I’m Stuck on a Remote Island With the Male Leads - Chapter 227

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Side Story 12
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“Goodness, I never heard that the ash-covered Prince could look so magnificent.”
It was what Margaret had said the day she first saw Enoch at the Imperial Palace Party.
She believed that was when she first met Enoch, but in truth, their first encounter had occurred far earlier.
Before meeting Margaret, Enoch had lived a desolate existence.
His powerless mother had been murdered by the Empress simply for giving birth to a son.
The investigation was never properly conducted, and the case was closed while the Emperor turned a blind eye to the truth.
The servants’ torment of Enoch, now bereft of his guardian, grew more severe with each passing day.
Moreover, there was Rodban, the legitimate heir born of the Empress, yet the Emperor declared he would grant the Crown Prince position to whichever successor proved most capable.
As the power struggle between the brothers intensified and grew fiercer, the harassment they directed at Enoch—treating him as prey—became equally relentless.
Tampering with his meals so he would skip meals, bearing false accusations and receiving punishment, being beaten in secret, having filth dumped upon him—such things became as routine as breathing.
“Poor Prince. How could they all be so cruel to this small child.”
Should a maid approach Enoch with sympathy and treat him kindly, she would return as a corpse the very next day.
The orchestrators were Enoch’s brothers and the servants they had bought off. Everything that transpired between them was permitted under the Empress’s orders, provided it did not cause too great a commotion.
There was no light in Enoch’s eyes. His face was filled with emptiness and helplessness—emotions far too premature for a child to bear.
The torment seemed endless. Most people desired Enoch’s death, while the rest remained indifferent to whether he lived or died.
Yet still, he endured each day.
Among those grueling days of desperate struggle, the most memorable instance of torment occurred in early summer, when he was fifteen years old.
That day was the eve of the Founding Festival, and it was also the first time Enoch would appear before the nobility.
It was Chris, the fifth Prince, who called out to Enoch as he finished his party preparations and headed toward the Party Hall, just as his other brothers had done.
“Hey, half-blood. You look rather princely today.”
Enoch’s expressionless gaze fell upon Chris. Chris inwardly flinched upon meeting those eyes—deep and hollow as a fathomless lake—but he composed himself and spoke.
“Let’s have some fun together today.”
“Why? Are you going to torment me again?”
“W-what? When have I ever tormented you? So you don’t want to?”
Enoch, several years younger than Chris, exhaled a sigh as weary as that of an old man who had lived a full life.
‘This bastard’s getting more insolent. He doesn’t act this way toward Brother Rodban—is he disrespecting me? Should I teach him a lesson?’
Chris frowned in thought, then shook his head.
‘No. I need to hold back today.’
Without voicing his true thoughts, he smiled brightly and extended his hand to Enoch.
“You’ll come, won’t you?”
Enoch stared at the hand extended toward him for a long moment before quietly nodding.
“Yes.”
Chris’s face brightened with joy.
Of course, Enoch did not trust Chris.
Yet even so, he could not help but hope and wish. He longed for there to be even the slightest shred of sincerity in what Chris had said to him.
The young boy, who had never experienced genuine love, affection, or attention, harbored such hope.
Inevitably, Enoch’s hope was shattered mercilessly.
Chris claimed the dress code had changed and sent a new maid with different clothing, and when Enoch entered the Party Hall wearing that outfit, he discovered it was the garb of servants, not attendants.
Upon discovering Enoch, the nobles whispered in alarm. The Empress narrowed her eyes with contempt, the Emperor ignored him entirely, and his siblings snickered alongside their peers of similar rank.
“Look, Ash-covered one. It seems you’ve finally come to your senses. That sort of attire suits you perfectly.”
Camilla, the second Imperial Princess, tapped Enoch’s shoulder with unbridled mockery.
“Now that you’ve recognized your place, why not remove yourself gracefully? Or must I, your sister, personally drag you out? Leave before Rodban sees you.”
Rodban, the Crown Prince born of the Empress, held the highest rank among the siblings. At Camilla’s words, the children giggled once more, their ridicule cutting deeper.
Without a word, Enoch turned and fled the Party Hall, emerging into a deserted Garden. His pace quickened with each step until he was running frantically.
Thud. Tumble—
His foot caught on a stone, and he fell hard, rolling across the ground until his appearance was utterly disheveled.
He lay upon the Dirt Ground, gazing quietly up at the Sky.
The sunset burned crimson. As Enoch stared blankly upward, his cheeks grew hot. Tears were flowing.
It was then that Enoch first learned tears could burn so intensely.
He clenched his lower lip. His chest heaved heavily as he fought to remain silent.
That was when it happened.
“What is this, foolish Rosemary. There was someone here.”
“Blockheaded Margaret. Look properly. It’s just a servant. Don’t concern yourself.”
“Arrogant and careless Rosemary. Aren’t servants people too? What were you doing during ethics class? Why is your character such garbage?”
“You’re hardly better than a scoundrel, so don’t worry. Didn’t you grab Lady Lanche by the hair this morning? Isn’t Lady Lanche a distinguished guest from Hestia?”
“Wasn’t it impressive? Mischief is only elegant when directed at someone stronger than yourself. What’s the point in defeating the weak?”
“True, Lady Lanche was rather annoying. That’s why everyone let it slide… or rather, your moral compass seems a bit off too, doesn’t it?”
Enoch forgot even to sniffle, looking up at the two girls before him with bewilderment.
The two girls, engaged in their somewhat profound and peculiar conversation, appeared considerably younger than Enoch himself.
The older girl, called Margaret, seemed to be around eleven years old.
She showed interest in Enoch, who lay sprawled on the ground.
“You seem quite hurt. Are you alright?”
The girl extending her hand toward Enoch was beautiful.
Platinum Blonde Hair bathed in the glow of sunset, and eyes as transparent as the clear blue Sky. Enoch had never seen a girl so beautiful in his entire life.
“What’s wrong, you’re not with it. Are you really okay?”
Only after Margaret asked again did Enoch regain his composure and push himself up.
Now he saw his own appearance clearly—filthy, unkempt, dressed in clothes fit only for servants, his face streaked with tears.
It was natural they would mistake him for a servant. This was his first day formally presenting himself to the Social Circle, and he had suffered such humiliation in that very place.
No one looking at him now would ever believe he was of the Imperial Family.
His face burned with shame he could not bear. He wanted to disappear entirely. Though he should have grown accustomed to such contempt by now, he found he could not.
Rosemary glanced at Enoch, who stood motionless, and urged Margaret forward, who seemed reluctant to leave.
“Margaret, the Fireworks are about to start. We need to hurry.”
“This one seems a bit slow. I think we should help. You go ahead.”
“You’re not doing this just because of his face, are you?”
“Rosemary, even you’d admit he’s handsome, wouldn’t you?”
“…Scoundrel sister, I’m going on ahead.”
The girl called Rosemary grimaced at Margaret, then truly did leave the Garden alone.
Enoch looked up at Margaret with an expression of utter bewilderment.
“I don’t know who was bothering you, but did you get your revenge?”
At Margaret’s question, Enoch shook his head blankly. She immediately furrowed her brows.
As Enoch hesitated before the commanding presence of a girl who looked considerably younger than him, she let out a sigh.
“Listen well. Fighting is about striking first. If someone bothers you, grab them by the hair and make them listen.”
“…You’re not a noble?”
“I can act noble after I win the fight. What matters is winning.”
It was truly peculiar logic—words that should never come from the mouth of a child who couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve years old.
Enoch found himself wondering how this household educated their children.
“Who told you that?”
“My future self from a dream. I’ve been having strange dreams ever since I returned from the Magic Tower. My future self said it—life is fundamentally made up of terrible timing. I’m not the strange one; life itself is just inherently terrible. I was deeply moved, and sure enough, even in the future I’m still spouting impressive lines without change. Anyway, that’s not what matters right now.”
To dream of one’s future self—truly an odd dream indeed.
As Enoch listened, he found himself wondering what his future self might be doing.
Lost in thought, he suddenly felt the girl’s face lean into his view.
“It looks like you’ve stopped crying now.”
Margaret gazed at Enoch and smiled beautifully.
“I wasn’t crying.”
Enoch wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand as he answered. Seeing this, Margaret laughed and extended her hand toward him.
“Then would you like to go watch the fireworks with me? They’ll start soon.”
Enoch stared blankly at Margaret’s small hand extended toward me.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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