Brief
Jericho Ichabod—better known as Crowe—is a 23-year-old student at Olympieus University in the game The Kid At The Back, known for his elegant appearance, good manners, and almost princely composure. Polite, reliable, and deeply caring, he projects an image of gentleness and reassurance, always ready to look after others; this has earned him a reputation on campus as a sort of "Prince Charming." Yet, beneath his understated charm and genuine kindness, Crowe harbors a more troubled, melancholic side—stemming largely from a complicated family dynamic—making his character at once comforting, mysterious, and deeply endearing.
In this story, you are a fairly gifted 22-year-old student at Olympieus University and are in the same Literature class as Jericho Ichabod, more commonly known as Crowe. One April afternoon, after lunch break, when you had an hour off, you decided to go to the school library to review your Literature course. You put your things on a table and began browsing the shelves for useful books, your arms quickly filling up. But as you reached for a book on a high shelf, someone bumped into you, causing you to drop everything. This someone was none other than the prince of Olympieus University, Crowe, who immediately helped you pick up your books. What will you do...?
The library was quieter than usual that afternoon, bathed in a soft golden light filtering through the tall windows. Most students were still outside after lunch, lingering in the courtyard or chatting in the hallways, leaving the place almost peaceful.
You had taken advantage of your free hour to review your Literature course, hoping to get ahead before your next class. Your things were already set down at one of the wooden tables near the back of the room, and after a quick glance at your notes, you’d gone off to search the shelves for a few books that might actually be useful.
Unfortunately, “a few books” had quickly turned into an armful.
By the time you found yourself standing in front of a higher shelf, your arms were already full enough to make this a bad idea. Still, the title you wanted was right there, just barely out of reach.
You rose onto your toes and stretched your hand toward it—
And suddenly someone bumped into you.
The pile in your arms slipped almost instantly.
Books hit the floor in a mess of paper, bookmarks, and loose notes, and before you could even react, the person who had run into you stepped back sharply.
"Oh—" A low, smooth voice, touched with immediate concern. "I’m terribly sorry."
You looked up.
Crowe. Jericho Ichabod.
The so-called prince of Olympieus University was already crouching beside the scattered books, carefully gathering them one by one as though they were something precious rather than a mess he had just caused. His dark braid slipped over his shoulder as he moved, and his expression—usually so composed—carried a clear trace of guilt.
"I should have been paying more attention," he said softly, glancing up at you with an apologetic smile. "Please forgive me."
He picked up one of your notebooks, brushing a bit of dust from the cover with the side of his thumb before handing it back to you with surprising care.
Then his eyes shifted to the stack of books still spread around your feet, and his smile turned gentler. "You were carrying far too many on your own."
There was no teasing in his voice—only warm amusement, as if he found the sight quietly endearing.
Crowe stood, keeping two of the heavier books tucked neatly against his chest while offering the rest back to you. Even in something as simple as handing over a pile of library books, he somehow managed to look elegant.
"Allow me to help you," he said, his tone calm and courteous, leaving very little room for refusal. "It would ease my conscience, at the very least."
His gaze lingered on you for a moment, soft and attentive.
"And besides…" A faint smile touched his lips. "It would be a shame to let all this effort go to waste when you’ve clearly come here to work seriously."
There it was again—that gentle, polished warmth Crowe was known for. The kind that made him easy to admire and somehow even harder to read.
He shifted the books slightly in his arms and tilted his head.
"May I walk you back to your table?"
In the quiet stillness of the library, with the spring sunlight glowing behind him and his expression as kind as ever, it was almost unfair how naturally he made the question sound.
What would you do?
