Abel, the second prince of the empire, was a guy who valued traditional values. Among them, he had a deep interest in “traditions” that were more popular and lower-culture, rather than the upper-crust traditions often referred to as “aristocratic society.”

To put it simply, he was just your typical fatherly figure you could bump into on any street corner.

If his younger sibling accidentally spilled food, that’s when Abel would swoop in with a handkerchief before the maids could even blink. Not exactly what you’d call noble. In fact, in today’s constitutional monarchy and parliamentary system, local aristocrats tended to emphasize “noble etiquette” even more. Think of the dukes and lords swanning around.

The parliamentary aristocrats, bickering loudly in Congress, were lacking in dignity. Politicians could get down and dirty if the occasion called for it.

As for the bureaucratic aristocrats serving the empire to maintain order… well, they were just glorified yes-men living as servants of law and order.

Now, the royal family, reigning above all that… neither politicians nor bureaucrats, really didn’t need to care much about decorum. It was sufficient to just exist as “royalty,” unless, of course, some embarrassing situation arose, like the imperial prince going through a sudden identity crisis and cross-dressing, dragging the royal family’s reputation into the mud.

So, it stands to reason…

Abel’s worries aligned neatly with those of “ordinary folks.”

“…Idris, don’t you think that dress is a bit too flashy?”
“Come on, big brother! Don’t call me Idris…”

It’s the kind of thing that happens when your sister (or brother?) shows up wearing a dress that’s basically a “look at me” sign.

Back in her cross-dressing days, Princess Is always wore frilly outfits that hid her figure and adorned herself with jewelry covering her neck and wrists.

But now that she’s fully embraced being a woman…

She was rocking a dress that screamed “femme fatale,” clearly reveling in the new changes. As Princess Is was busy picking out a coat to wear over her dress, Abel was pacing around, anxious.

“But Idris, you were a guy, remember…?”
“Why can’t our second prince watch his mouth?”

“….”
“Your Highness, could you do a favor for your cute niece?”

“…What kind of favor?”
“Next time you speak, maybe think about how it sounds to others? We’re not the only ones in this palace… it would be quite the pickle if we weren’t careful about what we say.”

“Oh right. I’m sorry.”

Just then, a maid sashayed in with the perfect timing, letting Princess Is know that the banquet was about to kick off.

Princess Is flashed a bright smile and replied,
“I’ll have a quick chat with the prince, just family stuff. Is that okay?”
“Sure thing.”

After a little bow, the maid took her leave.

Then, Princess Is greeted the prince with the utmost aristocratic flair.

“Your Highness.”
“…Yes, Is.”

“Please make sure His Majesty doesn’t grab any weapons, alright?”
“…..”
…
…
As Prince Abel headed towards the banquet hall, he let out a long sigh.

His mind had been flooded with worries lately. His sibling turning into a woman, diplomatic relations with Harren being restored, a whirlwind of public events keeping him on his toes, his puppy having a surprise litter, and his beloved potted plants wilting away… It was all just too much change to keep up with; he was feeling a bit worn out.

On top of all that, he was also responsible for organizing the Millennium Empire’s royal banquet, which sometimes made him grumble about his dad.

His older brother, the so-called crown prince, was off in the north claiming he was going to fight monsters, leaving Abel to handle most of the prince-related duties, though at least Enoch, the half-brother who now officially had the name Prince Idris, was stepping in to help quite a bit. They were sort of awkward around each other, so they didn’t chat much.

Anyway…

For all these reasons, Abel was experiencing the sweet embrace of burnout.

If he wanted, he could whip up tea rooms made of gold and build pillars out of gem-encrusted pottery, snap his fingers, and have an army at his beck and call, and even turn a river into wine and a forest into meat… but you know what? None of it really mattered in the end.

What he truly felt was this overwhelming fatigue, lethargy, and a deeply rooted sense of depletion—as if the very atoms that constituted his soul were sifting through his fingers like sand.

He hated it.

It’s why he had started letting things slide at work; as long as he left it all to someone he trusted, that was good enough. He hadn’t even bothered to check on the progress anymore.

That’s just how he felt about giving Homer the gig to orchestrate the royal banquet.

After all, if the man could transform his sister into a woman and was known to be the “literary transcendent,” Homer was definitely a trustworthy fella.

And today was the day to see the results.

What Abel hoped for the banquet was simple: to quietly hide behind some columns or kick back in a corner, avoiding the noble’s attempts to engage him and sneaking out before the night’s festivities reached fever pitch.

He longed for nothing more than to sleep soundly in his chambers.

That was all he wanted.

“What the… is that?”
“Oh, it’s an aerobatic flight performed by the new fighter jets developed by the Gray Tower.”

The banquet set up by Homer was proving to be anything but ordinary.

“And the one piloting that jet? That’s His Highness, the Crown Prince. The military arranged that just for him.”
“…My brother?”

…
…
The banquet prepared by Homer included so many bizarre and outrageous displays, it was mind-boggling.

Air shows from fighter jets, a huge fabric banner celebrating the new millennium that swayed beneath Haren’s airship, a massive fish tank passing underfoot, jewel-like ice mist, fireworks that looked like stars exploding in the sky, and even a Duke in a knightly costume who popped up out of nowhere, wolfed down a turkey, and vanished like a magic trick…

It was evident the extravagance went far beyond what the royal treasury could sustain. Just holding a banquet for even a single week would likely land the royal family in financial ruin.

Trying to grasp how they managed to pull all this off was beyond Abel’s understanding.

Could there possibly be a miracle that conjured up funds out of thin air? Maybe Homer’s literary prowess could explain that.

In any case, it was a spectacle worth watching. Initially, he couldn’t wait for it to wrap up so he could return to the palace, but as each new delight unfolded, he found himself eagerly anticipating what would come next. He hadn’t felt this alive in ages.

Finally…

The pièce de résistance of the banquet—the charity auction—was about to commence in the center of the ballroom.

…
…
“Ah! Mr. Homer!”
“A servant of the empire presents himself before His Highness, the Second Prince, Abel.”
“Thank you! This has surpassed all my expectations for an amazing banquet.”
“Thanks to the support of so many people. Honestly, I didn’t contribute much.”

Seriously, he didn’t do much.

He just casually recalled things from a past life and casually suggested, “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we had this and that?” and before he knew it, a gathering of wizards and merchants had formed, actually making it happen.

He was taken aback when the Eternal King showed up with one of Haren’s national treasures, dragon scales, when he had mentioned needing magical materials. He turned it down since his vault was stocked with plenty of scales gifted by the Dragon Slaying Transcendent. Then again, he figured the Eternal King was probably more surprised by all those scales than anything… or maybe not?

“You’re quite humble, Mr. Homer.”
“…Thanks.”

“By the way, where are you headed?”
“Oh, I was on my way to the charity auction. After all, the crown jewel of any banquet is the charity auction, right?”
“A charity auction? What’s that?”
“Well… think of it as a way to fundraise for charity by auctioning off items. Plenty of folks are willing to shell out big bucks for a famous person’s prized possessions.”

“Hmm? Is the welfare foundation facing a budget crunch? If you need funds, I can arrange sponsorship through the royal family…”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

In fact, they had too much budget, which was rather inconvenient.

As it stood, the funds gathered from this charity auction would be dedicated to benefits for soldiers (not the sword-wielding ones). Because, you know, “The Great Gatsby” had garnered attention through the World War II era, and they thought it fitting it be used to support servicemen.

In this world, many soldiers got injured or lost their lives fighting monsters at the borders. It didn’t matter how advanced their weapons were… the danger remained the same, risking their lives day in and day out.

“Your Highness, how about donating something meaningful to the charity auction? It doesn’t have to be expensive… just significant.”
“Something meaningful, huh…”

The prince pondered for a moment before nodding.

…
…
“Mr. Homer’s handwritten manuscript of ‘The Great Gatsby’ has been sold for 20,000 gold coins to bidder number 24.”
“Wow, I bought it!”
“Eww, if only I hadn’t exhausted myself trying to expand the top—.”

The handwritten manuscript of “The Great Gatsby” fetched a jaw-dropping price of 20,000 gold coins.

The manuscript was filled with the marks from Homer’s agonizing edits. Sure, those were traces of Ed’s own struggles in ‘translating’ it, but no one aside from Ed would ever get that.

“Congratulations, Mr. Homer.”
“Thanks. I think everyone just wanted to contribute to a good cause and overpaid on purpose.”

And with that, a new chapter was added to the mythology of Homer.

“And now, let’s move on to the Prince’s item, shall we?”
“Indeed. It’s a fountain pen bearing the imperial seal…”
“Oh! I’ve also received one of those as a gift from Princess Is.”

Abel, the prince of the empire, tensed up a bit.

His palms were sweating at the thought of his item being put up for auction.

“The next item is a golden fountain pen donated by His Highness, Prince Abel of the Empire! This fountain pen, marked with the imperial seal, grants the holder guest privileges at any diplomatic center of the Imperial Administration, particularly since it was issued during the reign of the current Emperor…”

A golden fountain pen that allows entry as a guest in any diplomatic mission across the Empire.

A cherished gift, and surely, each royal family member owned a few.

Given its rarity, the bidding price skyrocketed. Abel found it oddly exhilarating to watch.

A twisted sense of pleasure arose as people scrambled eagerly for his prized possession.

But that feeling was soon overshadowed by something else.

“Twenty-one thousand gold coins.”
“Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”
“Ah! Yes! It’s 21,000 gold coins!”

A familiar voice, casually outbidding “Homer’s handwritten manuscript,” as though it were nothing.

With the voice echoing through the hall, Abel spun around, looking possessed by a ghost.

“…Father?”
“An item representing the authority of the imperial family should fetch more than a mere stack of paper, don’t you think?”

And standing there was…

Abel’s father, the current Emperor of the Empire.

“…I greet the master of the empire.”
“Act as though you don’t recognize me. Consider it undercover.”
“Seems like everyone who should know has already caught on…”
“Watching those who act clueless while they know full well is part of the undercover charm.”
“I see your temper hasn’t changed.”
“You’re just as cheeky as your father.”

It was Abraham, the Lucky King.

“That fellow next to you… is that the famed Homer?”
“…Edgar, Count of Frieden, master of the Empire.”