For the third time, he awakens without being able to understand his surroundings. This time everything is white, and he can feel something prickling his skin. In a room white as paper and stinking like menthol, he is surrounded by empty beds, the one he’s laying in is more comfortable than the one he was sleeping in before, but what startles the boy the most is the fact that he is wearing a robe and is refreshed, as if someone bathed and changed him whilst he was asleep.

He raises his weak hand towards his face and chest to see it all patched up. On his arm there’s a tube with a needle inserted in his skin, it doesn’t hurt, but it tickles, the transparent liquid seems to be being fed to his veins through such a device.

Besides the bed he’s in, there’s the device and wallet that were inside his pants. He would assume the people that assaulted him would steal them, but it's all still there. Through the device he can see that it has passed two days since he has awakened in this body.

The door of the white room opens, a tall and robust man enters, he's wearing a black suit, his head completely devoid of hair and his dark eyes directed at the boy are filled with hostility. He speaks, and speaks, but there's no use.

Slowly he shakes his head, scared of moving too fast and angering the man further, raising his hand to tap on his ear and then mouth.

Back at the Palace, he was regarded as a stupid useless Prince, not only that, but most of the Palace staff saw him as the devil incarnate. It's hard to claim that their opinions of the boy were wrong, he may not recall everything, however he does remember being a brat. Those actions were deliberate, though, fear filled his days, fear of being hated, of people thinking he was aiming for my brother's throne, fear of being killed if people even entertained the idea that he might know more than he let on.

He was never stupid. Naive and scared? Yes. Tending to believe in those that were kind to me despite my flaws was always a weakness of mine, but what did it matter being used by them? My goal always was to be seen as a Prince unworthy of the crown. Not that he truly wished to be alone.

No human wishes to be abandoned by those they love.

Pretending to be mute and deaf is the only way of being able to navigate a place he does not have a way of communicating in. The man, however, quickly points out a hole in his claim, as he types something on his device and shoves onto his face.

Curses fill the boy’s brain as he tries to think of a way out of this, he cannot possibly also pretend to be blind. He shakes his head again, frantically. Will I be killed? I don't want to die again.

Then the man sighs, opening something else on his device and showing it to him. He points towards a number, the boy nods, then he points towards him, the boy nods again, at last he points to himself.

To not understand what he meant, he would need to be a complete moron. Somehow, the previous owner of this body not only didn't feed properly but also borrowed…

An exorbitant amount of money from this dangerous man.

His hands are red and bruised, clearly he was the one that broke the boy’s nose, and gods know what he might do to him if he does not pay him back.

I can't even feed myself, how will I pay him back? 

No, that isn't the only problem with this, I need to find a job, that's obvious. However, it's already hard without being able to communicate, but it's even worse considering I do not have any… proper skills.

If he were to work bossing people around, decorating a room or tasting different kinds of teas, then well he would be stellar. But other than that, he’s unable to even cook for himself.

After all, why would a Prince need to know how to cook when he has servants to do that for him?

The man sits on a chair and sighs again. He looks angry and his imposing figure makes him shake in fear. He doesn't know why they fixed him up after beating him to a pulp, or even where the money that was borrowed went. Not to food, that's for sure.

He speaks again, the boy shakes my head again, he groans before typing something on the device and showing it to the boy. The images show different people working at a restaurant, the utensils and food are different from what he’s used to, however it's quite obvious what they're doing.

He nods..

Then he proceeds to show him other pictures and he continues to nod.

From what the boy gathers, the man seems to wish for him to work as a dishwasher at a restaurant in order to pay his debt.

Problem is: I don't know how to wash dishes. How can I possibly say that to someone that broke so many bones of my body, though? 

So the boy nods, and the man continues, doing some gestures and showing him pictures until they are completely on the same page.

Basically this man's name is Aaron, he is working under a man named Gerald, to whom the boy owes the money to. Since he does not have a guarantor or a next of kin, they couldn't let him simply die and not pay his debt, therefore this current situation. For three months they'll keep the boy here, so that he becomes healthy again, while he will work as a dishwasher at two of their businesses.

After the three months whatever is left of his debt he’ll need to figure it out how to pay by himself. Of course they'll also charge for his stay and the resources spent so that he becomes healthy again.

Work will be from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day for the duration of this deal. So I, who never worked a day in my life, will work for three months 12 hours a day, while also recovering from malnutrition.

Yeah, sounds feasible.

Not that I'm in the position to negotiate.

After he finishes passing the information, he leaves, not looking back. A sigh leaves the boy’s lips as he lays down again, his whole body aches, if it was back at the Palace he would whine and complain, perhaps even threaten them with execution for harming a royal.

I'm not a Prince anymore.

Your highness, do you think your tears will earn the sympathy of your parents? No, the sight of a spoiled brat will only disgust them. So suck those tears up, and kneel again! That damned voice again, as if it was a memory trying to come back yet only the sound comes through. Regardless, just by the sound of the man's voice he can tell he does not wish to fully recall those memories.

Grabbing the device he starts to explore it once again, the letters and numbers used to write the language of this nation are similar to the one back in his home, so it's easy to assume names and locations, but other than that, there's not much he can guess. 

Well, I learned a language once already, I just need to do it once again, slowly, I'm sure I'll start to understand this unfamiliar world.

No.

I have to.

𓇢𓆸

Three months go by so fast yet so slow. From learning to read again at 18, to learning skills completely outside of his comfort zone and working himself to the bone, Balthazar’s days were filled with nothing but work and sleep.

Fear of death sure works wonders even for a Prince so sheltered that it rarely even attended the official parties of the Palace. Washing dishes is hard, but that wasn't the only work they gave him, chopping vegetables, transporting goods, with all of the labor, it took much longer for his ribs to fully heal.

One day I worked until midnight while my wounds bled through my clothes.

However, for a captive of loan sharks, he was well treated. They could've been worse.

And now that the three months are over, the job at the two restaurants will continue as - even after so many broken plates and cups - they said he did a good enough job. All there's left is to find a place to stay with the little money he has left after paying part of the debt.

He can finally also understand a bit of the language they call English, and read most of it as well. After the logic behind the language clicked, everything else came naturally. Way easier than the ancient language of the Empire he was forced to learn by his parents.

As he finishes packing his single small bag the door of the room he was staying at opens with a slam. The person standing at the door is terrifying, he's so tall the boy needs to look up, his blonde hair is buzz cut and his arms and face are covered in badly healed scars. 

Rumors circle around the businesses, about how Gerald is a dangerous man, and only moves towards his own self-satisfaction. Luckily for Balthazar, he didn't meet him during his stay here, only hearing about the rumors from his other employees.

His luck is made even clearer as the man’s eyes go from a neutral expression to one of pure interest, not the kind of interest you’d have over a debtor or employee… Nausea fills Balthazar’s soul, his whole body being overtaken by a sense of imminent danger, a chill running down his spine.

I need to run.

But his feet don’t move.

A scream almost leaves his mouth.

What use would it be? I’m in this man’s territory, and I am both deaf and mute to everyone else, screaming or even speaking would ruin all the work I laid to be able to survive this.

Do I really need to survive this?

Is it worth it?

An unloved Prince, unloved son, unloved brother and unloved friend. What changed? That now he has no one? Didn’t he already contemplate death then? Why is he so keen on surviving? Is it fear of death? Of ceasing to exist?

Just because he died once, should he submit himself to this humiliation?

My body barely got better, the ribs that took three months to heal, the bones that still stick through my skin, the sickly pale complexion, nothing is truly better. Yet what was he celebrating just a moment ago? That he was walking towards being free?

I knew how loan sharks work.

Again, naivety brought me here.

His steps are loud, his breathing unbearable and the moment his hand touches Balthazar’s face he unintentionally winces.

‘’...pretty…work…serve…money’’, the boy can only distinguish a few words the man says, his voice, his touch, it all makes the boy feel sick, dirty, disgusted at his own skin that was in contact with the man’s.

Slowly he shakes his head, a futile attempt to make the man let go of my face.

Another hand is placed on Blathazar’s butt, a reflux of the food that he ate that morning comes, burning his throat on the way towards his mouth, swallowing it before he makes this situation even worse, chills run down his whole body and he can feel his own face becoming paler.

The brush of the man’s hand on his butt makes him feel as if there are insects crawling inside his skin. A primitive instinct tells him to run, to hit this man and run as fast as he can.

But his legs don’t move.

Back as a Prince, as the ‘most pretty man in the whole Empire’, there were eyes like that everywhere, filled with the desire of consuming a person whole, greed of ruining one’s body, the title he possessed protected him most of the time, not always, but most of the time.

There’s nothing protecting him now.

‘’...work…job…’’.

Fuck, I cannot understand a word he’s saying, not only I am still not good enough at this language, but this man has a strong accent, making it impossible to understand what he says for someone that is learning it all from scratch.

He bends, his face nearing Balthazar’s.

No. 

No.

No.

He can’t.

In the face of danger, people have two instincts: fight or flight. However some might just freeze and allow themselves to be brought to ruin. What do you think, your highness? I believe the protagonist was a bit unrealistic on how he was unfazed at every single danger, even to a brave person, fear can be overwhelming. Another voice, this time from a different person, the tone is gentler, and it even prickles Balthazar’s ear, as if it’s whispering it directly into his ear. Although he cannot identify whoever it is, this person clearly treated him differently, his heart pounds, his fingers becoming numb.

I am not brave.

I am not a protagonist.

And I am not a Prince anymore.

Nobody is coming to protect me anymore.

No one is going to pity me.

I have no one.

Fight or flight.

What did I answer him back then?

Did he lie and say he would be brave? That he enjoyed a fearless protagonist even if it is unrealistic?

‘’...pretty…boy’’, the man speaks again before he touches Balthazar’s mouth with his.

Fight.

Impulsivelly he bites the man’s lips strong enough to the metallic taste of his blood to touch his tongue, pulling himself back and grabbing his bag. The man pulls him again, his grip on his arm is numbing, if he put just a bit more pressure, Balthazar’s bone would break. However he does not stop, he keeps struggling, he’s stronger, taller, bigger, by any means, maybe he would never escape his grip.

So he fights.

And fights.

His breath becomes unstable, his skin becomes purple with the struggle and the man keeps cursing, his yells ringing into Balthazar’s ears and the anger in his eyes make the boy’s whole body shiver in fear.

But he does not stop.

Kicking his chin, attempting to bite off his arm, anything. 

Desperation.

Tears fall from the boy’s eyes as he pulls his shirt open, pulling his body closer to his again. 

He bites his hand, finally becoming free of his grip, and he doesn't hesitate.

Flight.

Loud steps, loud heart, the corridors that once were short and quick to cross are now unbearably long, the air burns his lungs but he doesn't stop. He can’t stop.

What are loan sharks? Where did you even hear that, your highness? You shouldn’t concern yourself with the problems of common folk. You’ll never have to deal with those crooks. Hm? You still want to know either way? My goddess, you’re one troublesome child, huh? Well, loan sharks are people that lend money to other people, in exchange the person will pay back with interest. If they don’t pay up, they can resort to means like: threats, bodily harm and in some cases: death. 

The bag dangles on his arm as he pushes open the door of the building. Even now that he’s outside, he does not stop.

Why would people borrow money from them? You do seem eager to learn unnecessary things, your highness. They borrow money because they’re desperate, why else? The desperation of others is a weakness, the strongest exploit. Of course, you have no need to learn that, you’re not one of the strongest, after all.

He’s out of breath, every single time he inhales the air burns its way through his lungs, how long have I been running? Are they following me? Can I even escape? What will I do? I cannot even read the signs on the streets or ask for directions. Where would I even go? I barely know much about the place I am at.

As he is about to stop running to look behind him...

Everything turns dark and he loses consciousness, not even feeling his face falling towards the pavement.