately flushed crimson, before his hand clasped Scott’s thigh.

“B-but I want to go see Ethan too!”

Enoch’s brow furrowed, a sign of his still-unfulfilled guiding. Though the tingling sensation in his fingertips had dulled slightly, he knew that only s*x with Scott could truly alleviate the agonizing headache.

Yet, today, Scott had approached him first, and it was clear he had something he wanted.

“…More importantly, Scott. My head is throbbing. Are you just going to neglect your Esper?”

Scott gently pushed away Enoch’s hand, which kept inching towards his inner thigh.

“Enoch, my body is still exhausted. We’re a matched Esper and Guide, aren’t we? Couldn’t a hug or a kiss suffice?”

Momentarily speechless, Enoch slowly sat up, carefully choosing his words.

“……Of course, it would. But Scott, that’s only when you haven’t been the one to initiate the seduction.”

“S-seduction…!”

Scott’s large eyes fluttered with shock. Enoch, who adored how Scott’s face openly displayed every emotion, took Scott’s hand and guided it to his already firm penis, which throbbed with anticipation.

“I wouldn’t want to torment my exhausted lover, would I? So, how about with your mouth?”

After all, oral mucosa contact still counts as guiding.

“Ah—”

Enoch let out a soft gasp of pleasure as Scott’s soft lips and the touch of his mucous membrane hesitantly enveloped him. He closed his eyes.

‘Who could it be? Who put such ideas into my innocent Guide’s head?’

“Soon, the Spring Festival will begin, and I’ll arrange for you to meet Ethan first.”

Scott, looking up at him with wide eyes, his mouth still around Enoch, was utterly captivating. Enoch gripped Scott’s head, desiring to go deeper.

“…Mmmph!”

“Ah, Scott…!”

With far too many potential culprits in mind, Enoch’s lips curved into a wry smile.

****

Upon returning to Aitoolia, Marquis Douglas Moore did not proceed directly to the capital. Instead, he lingered in the southern region, using factory inspections as a convenient excuse.

It was late one spring night, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers, when he summoned Hans Palmer. He used the secret line he had previously established for communication regarding the villa’s affairs.

“Your Excellency the Marquis? I thought this line had been decommissioned.”

[Hans, could you come here quietly? You may inform Bliss and Ethan.]

“What is the matter, sir?”

[I believe I will require your presence as Ethan’s guarantor.]

“…!!!”

[There may be those targeting you, so ensure you move with either Liam or Kyle.]

“Are they targeting me, rather than Ethan?”

[Their objective would be to replace Ethan’s guarantor. Or perhaps, to introduce foster parents who could undermine Ethan’s position.]

“…Such a thing!”

[I have someone to meet. Come, and we will discuss the details.]

Hans Palmer’s expression darkened as he powered down the tablet, a model long since discontinued. After a moment of deep thought, he checked the time and sent a message to Bliss Moore.

Shortly after, Bliss replied, also mentioning someone he wished to introduce and instructing Hans to come to the study.

A faint smile touched Hans’s lips at the amusing coincidence: both the Marquis and his grandson wanted to introduce someone around the same time. He walked down the corridor, knocked, and entered.

Inside, he saw familiar faces, along with an Esper with golden eyes whom he had never met before.

****

News spread that Genoa, the current king, who had been recuperating in a detached palace, had now fully recovered. Following the runaway Esper incident, the restrained tea parties of earlier days gave way to a flurry of banquets, as if a long-standing prohibition had been lifted.

The arrival of genuinely warm spring weather further fueled the excitement. Not only the nobility but the entirety of Ashilton began to stir with anticipation.

The Aitoolia Empire celebrated its Spring Festival in stages, moving northward from the southern provinces. For ten days, a colossal wreath crafted from the region’s spring flowers stood proudly in the main square.

On the final day, this wreath was passed to the next province in line, symbolizing the continuation of the festivities.

Given the empire’s vast territory, by the time the festival reached Ashilton, the capital, the southern regions that had initiated the celebrations were already well into summer. Nevertheless, Ashilton’s Spring Festival was a moment of immense domestic and international significance.

It attracted foreign journalists and media, who flocked to cover the event.

It was during this crucial period that an Esper attacked a reporter, albeit a third-rate gossip journalist. What began as a mere whisper of scandal quickly erupted into widespread public knowledge.

“Please grant us an interview! Is the Esper ‘Trisha Haxson’ truly His Highness, the Second Prince’s Esper?”

“What is the condition of the injured journalists, and which hospital are they admitted to?”

“Is she truly an Esper affiliated with the Center?! Is His Highness Devon Green truly a multi-Guide?”

“What will be Trisha Haxson’s fate?”

“Please, give us an answer!”

A throng of reporters, gathered at the Center’s entrance, swarmed Devon Green. Guards in bright grey uniforms, members of the Betelgeuse unit, formed a protective shield, blocking their advance.

Devon Green merely walked calmly through the barrier, offering not a single word in response to the barrage of questions hurled his way.

“We hear His Highness Devon Green won’t be inaugurating this year’s Spring Festival?!”

A reporter, seething with indignation, hurled a sarcastic question.

Ashilton, the capital city, housed the Royal Palace. A venerable tradition dictated that a Guide, bestowed with the title ‘Flower of the Empire,’ would inaugurate the flower-themed festival alongside their matched Esper.

This ritual was particularly significant in an empire renowned for possessing the largest number of Espers and Guides.

Until last year, this ceremony had, of course, been performed by Princess Consort Rosalyn Green and His Highness Herace, the First Prince. However, this year marked a significant change.

It was an opportunity to project a positive image globally, which was one reason Devon Green coveted the symbolic honor. It was also one of Rosalyn Green’s reasons for wanting to transfer the title to Herace’s closest confidant.

The reporter had deliberately provoked Devon, suggesting he was not the ‘Flower of the Empire’ in an attempt to make him respond to the interview. And the provocation worked.

Halting his steps, Devon Green turned his head towards the reporters, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, of course, it is true that the ‘Flower of the Empire’ traditionally heralds the festival. However, surely we cannot present someone for such an official event without a proper matching test, can we?”

The unexpected reply caused a ripple of murmurs among the reporters.

“…Does that mean the title could be passed to someone else?”

At someone’s question, the corners of Devon Green’s mouth curved slightly higher.

“That statement, I fear, might lead to the misunderstanding that I desire that title myself.”

‘Misunderstanding?’ Despite the reporters’ sharp gazes, Devon continued speaking in a serene tone.

“I understand that matching tests for certain ranks or professions are sometimes conducted in undisclosed ways. As you all know, the Aitoolia Empire’s Esper-Guide Center has experience conducting tests for the previous title holders, Princess Consort Rosalyn Green and Prince Herace.”

“To put an end to any doubts regarding the new ‘Flower of the Empire,’ if the Center is entrusted with the test, we will ensure that both the process and the results are disclosed transparently to the public.”

“…!!!”

A commotion erupted. Questions about Trisha Haxson resurfaced, but the core issue was already being overshadowed by this new topic.

Devon, after offering a charming smile from a spot ideal for photographs, opened the Center’s doors and disappeared inside.

“…Everyone, get out.”

The moment he stepped into the Center, the smile vanished from Devon’s face. He cursed at the guards who had escorted him, then stormed into his private room.

“Isn’t my rank a bit too lowly to be meeting you while being guarded by those aristocratic-smelling bastards?”

Victor Frankl, whose feet were propped up on Devon’s desk, chuckled. In response, Devon hurled the water bottle he was holding forcefully at him.

*Thwack—*

Victor, who had instantly caught it and closed the distance, brazenly looked down at him and drank directly from the bottle.

“Stop playing around. Where’s Trisha Haxson?”

“That crazy b*tch, I knew she’d cause trouble eventually. She complied readily with the arrest, apparently believing Prince Devon would get her out.”

“Where is she?”

*Whoosh—* A dog, appearing from nowhere, snatched the water bottle Victor had tossed. Devon’s face contorted.

“Where is sh— Ugh!”

“…Today’s my guiding day, isn’t it? Why are you getting so worked up over some other woman or man? If you have questions, ask them *after* we’re done, Your Highness.”

Victor whispered, subtly kneading the buttock his hand gripped. Devon slowly reined in his anger. He stroked Victor’s wild, mane-like hair as Victor pressed close, rubbing his hips against him.

“…Try not to act like a dog.”

Victor Frankl, already unbuttoning Devon’s jacket and pushing it aside, chuckled.

“What else would you call a dog but a dog?”

Devon, helping him shed his clothes, let out a small, wry laugh. Then, he fiercely gripped Victor’s hair, which was pressing against his nipple, and yanked his head back to meet his gaze.

“Like a good dog, kill that woman. Make sure she doesn’t interfere.”

The ‘dog’ flashed a brilliant smile.

“Then let me be the one to f*ck you today.”

Devon unbuckled Victor’s belt, a silent sign of permission.

*Gasp.* With a shudder that coursed through him at the slightest touch, Victor Frankl pulled Devon onto the sofa and climbed on top.