The Next Prince

01 Number One in the Fencing Club

'A sword is a symbol of decisiveness, representing the power to judge, enforce laws, and determine right from wrong. It's a weapon that decides the fate of others.

Thus, the sword in Lady Justice's hand is a double-edged sword, symbolizing the law's ability to punish the guilty and protect the innocent simultaneously.

However, such power can lead to justice or injustice if the wielder doesn't consider the evidence impartially. The sword must always be lower than the scales to show that—'

The soft voice of the female narrator from the documentary Sword of Justice continued on the iPad, even though the person who'd turned it on wasn't paying attention.

In a medium-sized bedroom, a slender figure was focused on his favorite saber in hand.

He carefully wiped it slowly, admiring its sleek shape and how comfortable it was when gripped with fascination. Then, he sheathed the blade in a cloth cover before placing it in his bag, along with a pair of brand-new gloves he'd just received the previous evening.

Khanin turned off the documentary and stood up to his full height. The young man grabbed his trusty black backpack containing his fencing gear and slung it over his shoulder.

Today, he had to leave a bit earlier than usual because he had a training session with the new kids at the fencing club. He needed to hurry a little more than usual.

As he stepped out of his bedroom and was about to close the door, his hooded eyes swept over his 'pride and joy' displayed on the shelf.

Khanin's room was filled with various swords he'd won from bets with friends. He looked at them proudly before closing the door and cheerfully heading down the stairs.

"You're five minutes late from the time we agreed on. Be punctual next time."

Khanin's steps halted immediately upon hearing the stern voice of another person, none other than his father... Tatdanai.

"Yes, sir, I'm aware of that."

Khanin shrugged and sat down at the dining table without even glancing at his father, who was busy at the stove.

He pulled out his phone to read a message from Paul, his best friend at the fencing club, who texted him since the morning. But before he could type a reply, the breakfast was placed in front of him.

"I've told you before, when you're at home, use our language," Tatdanai said in a stern voice, his face as expressionless as ever.

'Our language,' Khanin thought with a scoff. The language his father referred to was Emma, as his father was from a small Southeast Asian country called Emmaly.

Tatdanai was from there, born, raised, and deeply connected to that country. But Khanin wasn't... He was born and raised in England.

He didn't understand how Tatdanai could claim it was 'our' language. Khanin thought it was more his father's language. Since his father said he was born and raised here, his language should be English, not Emma.

Even though Khanin wanted to retort, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself when he noticed the tension on Tatdanai's face.

"Khao Soi again?" Khanin muttered, looking at the food in front of him. He used a fork to poke at the noodles in the curry soup with coconut milk and orange chili oil, twirling the yellow noodles and frowning at his father, who'd just sat down across from him.

"You know I don't like Khao Soi because it stains my clothes," said Khanin.

He remembered the times he ate his father's Khao Soi and ended up with splashes on his shirt. It was... messy.