Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 167

Chapter 167: ’Why Do I Feel Sore?’

"And it just... went away? Just like that?"

Florian drifted between consciousness and darkness, the voices around him echoing as if from a great distance. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt too heavy, weighed down by something unseen. The world remained black—formless.

"Yes, Sir Lancelot. As I said, His Majesty and I were able to develop an antidote. As you can see, he’s sleeping soundly."

"You didn’t touch him... did you?"

’Touch... who?’ The words stirred something in Florian’s mind, but everything was sluggish, as if his thoughts were submerged in water.

"L-Lord Lucius, that is absurd!" Lysander’s voice rose, indignant. "I would never—! And His Majesty was with me the whole time."

’His Majesty... so Heinz?’

Silence settled over the room. Thick. Heavy. The unease in the air was almost tangible.

Florian wanted to move, to see what was happening, but something held him back. His body felt like it was sinking, yet at the same time, there was a strange tension coiling in his chest. He couldn’t remember anything—not fully.

"Hah. Fine." Lucius’ voice cut through the quiet, low and measured, but there was an edge to it, something tight and restrained. "When is he going to wake up? It’s already morning."

"Let him rest," Lysander replied. "With how much he begged and cried last night, he must be exhausted. I cannot imagine how he must have felt."

Florian’s breath hitched.

"Begged... and cried?"

The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them, and the moment he spoke, his body reacted—his eyes flew open.

Gasps.

A startled silence.

The brightness was blinding.

Florian barely had time to process anything before pain crashed into him—his head throbbed, his limbs ached, and worst of all, a deep soreness radiated from his lower back. His breath caught, and he sucked in a sharp hiss.

"Fuck." The curse came out low and strained.

"Your Highness!"

Lucius was the first to move, stepping closer and handing him a glass of water. Florian blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the light as he raised a hand to shield his eyes. The room felt too bright, too sharp.

"What... happened?" His voice was hoarse, his throat dry as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

Lysander exhaled in what sounded like relief, though there was something careful in his expression, as if he were gauging Florian’s reaction.

"You don’t remember, Your Highness?"

Florian frowned. His mind felt hazy, but he forced himself to think.

Heat. Pain. A deep, aching pressure. His body burning from the inside out.

He had been at the ballroom. There was a drink.

His breath caught. His eyes widened.

"Oh. Lucius... Lancelot... yesterday, a servant—"

"We know, Your Highness." Lancelot crossed his arms, his tone firm. "I already found him."

Lucius nodded. "We’ll discuss it later. For now, how are you feeling?"

Florian swallowed. His throat was still dry.

"That’s right," Lysander added, his expression shifting slightly, softening. "That servant made you drink a strong aphrodisiac... do you remember that?"

Heat rushed to Florian’s face.

’Yes. Yes, I remember that much.’ The moment he realized something was wrong. The fire in his veins. The overwhelming heat.

Lucius’ gaze sharpened. "So, you do remember."

Florian swallowed hard, his mind racing. If he had been under the effects of an aphrodisiac... did that mean—?

’That would be the worst-case scenario.’

’Thank fucking god.’

’I still managed to remain a virgin here, too. That’s good.’ The saddest and most pathetic line ever.

’Heinz... did that?’

’Why? The ball was important.’

"That’s... surprising," Florian admitted, his voice slower than usual, his thoughts still processing the information.

Lancelot let out a short huff, crossing his arms. "You and me both. He was adamant he’d be the one to help."

Lucius, however, only rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses with a practiced ease. "His Majesty is a genius. One of the most powerful Arcaniors in Concordia. How can you still be surprised? Besides, I believe His Majesty feels responsible for what happened to His Highness."

Florian frowned. "Why would he feel responsible?" The statement didn’t make sense. Florian had been the one to accept the drink without hesitation. No one forced him. If anything, this was his own fault.

’And that’s so unlike him.’

Heinz wasn’t the type to take responsibility for things beyond his control—he never had been. He made calculated decisions, strategic moves. He didn’t dwell on accidents, nor did he waste time shouldering burdens that weren’t his.

Before anyone could respond, a new voice cut through the air.

"Because I somehow anticipated this would happen."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Every head turned toward the entrance of the infirmary.

Florian’s breath caught.

Standing there, framed by the doorway, was Heinz.

His presence was undeniable—the way he carried himself, the sharp, unreadable expression on his face, the weight of his gaze as it settled on Florian. Serious. Calm. But beneath the surface, something else lurked. Something restrained.

The room moved as one.

"Your Majesty."

Everyone bowed—Lucius, Lysander, Lancelot. Florian, though still lying in bed, lowered his head in acknowledgment.

A pause.

Florian’s fingers twitched slightly.

’What does he mean by he anticipated this?’