The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

Muen looked at the First Prince, as if he truly could see an immeasurable weight hidden beneath that calm exterior.

Yes—just as Celicia had said, what identity brings is not only power and honor, but also equal pressure, responsibility, and the inability to act freely.

To wear the crown, one must bear its weight. Yet the First Prince didn’t even possess the right to refuse the crown. From the moment he awakened, from the moment he once again held the foremost legal claim to that position, neither his enemies nor his friends would ever allow him to take a single step back.

“So, Your Highness still intends to fight for it?”

“I have no choice but to fight.”

“But Your Highness doesn’t look like someone who intends to fight. It’s been some time since your brain illness was cured, hasn’t it? Yet at such a critical moment, you’ve been wasting your greatest advantage, making no moves at all.”

Muen tapped the table. “That isn’t what a smart person would do.”

“I know. I woke up too late. Time is my most urgent resource—but... on this point, I haven’t been lying.”

Albert picked up the silver cane he normally used, braced himself, and stood, taking two difficult steps forward.

Just two steps. Yet he looked like someone with uncoordinated limbs—his entire body trembling slightly with each movement. One could imagine that at the earlier ball, had his maid not been supporting him, Andrew wouldn’t have needed to provoke him at all; he would still have made a complete fool of himself.

“I haven’t been going out because of genuine physical reasons.”

Albert gave a helpless, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» wry smile:

“My body is also one of the few chips I have left. A First Prince who looks so frail he might die at any moment won’t attract many followers.”

“...I see.”

Muen’s gaze flickered. He let out a light breath.

“Then when will your body recover? Or will it... never?”

“You can rest assured about that. The physical problems are only temporary. I promise you.”

Albert sat back down.

“And I’ve already realized that my younger brother is finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate me. I’m afraid he’ll move against me very soon, so naturally I can’t just sit here and wait for death.”

“What’s your plan.”

“One week from now, there will be a fairly large-scale charity event in the lower district. I will attend.”

“A charity event?”

Muen raised his brows.

“Hehe, yes, a charity event. During this period, I haven’t been rotting away in my room the entire time, have I?”

Albert flicked a business card toward Muen.

Muen’s eyes fell on the card. Written in gold lettering, the words Charity Fundraising Banquet stood out prominently, followed by the venue and the host.

The signature read: Marquis Angus.

“Marquis Angus...”

For the first time, Muen showed a look of genuine surprise—because this Marquis Angus was no ordinary figure.

As the Empire’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Marquis Angus held no obvious factional allegiance. He spent his years traveling between nations, personally handling the Empire’s diplomacy. In terms of connections and certain kinds of influence, he might even surpass the Campbell family.

And most importantly—

Before his mother married into the ducal house, her full name had been... Noias Angus.

Which meant that Marquis Angus was...

“Uncle...”

Muen murmured under his breath, almost inaudibly.

A vague figure surfaced in his mind, already very faint in his memory.

It had been far too long. In Muen’s recollection, he hadn’t seen his marquis uncle for several years.

...That couldn’t be helped. Marquis Angus was perpetually busy, constantly traveling among nations. It was said that he had only briefly shown his face at his parents’ wedding before rushing off again, earning his mother’s complaints for quite some time afterward.

“Your Highness has already managed to make Marquis Angus side with you?”

“He hasn’t sided with anyone. I merely asked the marquis to do me a favor.”

“A favor... yet the fact that he’s willing to help at all is already a stance, isn’t it?”

Muen thought for a moment, then fixed his gaze on Albert.

“So, you intend to announce the First Prince’s return at this charity banquet?”

“It’s a very good opportunity.”

“And also very dangerous. In the palace, no one can easily touch you—but in a place like the lower district...”

Muen paused slightly. “I imagine Prince Andrew won’t give up such an opportunity.”

“Yes. Very dangerous. That’s why I’ve been troubled by this for a long time.”

Albert stood up again unsteadily, supporting himself with his silver cane, and walked to an exquisitely crafted cabinet.

He rummaged inside for a moment and took out a delicate little canister.

“I think earlier you only noticed that I had tea here. In fact, I also have some excellent coffee.”

After a series of practiced motions, Albert personally placed a cup of richly fragrant hot coffee in front of Muen.

“Please.”

“I never thought there’d come a day when I’d drink coffee personally brewed by the First Prince.”

“Hehe. I don’t think the coffee I brew is particularly special.”

“At the very least, in terms of satisfying vanity...” Muen broke off, “...ah, it’s good.”

With a light sip, the furrow in Muen’s brow relaxed without him noticing. The rich aroma filled his nasal passages; the bitterness and aftertaste were perfectly balanced. It was the same coffee, yet Muen could clearly feel that this cup brewed by Prince Albert was more than a tier better than the one he’d made himself earlier.

This wasn’t just a difference in beans. Albert’s brewing technique and control of temperature significantly elevated the quality. Without countless rounds of hands-on practice, it would have been impossible to produce coffee this good.

“Treating me to such a good cup of coffee... Your Highness means to ask for our help?”

Muen sighed softly, slowly exhaling warm breath from between his lips.

“Since I intend to fight, I naturally have to use every method available, don’t I? In truth, even if you hadn’t come to contact me, I would have found a way to reach out to the Campbell family.”

Albert smiled mildly.

“After all, even I’ve heard that the young master Muen of your Campbell family seems to have some small conflicts with Andrew’s current supporters. No matter what, an enemy’s enemy is naturally someone worth drawing close to, isn’t that right?”

“Your Highness means...”

Muen narrowed his eyes. “To force the Campbell family—perhaps even the entire royal faction—to stand on your side?”

“Hehe. That’s going too far. Anyone with ‘royal’ above their head has a stance that can be easily swayed by Father’s will. I wouldn’t dare openly pull them in.”

Albert shook his head slightly.

“But the Campbell family behind you... I want to try and win them over.”

“Of course, of course... this isn’t coercion.”

Albert pointed at the coffee in Muen’s hand.

“The tea you brewed for me earlier—I had to drink it. I had no choice.”

“But you—and the Campbell family behind you—are different. The transcendent status accumulated by the Campbells over generations, and the heavy frontier burden currently borne by the Duke of Campbell, determine that you still have the ability to extricate yourselves from this storm. You’d just have to pay some price.”

“So... whether this cup of coffee is drunk or not—the right to choose actually lies with you... with your side.”

“I’m merely the one who brewed the coffee.”