A Begotten Son's Warzlement

| 01 |

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Lies are beautiful, such are hopes, dreams, and delusions. As for why humans hold on to them is not these people's inability to resist them but these lies' abilities to deceive them.
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꧁ This King Is Actually Authentic ꧂

He was called Myko since the day he gained consciousness and for as long as he could remember, and though he lived quite comfortably, it wasn't exactly what you'd call a life of extravagance. It was simple and peacful, nothing too fancy, nothing too unusual. However, his string of fate seemed to have gotten tangled with others.

"Prince Alexander—" the voice stopped, followed by a clear of their throat. "How have Your Highness been?"

Prince? Him?

What type of doctor had they invited over yet again? And what type of hospital had they sent him to? Myko couldn't help the worry as he tried to calculate the expenses. The room he was in was dreadfully large and extravagant that he paled from the thoughts of it.

He scanned his surroundings and tried to look for a familiar face amongst the very strange looking room. He needed a good talk with his family. How ever hard they might spoil him, it did not mean they had to go as far as to send him in a medieval-themed hospital-no, actually, they shouldn't even have considered hospitalizing him at all.

Did such hospital even exist? Then again, considering all the crazy things the world was on about, it was only but a pebble thrown in a thick mud, creating non-existent ripples.

There were a few people in the room, all of which were strangely standing by the corner without much movement. They were dressed like servants, but Myko deduced they could be nurses. He couldn't even make a set of multiple choice and randomly choose C to make a heads or tail about what happened to have him receive this type of VIP service-he couldn't possibly be a VIP patient... right?

Although his family had lived a lot better than most middle-class, they were not very rich. And though they could be quite impulsive when worrying about Myko, their IQ couldn't possibly have deteriorated to the point of squandering all of their not-really-worth-mentioning properties for a useless matter that wouldn't really treat whatever illness he contacted this time and instead induce more headache.

So what on earth was going on?

His eyes stopped on the person closest to him, who was an older gentleman dressed in the white doctor's coat over a traditional men's fashion back in the old western era, of which he knew not a lot about of. Then the doctor's hanging question echoed in his ears.

How was he?

His body felt heavy, and his mind was in a disarray of worries and flashing alarms, but if he were to voice them out, would they force him to stay for a few more days while their expenses become more worrisome than it already was? He feared his sister might just sell her kidney.

So, then, how was he feeling?

Why, fantastic, of course.

"Your Highness?"

Myko wanted to open his mouth, but his lips glued themselves together. Maybe his lips were dried, or his throat was parched, but something was stopping him from speaking, so he was quick to give up. Only his eyes remained wide in confusion, but the people around seemed to have problems of their own as they peeked at each other through their lashes like a bunch of coquettish peaches drawn in exaggeration he'd always see on his sister's Nutrition month posters.

Hopeless and weak, he retracted his gaze and laid limp on the impressively large and soft "hospital" bed.

Then, as though just as hopeless, the doctor turned to the people at the corner, his gaze asking for help. The shortest female dressed in a peach maid outfit stepped out. Myko tried to look, but there was stiffness on his neck. He could only see the outline of her brownish hair.