Game Of Thrones: I Became a Crown Prince For a Day

San Francisco, a beautiful city.

April 27, light rain.

Red String District, 8th Street.

The sky was dusky, the heavy rain pouring down and splashing dirty water onto the ground, mixing with the dust.

In a narrow alley next to a trash can, a soft rumblingsound broke the silence—a pitiful noise of hunger coming from inside a brand-new yellow cardboard box.

The box wobbled for a moment before toppling forward. The top flap, held loosely by a non-adhesive strip, tore open and swung against the wall.

A small head with short, silver-blonde hair peeked out. It was a delicate little boy with pale skin and wide, expressive purple eyes.

"I'm so hungry," Rhaegar pouted, placing his small hands over his rumbling stomach as if trying to quiet it.

Stop it, he scolded silently. You're keeping me awake. You don't even let me sleep when I'm hungry. Stomach, you're so clueless.

Licking his lips, Rhaegar glanced toward the narrow alley's entrance, where the rainwater was pooling and spilling out onto the wider street. He longed to step outside and search for food.

Days had passed since he'd been abandoned. His empty stomach felt like it had forgotten what joy tasted like.

Bang!

Suddenly, a muffled noise from outside the alley startled him.

"White-haired freak, are you aloof?"

"How dare you not greet us? Teach her a lesson!"

"That's right, you loner!"

The mocking bravado of several girls rang out, mingling with the dull thuds of blows and the crackle of schoolbags being thrown to the ground.

Rhaegar's heart pounded. Don't ask how I can tell, he thought nervously. The books with their colorful covers are lying all over the floor, and the black schoolbags have been tossed to the end of the alley.

"That was scary," Rhaegar murmured, hugging himself tightly. He decided it was better to stay hidden and endure the hunger a little longer.

Eventually, the bullying ceased.

Three high school girls with brightly dyed hair strode away, lighting cigarettes and sauntering off with smug satisfaction.

Rhaegar envied them just a little.

Cigarettes could be sold for a bit of small change. And small change could buy food.

Then he heard it—a soft, stifled sobbing sound.

The noise came from near the glass door of a retail supermarket at the edge of the alley.

A young girl with long, silver-blonde hair slowly got to her feet. She shook off the mud and footprints staining her clothes and bent down to gather the scattered books. Her movements were practiced, deliberate—a clear sign this wasn't the first time this had happened.

She wiped the corner of her eye, but her expression remained blank. Her fair, pretty face betrayed no emotion as she stacked the books neatly in her arms.

When she bent down to retrieve her schoolbag, the pile of books in her arms wobbled precariously, preventing her from reaching it.

That's when a small, dirty white hand extended toward her, clutching the schoolbag.

"Here you go," a soft voice offered.

The silver-haired maiden looked up, her gaze meeting Rhaegar's. His purple eyes glimmered faintly, his pale face slightly gaunt from hunger.

She grabbed the schoolbag without a word, turned on her heel, and walked into the retail supermarket.

No thanks. No glance back.

Rhaegar tilted his head, frowning. "Rude," he muttered before retreating back into the alley.

Carrying his cardboard box over his head, he shielded himself from the wind and rain.

One minute... two minutes...

Knock, knock!

The sound startled him.

Someone was tapping on his cardboard box.

Rhaegar froze, burying his head in an attempt to pretend he wasn't there. But through a small gap in the box, he saw something sitting on the ground near his feet—a plastic bag containing bread and milk.

"Huh?" His mouth opened slightly in surprise.

Quickly, he lifted the lid and poked his head out.

All he could see was the retreating figure of the silver-haired maiden, walking away with her tattered schoolbag slung over one shoulder.

Rhaegar's big purple eyes sparkled with amazement. Was that... a thank you?

It wasn't charity! It was a gift for helping someone. That's different!

But even as he thought that, he pouted. "That's a bit much," he mumbled, scrutinizing the bag of food suspiciously.

Then he straightened.

No, this isn't right.

Rhaegar got up. Rhaegar ran. Rhaegar chased.

Three seconds later...

Rhaegar ran back, hurriedly shoved the plastic bag into his cardboard box, and hoisted it onto his head.

This is my only asset. I must not lose it.

...

Red String District, Street 9

Rhaenyra walked home, her expression cold and distant. Her schoolbag hung precariously over a broken shoulder strap, swaying with each step. It had been another day of bullying, but she was already plotting her revenge. Those little punks in the alley wouldn't escape her wrath. She would find them, and she would deal with them quietly.

Clop, clop!

Footsteps splashed through the rain behind her.

She turned her head and saw a cardboard box—perched atop a pair of long, scrawny legs—awkwardly running after her.

When her gaze fell on it, the box crouched down and shuffled toward a lamppost, doing its best to hide behind the slim pole.

"Boring," Rhaenyra muttered, frowning, and turned back toward her home.

The house came into view—a modest two-story villa with warm light spilling from the windows. Through the slightly foggy glass, she could see her mother, Aemma, busily working in the kitchen.

Da-da-da!

The sound of hurried footsteps came again, louder this time.

Rhaenyra frowned and spun around just in time to see the cardboard box sprinting after her again.

Plop!

The box tipped over and fell to the wet ground, revealing a small boy sprawled underneath. He clutched a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth and an opened box of milk in one hand. The rest of the food lay in a tied plastic bag, which had rolled a little farther away but was mercifully intact.

Rhaenyra sighed and walked back to him, her annoyance clear. She bent down and helped the boy to his feet.

"What are you doing following me?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"It hurts," Rhaegar pouted, rubbing his bottom as he retrieved the plastic bag and held it up toward her. His voice was soft but determined. "Here you go, no more."

This girl was fierce, and she walked way too fast. He'd been too nervous to say anything earlier when he caught up with her.

"For me?" Rhaenyra asked, raising a brow as she eyed the bag. It was unmistakably the same one she had left for the homeless boy.

"I don't want your pity," she said curtly.

Rhaegar puffed up slightly, his tone changing to one of mock dignity. "I know where the welfare institute is. I can find something to eat there."

Rhaenyra fell silent.

After a moment, she asked, "Can you go to the welfare institute now?"

Rhaegar thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. The welfare institute opens at 8 a.m."

High school classes ended at 4 p.m., the same time the institute closed.

Rhaenyra's frown deepened as her silence stretched on.

Scratching his head, Rhaegar set the plastic bag down at her feet and pushed his cardboard box toward the alley's exit. "Bye. Thanks for the expired bread and milk."

"..."

Rhaenyra grabbed him by the arm, her voice exasperated. "Come back with me. Stay at my place for the night."

"Huh?"

Rhaegar was stunned. He was so shocked that he froze for a moment. Was this girl even stranger than that weird temp staffer at the welfare institute?

"Don't make me regret it, idiot!" Rhaenyra snapped, dragging the boy toward her home, which was now only a few steps away.

"Wait! My cardboard box!" Rhaegar cried out, yanking back slightly.

Rhaenyra sighed in frustration but released him.

Rhaegar hurried back, crouching to pick up his cardboard box. As he did, a small black cat slipped into it, curling up comfortably.

"Meow~"

The cat was tiny, its fur sleek and black with striking green eyes like polished agate. Rhaegar's heart melted.

Stray cats and stray kids just seemed to belong together.

"Can I bring the cat to your house as a guest?" he asked, holding the black cat atop the cardboard box.

Rhaenyra turned, her face blank as she took in the absurd scene. "Whatever. One is as good as two."

"Oh yeah, we're guests!" Rhaegar cheered, practically skipping as he followed her across the street.

Rhaenyra pushed open the door of her house, the creak of the hinges accompanied by her weary voice. "I'm home."

"Haha, the daughter's home!" came a hearty laugh.

A scruffy, silver-blonde middle-aged man with a warm smile emerged from the kitchen.

"Just a moment, dinner's almost ready," Aemma called out from the oven, where she was taking out freshly baked food.

"And I've brought someone else," Rhaenyra said flatly.

"Meow~"

Rhaenyra slapped her forehead in frustration as the cat meowed again, soft but insistent.

"Ah, is he a classmate?" her father asked, his eyes alight with curiosity as he and Aemma approached the doorway.

"Hello," Rhaegar said, hoisting his cardboard box high above his head with a sweet, innocent smile.

(Word count: 1,543)