I Start with a Bad Hand!

He glanced at my expression before answering. “Relax your frown,” he said, not forgetting to tap my notebook once.

“No. I just picked it up on my way here. You keep losing your sleeve buttons so carelessly.”

…

“It’s no big deal. Just take it.” Icarus no longer looked in my direction.

“You picked it up?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you tell me where it came from? If you can’t, I can’t accept it.”

“…Why not?”

Avoiding my gaze all this time, he finally looked me in the eyes as he asked. I was out of excuses. To firmly refuse his gift, I had to reveal the embarrassing truth about my real family.

“Someone I know once got into big trouble for mishandling stolen goods.”

“What?”

“My family was in an uproar, truly. Since then, I’ve been wary of things when I don’t know their origin.”

I recalled my grandfather’s incident, where he had caused a stir in the family by acquiring stolen goods. I had warned him so many times not to bring home just anything he found….

Claiming someone else’s family tree as our own, taking other people’s belongings—it seemed I was paying for my grandfather’s habit of secretly taking things that didn’t belong to him.

Hearing the sincerity in my voice, Icarus sighed briefly and then fell silent. After a moment, he replied in a sulky tone.

“Even so, you think I’d just give you someone else’s stuff….”

“Then you brought it specifically for me?”

This time, Icarus shut his mouth. I didn’t press him further either.

***

When I entered the rehearsal room, Icarus was reading a book in a rather contrived pose. Behind the fluttering curtains of a slightly open window, he was perched halfway on the window sill. His fine blond hair shimmered brightly in the sunlight.

‘What is this…?’

I nodded in greeting and placed my books and script on the desk. He remained in his uncomfortable position on the window sill. As I sorted through the books and scripts, I asked Icarus,

“…Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“The sunlight is nice.”

I see. I opened the script I had brought. This semester, we had to prepare a comedy. Writing comedy was a challenging task for someone like me, lacking in humor and wit. Even reading comedies written by others didn’t amuse me much. I listlessly flipped through the assignments of my drama club peers, brought for peer review.

‘Is it just me reading it wrong? This kind of humor…’

Had the club president also possessed this kind of humor? I examined the puns that felt straight out of a middle-aged fantasy novel, reminiscent of jokes from the older generation in my hometown. Underlining a particular section, I called out to Icarus. He lowered his book slightly and looked at me.

“Your Highness.”

“What is it?”

“Do you know what a strawberry is called when it loses its job?”

“…?”

“Strawberry syrup*.”

From his expression, I could tell I wasn’t the only one who didn’t find that part funny. After a long silence, Icarus stammered.

“Is that… the next line in the comedy?”

“No. This is written by another student.”

Then, like sunlight pouring over him, Icarus laughed. Oddly, it stung a bit. What does he think of me, really? Nevertheless, he hid his face behind the book and chuckled. He must find it funnier because it’s not his problem.

“What on earth is the drama club teaching that everyone’s skills are deteriorating?”

Are they even learning anything? Is everyone just getting contaminated by your scripts? His smirk was annoying. His laughter was so unguarded that I wanted to put a little wrinkle in it.

“My lines are funny.”

That stopped his laughter.

“…Really?”

I asked calmly.

“What do you call a gathering of hats?”

“Do gatherings of hats need to have some special meaning?”

“A straw hat convention**.”

Seeing Icarus’s expression, I burst into laughter, and soon he joined in. Of course, my saying, “I’m serious, I wrote that line thinking of you, Your Highness,” wiped the smile off his face again.

He groaned as he got down from the window sill and approached me. He glanced at the clutter of playbooks and scripts from my drama club peers and asked.

“So, you’re preparing a comedy this time?”

“Yes… but it’s not easy.”

“It looks that way.”

When I glared at him, he shrugged, saying no one can be good at everything.

“Then help me out a bit. Is there anything you’ve read that’s funny?”

He still held the book he’d been reading earlier in his large hand. Realizing I was looking at the book, Icarus smiled and answered.

“A poetry collection. It’s not that funny.”

“Oh… I see.”

My interest waned, and I adjusted my grip on my pen.

“You read poetry? That’s quite romantic of you.”

“It’s actually not all that… romantic.”

“Not very funny, not very romantic. Who wrote it? A philosopher?”

“It’s by someone from the Kingdom of Lucero.”

“Oh.”

I couldn’t not know. It was a country that had come up a few times in our modern Cavalluna continent history class.

“Even though you say it’s not fun, you’re still reading it. You must really like it.”

“Something like that.”

“What do you like about it so much?”

At this, Icarus smiled playfully.

“Shall I read it to you?”

“Uh… no. I don’t really like poetry.”

“Your life is so harsh because you lack romance.”

“My life is already quite moist with sweat and tears.”

He exaggeratedly slumped his shoulders in mock disappointment.

“Show some mercy to a joke, just as you do to straw hat jokes.”

“…It’s hard to be more amusing than a straw hat.”

Deciding to let his words wash over me, I nodded while keeping my eyes on a fellow drama club member’s script. Soon, he began to read a verse. The familiarity of the sounds made my hands stop.

I stared blankly at his moving lips. Noticing my gaze, Icarus’s lips curved into a smile.

“You said you weren’t interested. Are you curious about its meaning?”

No, I didn’t need him to interpret it. I knew the language well.

‘Why is that language… in this world?’

“To oneself. Nevertheless, do not be discouraged. Nevertheless, do not give up.”

The words coming from Icarus’s mouth were in a language I couldn’t mistake.

It was German.

My major. The language I hadn’t revisited since taking my final qualification exams for graduation. A skill I thought less useful in this world than playing the reed pipe. Yet, here was Icarus, speaking German with clear pronunciation, and the meaning was sinking into my ears as if etched there.

I spoke to him, doubting my ears.

“…Say that again.”

“What?”

I hurriedly blurted out in German.

“This language. You just spoke it.”

He looked puzzled and asked.

“Lucero?”

“Lucero?”

“Yes. Why would you ask about the name if you can speak Lucero?”

His response left me grappling with an unbearable sense of confusion and frustration about this world.

‘They’ve copied everything. Is there even such a thing as originality in this world?’

Seeing my lack of response, Icarus closed the poetry book and asked.

“When did you start studying Lucero?”

“I had to study it a while back.”

“Oh.”

“…It’s been a while, so I’m not very good.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then changed the subject.

“Well, if you need any help with the comedy, let me know. I’m better at reading than writing, but I might have some ideas.”

I appreciate the offer, even if it came from a world so puzzlingly similar to my own.

Embarrassed, I turned my gaze to the book he was reading. He followed my gaze and handed me the book. The text was indeed in German. I hadn’t realized how comforting it would be to encounter a foreign language in a foreign land.

“You’re quite fluent yourself, Your Highness.”

“I spent a few years in the Kingdom of Lucero.”

When I was young. It was still a duchy back then. Seeing that I was still fixated on the poetry book, he tapped the desk a few times and hesitated before speaking.

“…Do you want to check out other books?”

He led me to the library of the old building, specifically to the Luceroan literature section. It was tucked away in a corner, with just a few modest bookshelves. I ran my fingers over the titles embossed in gold and silver.

“Gaust. Is this supposed to be Faust? By Johann Wolfgang von… Foete. Huh. Next to it is The Four-Penny Opera… they really don’t hold back, do they?”

I chuckled softly. I never thought I’d find a connection to my old world here. The unexpected presence of something that formed a small part of my life made my nose tingle with a sudden surge of emotion.

“Do you like it so much that you’re about to cry?”

“…I’m not crying.”

Most importantly, this was entirely mine. The only reason I could understand this foreign language in this strange place was because of the time I had invested. Though rusty, I could still comprehend it. It was a hard-earned achievement, giving me a warm, vague sense of pride in my true self.

“Feeling better now?”

“Sorry?”

“Since we first met, you seemed a bit down. Now, your expression seems to have softened.”

Icarus had crouched beside me, examining the lower shelves. He looked both cute and funny, squeezed into the narrow space between the bookshelves, making me smile and nod.

“It’s interesting.”

“Even though there’s nothing particularly funny or romantic about it.”

Does this make you feel better? He took the book I had been reading and skimmed through it. It was a scene where Faust was being roasted in hellfire. Not exactly entertaining, yet Icarus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the page, despite his grumbling. Maybe he found it interesting.

I rested my chin on my hand and watched Icarus read. He was someone I should keep my distance from, someone I shouldn’t give any room to. Yet, he continuously led me in unexpected directions, his face appearing bright and clear in those moments. Mesmerized, I replied.

“Exactly. It’s neither very amusing nor romantic.”

Yet, I seem to like it. As I gave a shy smile, he lost his balance, swayed, and then fell with a loud thud.

TL/N:

*This Korean joke plays on a pun involving the words “시럽” (syrup) and “실업” (unemployment).

**밀짚모자 (Straw hat): The punchline is a play on words. “밀짚모자” literally means “straw hat,” but if you break it down, “밀짚” (miljip) means “straw,” and “모자” (moja) means “hat.” The joke plays on the sound similarity between “모자가 모여” (mojaga moyeo, hats gather) and “밀짚모자” (miljipmoja, straw hat).