Pikabo
Makopa/Zhen
- Discord
- pikabo8380
Inspired by @Arc's My Greatest Honor, My Darkest Shame.
from My Honor and Shame (2021)
By Crown Prince Yasuhito
Issued by Iwanami Shoten
I was sitting in my room, staring at the plush toy soldier on my bed. Little Trooper Takeru, its name was. It had been a childhood treasure of mine, though I hadn’t thought about it in years.
"Your Highness?"
My private secretary’s voice brought me back to the present.
"Hmm? Yes?"
He approached with a blue folder in his hand. The white dragon emblem of the Kamaheo dynasty stood out sharply against the cover.
"This is for your interview," he said, extending it to me.
I took the folder and turned it over in my hands.
"His Majesty wants you to memorize answers for certain questions," my secretary added, his tone carefully neutral.
I couldn’t help but snort. "Is that so?" I muttered, shaking my head. "Typical of him. Doesn't trust me with anything."
"He doesn't want you to be overwhelmed," came the gentle reply.
I glanced at him. "He doesn’t want me to embarrass him," I said flatly.
I opened the folder and began skimming its contents. Words jumped out at me: achievements, role, past, public, acceptable, sensitive, off-limits. And then I saw it—a phrase I hadn’t expected to see again.
Little Trooper Takeru.
It was accompanied by a warning: It must never be mentioned to the reporter.
I frowned. "Why am I not allowed to talk about Little Trooper Takeru?"
My secretary coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "Umm… Your Highness, well... Don’t you already know, sir?"
I looked at him, incredulous. "You don’t mean..." And then I laughed—a loud, unrestrained bark. "Don’t tell me they still believe in that stupid story?"
"The story has resurfaced," he said cautiously. "News about your divorce with Princess Michiko—"
"She’s not a princess anymore!" I snapped. "Stop calling her that!"
He flinched but quickly corrected himself. "M-Michiko! Yes, your divorce with her has prompted the press to scrutinize your past, trying to connect dots where none exist. They want to rile up their dwindling readers with royal gossip."
"Whatever they want, they have no basis," I said, my voice tight. I looked away, clenching the folder. "The story isn’t true."
But the memories of that cartoon surfaced anyway. The patriotic supersoldier, Little Trooper Takeru, chasing down a scruffy burglar who’d stolen farming supplies. The speech he gave after subduing the thief about protecting peace and order for the sake of the nation. What was so wrong with that? Why had it become such a scandal?
"And His Majesty also asked that you not mention Her Majesty the Grand Queen," my secretary said hesitantly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Am I not allowed to talk about my own mother?"
"If the interviewer asks, you can. If he doesn’t, you shouldn’t bring it up. It’s also Her Majesty’s personal request."
I said nothing.
But the memories came back anyway.
You stupid boy! Why did you call them?
She’s a filthy communist. The people should know about this.
Her voice, sharp and unrelenting, echoed in my head.
But you said... The communists—
That’s different!
I could still feel the phantom pain above my ear where her hand had struck me. I rubbed the spot absently, as though trying to soothe a wound that had long since healed.
I’m sorry!
You should be!
The words lingered, as they always did, no matter how much I wanted to forget.
from My Honor and Shame (2021)
By Crown Prince Yasuhito
Issued by Iwanami Shoten
I was sitting in my room, staring at the plush toy soldier on my bed. Little Trooper Takeru, its name was. It had been a childhood treasure of mine, though I hadn’t thought about it in years.
"Your Highness?"
My private secretary’s voice brought me back to the present.
"Hmm? Yes?"
He approached with a blue folder in his hand. The white dragon emblem of the Kamaheo dynasty stood out sharply against the cover.
"This is for your interview," he said, extending it to me.
I took the folder and turned it over in my hands.
"His Majesty wants you to memorize answers for certain questions," my secretary added, his tone carefully neutral.
I couldn’t help but snort. "Is that so?" I muttered, shaking my head. "Typical of him. Doesn't trust me with anything."
"He doesn't want you to be overwhelmed," came the gentle reply.
I glanced at him. "He doesn’t want me to embarrass him," I said flatly.
I opened the folder and began skimming its contents. Words jumped out at me: achievements, role, past, public, acceptable, sensitive, off-limits. And then I saw it—a phrase I hadn’t expected to see again.
Little Trooper Takeru.
It was accompanied by a warning: It must never be mentioned to the reporter.
I frowned. "Why am I not allowed to talk about Little Trooper Takeru?"
My secretary coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "Umm… Your Highness, well... Don’t you already know, sir?"
I looked at him, incredulous. "You don’t mean..." And then I laughed—a loud, unrestrained bark. "Don’t tell me they still believe in that stupid story?"
"The story has resurfaced," he said cautiously. "News about your divorce with Princess Michiko—"
"She’s not a princess anymore!" I snapped. "Stop calling her that!"
He flinched but quickly corrected himself. "M-Michiko! Yes, your divorce with her has prompted the press to scrutinize your past, trying to connect dots where none exist. They want to rile up their dwindling readers with royal gossip."
"Whatever they want, they have no basis," I said, my voice tight. I looked away, clenching the folder. "The story isn’t true."
But the memories of that cartoon surfaced anyway. The patriotic supersoldier, Little Trooper Takeru, chasing down a scruffy burglar who’d stolen farming supplies. The speech he gave after subduing the thief about protecting peace and order for the sake of the nation. What was so wrong with that? Why had it become such a scandal?
"And His Majesty also asked that you not mention Her Majesty the Grand Queen," my secretary said hesitantly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Am I not allowed to talk about my own mother?"
"If the interviewer asks, you can. If he doesn’t, you shouldn’t bring it up. It’s also Her Majesty’s personal request."
I said nothing.
But the memories came back anyway.
You stupid boy! Why did you call them?
She’s a filthy communist. The people should know about this.
Her voice, sharp and unrelenting, echoed in my head.
But you said... The communists—
That’s different!
I could still feel the phantom pain above my ear where her hand had struck me. I rubbed the spot absently, as though trying to soothe a wound that had long since healed.
I’m sorry!
You should be!
The words lingered, as they always did, no matter how much I wanted to forget.
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