CHAPTER 433: ’MY REAL NAME IS ADEN.’

Florian stared into Heinz’s piercing red eyes, searching for something—understanding, perhaps? But all he could see was quiet curiosity.

Slowly, his gaze dropped to the blankets pooled in his lap. His voice, when it came, was soft, almost unsure.

"My real name is Aden."

A fragile smile curved his lips. It felt strange—foreign, even—saying that name out loud. Months had passed since he last heard it, since he last was it. Somehow, it sounded distant now, like a memory from another life.

Heinz blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Aden?"

Florian gave a small nod.

"What an odd name," Heinz remarked, without malice, only honest confusion.

’As if Heinz is the most normal and common name in the world.’ Florian bit the inside of his cheek and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"It’s foreign," he replied simply.

"I could tell," Heinz said. Then, as if expecting more, he added, "What else?"

There was a pause—hesitation hanging thick in the air. But Florian exhaled, deciding to let the floodgates open.

"I’m... actually older than you, Your Majesty."

Heinz raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through his eyes. "How old?"

"I’m twenty-five. Well... I was supposed to be. The day I became Florian was actually my birthday."

He let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

"So... imagine the surprise when the gods decided to switch my body as a birthday present."

Heinz didn’t say anything at first, but he nodded, as if giving him silent permission to go on.

"I have a younger sister. She’s a brat," Florian added, a real smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now. "But I love her. Her name’s Kaz."

His voice faltered for a moment. He lowered his eyes, his fingers tightening around the bedsheets.

"She’s... my whole world. I try not to think about her too much because... well, with my current situation—"

"Your parents?" Heinz asked, interrupting gently.

Florian shook his head. "Gone. They died when I was young. It was just me and Kaz, so... I practically raised her."

"Ah. That’s why she’s your whole world," Heinz murmured thoughtfully.

Florian nodded. "We struggled a lot. I was just a kid trying to juggle school and work, anything to give us a better life. There were days we barely ate, but... I held on to one thing that kept me going."

He glanced up at Heinz. "Writing. I had a passion for it. So I studied it—creative writing, mostly."

Heinz looked slightly puzzled. "There are studies for writing creatively?"

’Right. There are probably little to no normal studies here.’

Florian chuckled. "Yes, Your Majesty. In my wo...kingdom, we have schools that teach things beyond magic. You can study to become inventors, doctors, scientists... writers. So many opportunities."

Heinz nodded slowly. "That explains your ideas for the village reconstruction. You’re incorporating ideas from your homeland."

"Exactly," Florian said, brightening just a little. "Though people still suffer there too, it’s... not so black and white. We have different social classes, not just nobles and peasants."

He sat up a bit straighter. "I also had a job—well, sort of a profession. I helped merchants create lines or catchphrases to attract customers."

Heinz blinked. "Catchphrases?"

"Yes. I used creativity to make their products sound appealing. Things that could make a consumer stop and take a second look."

’God, I’m butchering the explanation of copywriting right now.’

"That’s... quite interesting," Heinz admitted. "And which kingdom is this from, exactly? I assume it’s not one I’ve destroyed, considering you don’t seem to harbor any hatred toward me."

He said it so casually—so nonchalantly—that Florian had to laugh, even if it was a bit awkward.

’How can he say that with such a straight face?’

"It’s... far. Far away from here, Your Majesty." He sniffled, his nose wrinkling a little as he rubbed it with his sleeve. "A different world, really."

His chest felt lighter now. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding in until he let it out. The pressure that had been weighing him down for months seemed to lift just a little.

Strangely enough, telling Heinz the truth—his truth—felt cathartic. Healing.

His eyes still stung from all the crying, and his face was sore and puffy, but he could finally breathe.

"Mhm. If it’s far away, then I have something I’m even more curious about," Heinz murmured, voice low and almost teasing, before pulling Florian in again—closer, tighter.

Florian’s breath hitched as his chest was pressed fully against Heinz’s once more.

His arms instinctively tensed against the king’s broad shoulders, and he became painfully aware of just how compromising their position truly was.

He was still straddling Heinz’s waist, thighs spread around him, and Heinz’s arms remained snug around his back, warm and unyielding.

Florian’s eyes widened slightly, heat crawling up his neck.

’This... this position is way too intimate. Too close. And my butt is—God. It’s pressing down on—’

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Florian asked, managing to keep his voice mostly steady—despite how flustered he felt.

He did not want to acknowledge the fact that he was practically sitting right on the King’s—

’God. I just remembered again that he asked me to have sex with him whenever he wanted.’ The thought slammed into him like a brick wall, and his cheeks turned crimson. ’What the hell is my life now?’

But Heinz didn’t comment on Florian’s reddening face. Instead, he leaned back just slightly, as if to study him better.

"If you were living your own life... how did you suddenly get transferred to Florian’s body?" Heinz asked, the seriousness in his voice cutting through the haze of embarrassment.

"Did you just sleep and suddenly wake up like that? Or... do you think there was a particular reason the God who helped me chose you to put inside Florian’s body?"

Florian froze.

His body went still, the amusement from earlier completely dissipating.

His heart gave an uncomfortable thump, then another. Heinz’s question wasn’t just curious—it was dangerous.

Too close to the truth. Too close to something he couldn’t explain without risking his life.

There was a theory. The most plausible one, at least.

’Because I—Aden—had a high contribution to all this suffering. To all your suffering.’

To Heinz’s. To the original Florian’s.’

The memory hit him like a slap. This world—this twisted, cruel novel—hadn’t started as something so dark.

Kaz, the original author, had just wanted a fun, raunchy smut story about a heartbroken prince and his aides.

But Aden—he—had decided to push it further. Had teased Kaz about making it deeper, more intense.

More painful.

And Kaz had listened.

She’d added drama. Tragedy. Real trauma. She’d gotten invested. And in the process, the characters—especially Florian—had suffered more than they were ever supposed to.

So maybe, when Aden died, the God who governed this world had seen the damage done.

Maybe this was the God’s way of making things right—forcing the very soul who’d fueled the tragedy to live it, understand it, and maybe fix it.

But Florian couldn’t say that.

He couldn’t tell Heinz the truth—that he used to be Aden, the one who indirectly encouraged all this suffering.

If Heinz ever found out, he’d probably kill him on the spot.

So Florian forced himself to smile, a bit crooked, a bit tired.

He chose a half-truth. A minor fact mixed with major lies.

"I died on my birthday," he said quietly. His voice was calm, but his hands trembled just slightly where they rested against Heinz’s chest. "It was an accident. While I was on my way back to my house."