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Chapter Text

The Farthest Commute

So, Alver has a problem.

Having problems in a general sense?  Nothing new.  

Getting caught in an explosion and then waking up in a completely different destroyed city with architecture he’s never seen before?  Very new, and very concerning.

Very annoying too, if Alver must be honest with himself.  It pisses him off that a major catastrophe occurred while he was responsible for organizing and overseeing a significant national event, let alone the fact he was planning to strengthen his political position with this stupid birthday celebration for his useless father.

Additionally, Alver may be dead.  It’s currently unclear.  However, being dead would explain his sudden relocation to a completely foreign land without a single injury on his royal personage.  He hadn’t really tried defending himself during the terrorist attack out of fear that he would reveal his secret heritage and lose his chance at the throne, which makes this entire situation rather regrettable because being dead is an even greater detriment to becoming the king of Rowoon.

Alver would have suspected mysterious teleportation instead of maybe-dead if it weren’t for the fact that the limited signage he can see in the surrounding wreckage are all emblazoned with an odd script unlike anything from the Western or Eastern continents.  He’s never seen this language before in his life, but he can read a nearby plaque perfectly fine:

재난 방지 및 문명 수호

Disaster Prevention and Protection of Civilization

Not that Alver truly understands, unfortunately.  He has no idea what the hell any of that is supposed to mean other than the obvious.  Frankly speaking, considering the shabby state of all the buildings and rubble nearby, it doesn’t seem like this organization is good at upholding its overly descriptive title.

But before Alver can ponder more about his surroundings, a group of black-garbed humans rush out of the building.  They look normal enough, though most of them have darker hair and eyes than any humans Alver has seen before.  Unfortunately, judging by the way they swiftly surround Alver while holding mysterious objects that are likely weapons, he’s quite certain that they’re not approaching him for any pleasantries.

“Identify yourself,” one woman says sharply, speaking in a different language that Alver can somehow interpret anyway.  “Where did you come from?”

Alver slowly raises his empty hands to show he’s unarmed.  “I mean you no harm,” he says, and it’s uncanny to feel his mouth moving on its own in strange ways to produce new sounds.  He keeps his turmoil hidden, however, and pastes his most reassuring smile onto his face.  

The woman furrows her brow and tightens her grip on her weapon.  “Who sent you?  Please cooperate with us, or we will have to use force.”

Hm.  The smile didn’t seem to work.  Unfortunate.

“I found myself suddenly transported here after being attacked,” Alver explains.  He knows that he likely sounds more suspicious—possibly mentally unsound, even—but he hopes that some half-truths will at least buy him some more time while he tries to glean some more information.  “I will gladly leave this region once I regain my bearings.  Do you know how to travel to the Rowoon Kingdom from here?”

“Rowoon…?”  The woman exchanges a quick glance with someone else behind her who shakes their head slightly.  “I’m unfamiliar with that country.  Is it somewhere in… Europe?  Or the Americas?”

None of those places sound familiar to Alver, and he’s starting to suspect that his theory about being dead is seeming more plausible.  “Pardon me,” he says politely, still holding out some hope, “but I would like to speak to your local lord or lady as soon as possible.  I believe this situation can be resolved more quickly this way.”

“Right,” the woman mutters, before pulling a device off her belt and speaking into it.  “Team Leader, there’s a strangely dressed Caucasian man in front of our building who seems to be LARPing while intoxicated.  How should we proceed?”

Alver isn’t sure what some of those words mean, but he feels vaguely insulted nonetheless.

A few minutes later, a tall and scarred man walks out of the nearby building.  His hair is as black as the other humans, but his eyes have a strange red tint to them.  “I’m Kim Roksu, the leader of Team 1,” he says plainly, observing Alver with a cold gaze.  “You wanted to speak with me?”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Alver says with a sunny smile.  “I am Crown Prince Alver Crossman of Rowoon.  Are you the person with the most authority at this organization?”

“What the fuck,” says Team Leader Kim Roksu.

Judging by everyone else’s reactions, Alver isn’t the only one surprised by that response.

“I know him” is the only explanation that Kim Roksu provides to his team members before they’re dismissed.  It becomes even more evident that Kim Roksu is someone in a high rank with how easily others follow his commands, no matter how ridiculous those commands sound.

“How do you know me?” Alver asks the moment they’re alone.  “Your subordinates did not seem to have heard anything about Rowoon.”

“I’m well-read compared to most people,” Kim Roksu says, not answering much.  “I’m more concerned with how you came to South Korea.  Tell me what happened before you appeared here.”

It’s a bit grating to be ordered around, but Alver stifles his annoyance in favour of having a more productive conversation even if etiquette is lacking.  “I was attending the celebration for King Zed Crossman’s fiftieth birthday when the plaza was attacked by unknown mages.  There were numerous explosions, then I found myself outside your building.  I assure you that I did not come to this… South Korea voluntarily.”

“…You’re very far from home.”  Kim Roksu seems to silently debate with himself for a moment.  “Well, you’d probably figure this out yourself sooner or later,” he mutters, before saying more loudly: “You came from a different world than mine.  Rowoon doesn’t exist here.”

“Pardon?”  Alver feels a headache start to form and resists the urge to rub his temples.  “A different world?”

“I can show you a map if you don’t believe me,” Kim Roksu says, sounding far too casual for a man that just shared catastrophically concerning news.  “I’m sure you wouldn’t recognize the geography at all.”

Being in a different world sounds absurd, but also strangely logical considering what Alver has observed thus far.  “You have no reason to tell such a ridiculous lie, so I will take your word for it.  Do you have any idea how I could return to my own world?”

“No.”  Kim Roksu looks vaguely annoyed as if Alver’s presence is an unbearable inconvenience.  Even though it probably is, Alver thinks that he should be the one who feels annoyed in this situation, not Kim Roksu.  “It seems like magic might have been involved,” the team leader says, “so you may be trapped here for a long time.  We don’t have the same magic in this world, so I’m not sure how to send you back to yours.”

The prospect of being indefinitely stranded in South Korea does not sound appealing in the slightest.  Alver may not have much information about this world yet, but he suspects ‘royalty’ may not count as proper employment, so he is subsequently both penniless and homeless.  

…The prospect of relying on a stranger to provide charity does not sound appealing either.  But Alver will grin and bear it until he can figure out how to get home.  “I hate to impose,” he says truthfully, though he plans to impose anyway as much as he can get away with, “but seeing as I quite literally appeared out of thin air in your lovely country, would you have any suggestions on… where I could find temporary accommodations?”

Kim Roksu’s face swiftly embarks on an impressive journey, starting with reactionary irritation, then meandering into reluctant contemplation, before finally stopping at resigned despair.  Alver never knew that it was possible for someone’s subtle eyebrow movements to convey so much emotion until the last few seconds of his life.

“…You can stay with me until you figure something out,” Kim Roksu offers, sounding like he’s pronouncing his own death sentence.

“That is very generous of you,” Alver says with a signature sunny smile that does nothing to improve Kim Roksu’s self-inflicted dour mood.

“I’ll also ask my assistant leader to find you something else to wear while you’re here,” Kim Roksu adds dryly.  “You stick out like a sore thumb in those fancy clothes.”

Alver can’t refute that, especially when standing next to someone wearing black from head to toe.  “I did feel particularly overdressed,” Alver says, his tone even drier.  “I do not anticipate hosting additional politically motivated festivals in my immediate future where I have to make sycophantic speeches about people I dislike in front of far too many witnesses, so wearing something with less purple brocade and gold embellishments would be welcome.”

Kim Roksu does not comment on that pathetic attempt at humour.  Instead, he has a contemplative look on his face that makes Alver feel like he may be scammed soon.

“…Are you any good at fighting and paperwork?” Kim Roksu asks, one corner of his mouth lifted up.

Chapter Text

Padding Your Résumé

Kim Roksu’s master plan can be boiled down to two words: “just lie”.

Alver Crossman is no longer the crown prince of the Rowoon Kingdom, but a normal foreigner lost in another country after being attacked by unscrupulous thugs.  Possibly in an alleyway, if one wants to increase the drama.

“You can say you’re British, I suppose,” Kim Roksu suggests.  “They still had a monarchy before the Cataclysm, so you can pretend you’re confused if you ever ramble about kingdoms again.”

When Alver asks whether his falsified relatives should also be ‘British’, Kim Roksu replies, “If anyone asks, it’s easier to claim you lost your family.  Most people did, so nobody will pry any further.”  

The excuse paints a grim picture of Kim Roksu’s world, but it makes Alver’s new life easier.  He receives a dizzyingly rapid history lesson about the Cataclysm, the monsters plaguing the world, and how humans died and survived over the past decade.  It’s very clear now what the ‘Disaster Prevention and Protection of Civilization’ sign outside the building means.

Everything else in Alver’s cover story can be conveniently explained away with ‘abilities’.  Kim Roksu’s world is full of strange magic unlike anything Alver has seen, and the variety between different individuals seems endless.  Though it hasn’t happened before, it wouldn’t be impossible for someone to have accidentally teleported a man to another continent, and it would similarly be understandable if the victim were to feel disoriented afterwards.

Even the dead mana infused magic that Alver painstakingly hid for his entire life could potentially be handwaved as ‘an ability’.  It’s strange to learn that dark elves don’t even exist in Kim Roksu’s world, let alone any stigma surrounding the people.  Though Alver isn’t ready to show all his cards just yet, he privately feels relieved that he can freely defend himself against monsters if the need arises without risking any misguided bigots asking their gods to smite him.

…Well, almost everything could be disguised as the result of an ability.  Alver’s clothes had to be justified as an ‘expensive hobby’ and not his usual choice of wardrobe.

“Say it’s for cosplay,” Kim Roksu says cryptically, and that’s that.  

Whatever the fuck that means.

“You are fortunate that I am an excellent actor who learns quickly,” Alver mutters.  His complaints are tragically ignored.

The team’s assistant leader turns out to be the woman who confronted Alver outside, and she’s much friendlier now that Alver is her team leader’s ‘friend of a friend’ (“We met a long time ago,” Kim Roksu lies with a blank face) instead of a potential threat to security.  After politely introducing herself as Kim Minah, she passes Alver clothes that he hastily changes into in the nearest water closet.  It’s hard to maneuver in such a cramped space, but everything is blessedly simpler to wear compared to his usual attire as a prince.

“Does it fit?” Kim Roksu asks from the other side of the locked stall door.  “I had to estimate the size since we were short on time.”

“It fits well enough.”  The lengths of the sleeves are a little off, but Alver isn’t going to complain about the tailoring of something he received for free.  It’s not like he’s unused to ill-fitted clothing anyway, even if it has been more than a few years since he’s had to deal with it.  He steps outside the stall and examines his reflection in the mirror.  “Pass my gratitude to Assistant Leader Kim Minah.  I like the clothes she picked.”

It’s mostly the truth; Alver feels reasonably pleased with his new blue shirt and black suit jacket.  It’s not the image he usually strives for, but it isn’t unflattering.  The white shoes he was already wearing don’t really match, but at least his original pants can pass off as being part of the set.

Kim Roksu eyes Alver up and down critically, seemingly satisfied despite his blank expression.  “You still stand out too much,” the team leader says, gaze lingering on Alver’s face.  “Nothing we can do about that, though.”

Alver didn’t expect a roundabout compliment about his looks, but he won’t refuse it.  “It’s the curse of being handsome,” he says, slightly tilting his head to make sure he can show off the most flattering angle of his jawline.  Yes, he might be a little vain, but he thinks he deserves some ego-stroking after the horrendous day he’s had to deal with.  

“You seem like you would stand out too,” Alver adds magnanimously.  It’s not like he’s entirely exaggerating; Kim Roksu would probably turn some heads with his unique charisma if only he looked and acted a bit more approachable.

A brief grimace flickers across Kim Roksu’s face before it settles back into the usual calm.  “For different reasons, I’m sure.”  He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve before briskly walking towards the door.  “Come with me.  You need to fill out some paperwork.”

Flattery doesn’t work on Kim Roksu.  Noted.  To be honest, Alver isn’t a fan of receiving flattery either, despite employing it liberally against others in political negotiations, so he can have something in common with the person he begrudgingly needs to rely on for the present.

Alver does his best to ignore the curious side-glances (and occasional gawking) from passersby as he follows Kim Roksu through bland off-white corridors.  “Is it really that easy for me to start working here?” Alver asks, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard.  “I thought there would be… well, some sort of background check, at the very least?”

“I can get away with a lot,” Kim Roksu says.

How convenient.  For the first time since waking up in South Korea, Alver feels a little bit lucky that he landed on the doorstep of someone so useful.  He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of his short walk with Kim Roksu.

The staring from other people becomes more pronounced by the time Alver and Kim Roksu arrive in Team 1’s shared office space.  Alver reflexively smiles and waves, which unintentionally sets off a chain reaction of silent hysteria.

A man half-hiding behind a desk clears his throat.  “Um, Team Leader, why did you bring a model to our office?”

Kim Roksu looks like he wants to age ten years.   “He’s not a model,” he sighs.  “Everyone, focus on your work.  I’m not extending any deadlines or letting anyone do overtime because they were too distracted by someone’s face.”   

The excessive staring mercifully ceases.

Alver is thankful that years of court politics from a young age gave him very thick skin.  A lesser person would probably feel incredibly embarrassed right now.  For a brief moment, he feels tempted to quip about not minding the attention, but Kim Roksu’s face is turning grimmer by the moment.  “You mentioned paperwork earlier?” Alver prompts.

Kim Roksu makes some sort of half-sighing noise—presumably as a form of agreement—and shuffles to a more secluded corner of the large office space until reaching a large and tidy desk.  Alver immediately feels envious because of the chair that looks incredibly comfortable compared to his own back home, and even more envious because of the absence of towering stacks of paperwork.  Nonetheless, he gracefully takes a seat in a significantly worse chair opposite of Kim Roksu.

“Can you write in Korean?” Kim Roksu asks, sliding a pen and paper across the desk towards Alver.

A good question.  “…Maybe?”

“Try filling out this form, then.”

Alver doesn’t get very far.  He manages “알베르 크로스만” and “23세” before he has to quietly admit that he doesn’t know what he should write for the rest in order to act like a normal human from this world.  Writing down a palace as his place of residence might raise some more eyebrows, considering how people already reacted strangely when introducing himself as a crown prince.  He can’t even write his date of birth when he realizes a different world might have an entirely different calendar system.

…He also doesn’t have any idea what “phone” or “email” means, both of which seem like important personal information judging by their placement on the page, so he will leave that as Kim Roksu’s problem to solve.

Kim Roksu seems like a man who hates doing work, judging by the growing crease on his forehead, but also a man who would do the work if nobody else is capable of it.  So he dutifully fabricates the rest of Alver’s information while the crown prince in question pretends he isn’t trying to read upside-down.

Alver immediately tosses any pretense of discretion away when he reads the last sentence that was added.  “Memory loss?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s the easiest way to explain why you’d be clueless about many things that any normal member of society would know.”  Kim Roksu looks up and stares blankly at Alver.  “Unless you want to say you lived an extremely sheltered life since childhood because your family was part of a doomsday cult.  That could work too.”

“Let’s go with memory loss.”

“Glad we agree.”

So Alver becomes an unfortunate British cosplayer with no family who may or may not have been in a cult and lost most of his memories after he was accidentally teleported by criminals with an unknown ability from England to South Korea and then miraculously reunited with his old friend-of-a-friend Kim Roksu by appearing on the doorstep of this very office despite sadly losing contact with each other when the Cataclysm occurred over a decade ago.

“…There’s no way anyone is going to believe this,” Kim Roksu mutters, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Oh really, what makes you think that?” Alver asks sarcastically.