* * *

Haywards, who had drawn 1, paired with Allen, who automatically became 2, went first.

Haywards took up the T-shaped stick, swung it, and struck the red ball, which rolled across the lawn and hit the first white ball cleanly.

“Great start, Your Highness!” Allen exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement.

Remy watched the remaining white balls with a bored expression.

Haywards proceeded to hit the second and third white balls with the same precision, leaving only the gate as the final obstacle.

However, with the gate being far and surrounded by scattered balls, it was no easy feat.

The sound of the stick striking the ball echoed across the field as Haywards launched the red ball.

It arced gracefully but fell short of the gate.

“Click.”

Haywards clicked his tongue in disappointment, though Allen tried to console him with praise for his earlier hits.

Meanwhile, Remy blinked sluggishly, unimpressed.

“Next team, please step forward.”

Ashton and Rex were up next, but their turn was unremarkable, failing to capitalize on Haywards’ setup.

Finally, it was Remy’s turn.

Picking up the stick, he approached the red ball and calculated the angles in his mind.

‘I used to play billiards back in the day. Hitting balls is all the same, right?’

Imaginary trajectory lines appeared before him as he planned his moves.

Calmly, he struck the red ball, hitting all three white balls in succession without a single misstep.

For the final hit, he gently guided the red ball toward his gate, and it rolled through flawlessly.

Remy, playing solo, was the first to score a point among the three teams.

“Holy… Remy?”

The others were astonished.

Who would have guessed that the delicate and seemingly frail Remy possessed such skill?

“My goodness, Remy. When did you learn to play Fordball?”

Allen asked with a noticeably crumpled expression. Remy shrugged.

“What are you talking about? This is my first time trying it today.”

“And yet you scored a point right away? Does that even make sense?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Remy placed the red ball next to his gate.

It was the trophy signifying his one-point victory.

Allen, standing nearby, instructed his attendant to prepare the next ball.

His tone carried a hint of irritation, but no one seemed to notice.

“It’s my turn this time, Your Highness.”

Allen grabbed his stick and stepped onto the field.

Allen, who prided himself on his skills in pod ball, swung his stick confidently.

As a traditional game passed down through the Aylesford family, he swiftly secured a point.

Now tied with Remy, the next round began with Rex hitting the ball—but scoring nothing.

“Remy, show us your skills again.”

The taunting remark felt as if it was daring him to keep up, but was that just Remy’s imagination?

If it was meant as a provocation, Remy had no intention of being swayed.

He focused solely on doing his best in the given circumstances.

After all, wasn’t it said that the most important thing was an unyielding spirit?

With a determined swing, Remy scored another point, reclaiming first place with a total of two points.

“Your turn, Your Highness.”

Haywards picked up the stick again.

Everyone except Remy gulped nervously as they watched.

The critical moment—could he tie the game again?

But against expectations, Haywards missed.

Ashton followed, also missing, and even Remy failed to score.

The game reset, with Allen taking his turn once more.

Allen quickly struck three white balls in succession, leaving him just one step away from completing the gate ball shot.

“Go, Allen!”

Amid cheers, Allen swung his stick.

The ball, struck squarely at its center, soared gracefully through the air—only to land in utter disaster.

“Ah! R-Remy!”

The ball, flying through the air, struck Remy squarely on the forehead.

A sound like a ripe watermelon cracking echoed as Remy collapsed to the ground.

The group, stunned, rushed toward him.

Even Allen, who had struck the ball, froze in place with wide eyes.

“Remy, get a hold of yourself! Are you okay?”

The first to lift the fallen Remy was Ashton.

Cradling his limp body with a fist-sized lump on his forehead, Ashton shook him frantically.

“Remy! Wake up! Remy!”

“Urgh…”

Perhaps moved by Ashton’s desperation, Remy began to groan faintly.

His large eyelids twitched, and like someone seeing sunlight for the first time, he slowly squinted open his eyes.

“Remy, are you conscious?”

Ashton leaned closer toward his childhood friend, his tone laden with genuine concern.

It was a heartfelt gesture, but Ashton’s pheromones betrayed him entirely.

As a dominant Alpha recently experiencing the instability of his newly awakened pheromones, Ashton was a ticking time bomb.

Whether he wanted to or not, his pheromones spilled out uncontrollably, carrying the intoxicating scent of freshly picked spring blossoms.

With sunlight framing his stunning face, Ashton leaned in toward Remy.

The sweet aroma and the overwhelming sight nearly made Remy lose himself in a daze.

It was only thanks to the small voice of reason hidden deep within his mind slapping him awake that he avoided being completely enthralled.

‘Damn it, I almost fell for him again. Get it together.’

With a jolt, Remy shoved Ashton away and stood up.

The people gathered around them recoiled as if they’d seen a corpse rise from a coffin.

Ignoring their reactions, Remy acted as if nothing was amiss, despite the fist-sized lump still perched on his forehead.

“Remy, are you okay? I didn’t mean for that to happen…”

Allen, who had struck the ball, approached him next, guilt etched on his face.

Looking at Allen, who seemed genuinely sorry, Remy replied nonchalantly.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.”

“But… that lump on your head…”

“Lump?”

At Allen’s words, Remy raised a hand to his forehead, only to feel the massive lump for the first time.

He was horrified. Was this… really a lump?

“R-Remy!!”

And with that, Remy fainted for the second time on the spot.

“Remy, wake up! Remy!”

The group, already on edge, erupted into chaos again.

Was this some side effect of his awakening?

Remy had been fainting frequently these days, and everyone was deeply concerned.

Well, almost everyone.

Among the crowd was one person whose expression clearly showed his disdain—none other than Rex, the striking red-haired man who had been a thorn in Remy’s side since the original story.

Finally, unable to watch any longer, the third prince, Haywards, stepped forward.

As always, his radiant appearance under the sunlight was dazzling.

“Has anyone called a physician?”

At his question, Allen glanced at his attendant, who, with a powdered wig reminiscent of a white poodle, confirmed so with a formal nod.

Haywards frowned, displeased by the apparent delay.

“When did Remy faint? Why are they taking so long…”

“Urgh…”

Remy, who had fainted twice already, stirred again.

This time, Haywards, being the closest to him, lifted him into his arms.

“Remy?”

Through blurred vision, Remy finally focused.

As if in soft focus, the dazzling image of the third prince appeared before him—silver hair fluttering, a beauty surpassing even that of most Omegas, smiling down at him.

“Ah…”

And that was when trouble began.

The issue wasn’t that Haywards looked stunning, but rather that Remy himself was also breathtakingly beautiful.

In that moment, Remy’s fragile appearance completely captivated the prince.

Haywards, as if entranced, murmured, “Has Remy… always looked like this?”

* * *