Alex stood in front of the wardrobe, gazing at rows of fresh, immaculate outfits that all seemed to belong to a person who liked to instigate fights at political gatherings for the sake of it.
Black. Charcoal. Blood red.
"So… nothing in blue, huh?"
[This body's whole fashion spectrum is pain and pettiness.]
He reached for something less dramatic — dark gray, minimal silver trim — and hoped it wouldn't scream "I'm planning a coup."
Getting dressed took longer than it should have. The gloves were tight, the collar itched, and the boots were definitely not made for someone who used to wear sneakers everywhere.
When he finally exited the room, the hallway outside was just as elaborate as the bedroom — soaring ceilings, stone archways, oil portraits of dead individuals who appeared as if they disapproved of having fun.
The servant had barely closed the door after him when a voice trilled from behind.
"Good morning, my lord. The dining hall is ready."
A servant. Middle-aged. Courteous but obviously apprehensive.
Alex nodded curtly, attempting to capture Adrien's icy blank affect. "Go ahead."
[Nice. Good tone. Just enough emotion to keep from wrecking your reputation by saying "I won't stab you today".]
Alex fought the roll of his eyes.
The dining hall was enormous. Too enormous. There were twice as many chairs in this house as anyone could ever use, and the table was so long that it could seat a summit.
Already sitting over at the back of the table were three individuals.
A man of perhaps thirty, reading a crumpled letter with an uninterpretable face. Dark hair, scar above his left eyebrow.
A young woman, perhaps twenty, drinking tea and scowling at the tablecloth as if it had personally insulted her.
And—
A boy.
Perhaps fifteen. Jittery. Tapping his fork. Pale blond hair. Looked up when Alex entered — and froze.
[You made him cry last time. Just so you know.]
Alex swallowed.
He moved slowly towards the table. Every step seemed like having someone tighten a noose.
The older man glanced up. "Adrien."
One word. Flat, unreadable.
Alex nodded mechanically and sat down beside him. The silence that ensued was thick enough to chew.
He grabbed a slice of bread, not knowing what Adrien typically ate, and attempted not to resemble a flailing idiot.
[Reminder: You're recovering from a 'duel gone wrong.' A spot of stiffness is acceptable. Limp theatrically, if necessary.]
Alex grumbled under his breath, "If I limp anymore, they're going to believe I took a tumble down the stairs."
[You took a tumble down the stairs. In your own blood. While yelling something about 'honor.']
Yes. That.
"So," the woman said abruptly, voice chilly. "Alive after all. That's disappointing."
Alex blinked. "Good morning to you too."
The older man side-glared him, and the boy winced a little.
[You've never greeted anyone with good morning before. Ever.]
Alex took a bite of bread and shrugged.
"Must be the brain damage."
[Oh gods, don't make a joke about that.]
The woman arched an eyebrow, lips creeping up slightly. "You're different this morning."
"Being stabbed does that to a person," he said, his tone dry.
Nobody reacted. The room dropped back into silence, but it was a different silence now.
Less cutting. Still strained. But observant.
[Well, well. Well. Congratulations. You made it through breakfast without dueling anyone, insulting someone's mother, or flipping the table. Progress.]
Alex sat back in his chair and took a sip of the worst tea he'd ever drunk.
"So this is nobility, huh?"
[And this is only the easy part.]
Alex got out of the dining hall the moment it was socially acceptable to do so.
He did not storm out or creep away. He merely stood, nodded once like the imitation of one with purpose, and headed out through the closest archway before anyone could intervene.
No one followed. Which, really, said more about this family than anything anyone had spoken.
[Fun fact: The last time "Adrien" left breakfast early, it was because he was going to set fire to a dueling ring.]
"Good to know I'm improving."
The hallways all looked the same — polished stone, red carpets, flickering wall lamps that clearly weren't candles, but some sort of enchanted light. Everything smelled like money and suppressed emotion.
Eventually, he found his room again. Same heavy door. Same oversized bed. Same version of himself staring from the mirror like a cosplayer going through a crisis.
He shut the door behind him and sighed.
"Okay," he muttered, stretching his arms with a groan. "Time to figure out what I'm working with."
[Initiating status check. Lower your expectations.]
A soft chime resonated in his head, and a screen flickered into existence — transparent, suspended, and smug.
⟢ STATUS: ADRIEN VALE ⟣
Level: 12
Race: Human
Affinity: ⚡ Lightning
Mana Core: Copper Rank – Mid
Mana Capacity: 210 units
Strength: 14
Dexterity: 17
Intelligence: 11
Endurance: 12
Willpower: 10
Charisma: 13
Reputation: ☠ Very Low
Alex slowly settled on the bed, scanning the numbers twice just to be sure they weren't as bad as they seemed.
"…So, what, I've got a copper-level battery and some lightning sparks to go with it?"
[A bit more than sparks — more like a half-charged taser. Still, good instincts.]
[Mana Core ranking goes: Copper, Iron, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and beyond. Most nobles your age are between Iron Low and Iron High.]
"Of course. I'm below average."
[Correction: You're technically average. Which is far more dangerous in a world where power equals safety.]
Alex let out a groan and rubbed his eyes.
[Mana Capacity = amount of magic you can hold.]
[Affinity = what element your core will naturally favor.]
[Core Rank = how efficient, stable, and powerful your mana is overall.]
"Okay. So I'm a glass cannon without the cannon."
[You're more like a cracked battery in a thunderstorm. But lightning's unpredictable — maybe that'll be to your benefit.]
Just as he was thinking that, a solid knock came on the door.
Three hard, deliberate knocks.
Alex already suspected who it was.
[Incoming parental plot device. Have your best poker face ready.]