The door creaked open with all the ominous flair of a horror movie, revealing a man who could make grown knights wet themselves just by existing.
Duke Aldric Montclair stood in the doorway like death personified in expensive tailoring. Tall, imposing, with silver-streaked hair and eyes colder than a witch's heart in winter. His presence sucked all the warmth from the room faster than a black hole with commitment issues.
From Aria's memories, this man had the emotional range of a particularly vindictive glacier and the parenting skills of a cactus.
He stepped into the room, and I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees. Even the dust motes seemed to freeze mid-air out of sheer terror.
"Aria," he said, my name rolling off his tongue like he was announcing a plague outbreak.
His voice carried the kind of authority that made people confess to crimes they didn't commit and apologize for existing in his general vicinity.
I tried to sit up straighter, which was a mistake because my broken ribs decided to throw their own little rebellion party.
"Father," I managed, keeping my voice as neutral as Switzerland during a world war.
The Duke's eyes scanned me like I was a particularly disappointing financial report. His gaze lingered on the bandages, and for a split second, I thought I saw something flicker across his face. Concern? Guilt? Indigestion from breakfast?
Whatever it was disappeared faster than free food at a college campus.
"The physician informed me of your... condition," he said, somehow making 'condition' sound like a moral failing. "Four broken ribs, severe malnutrition, and what appears to be chronic stupidity."
Okay, he didn't say that last part, but his tone heavily implied it.
"I'm recovering well, Your Grace," I replied, borrowing Aria's muscle memory for formal speech while internally screaming at the absurdity of my situation.
SYSTEM ALERT: DANGEROUS INDIVIDUAL DETECTED
THREAT LEVEL: COULD END YOUR SECOND LIFE WITH A PAPERCUT
RECOMMENDATION: AGREE WITH EVERYTHING AND PRAY TO WHATEVER GODS HANDLE REINCARNATED LOSERS
"Are you indeed?" The Duke moved closer, his footsteps echoing like a countdown to judgment day. "The stable master reported some... interesting details about your accident."
Oh great. Here we go with the victim-blaming portion of our father-daughter bonding session.
"He mentioned that Julius was practicing archery nearby when your horse became... startled." His pause held more menace than a serial killer's shopping list.
The way he said 'startled' made it clear he knew exactly what had happened, but was playing some twisted game of family politics where attempted murder was just sibling rivalry taken too far.
"Julius has always been... enthusiastic about his hobbies," I said carefully, walking the diplomatic tightrope between not throwing my psychotic brother under the bus and not completely excusing attempted fratricide.
The Duke's expression remained as readable as ancient hieroglyphics written in invisible ink.
"Indeed. Enthusiasm is a virtue in the Montclair family. However," his voice dropped to a tone that could freeze hellfire, "weakness is not."
And there it was. The real reason for this delightful family visit.
"You will be attending the Royal Academy's entrance examination in three months," he continued, dropping this bombshell like he was commenting on the weather.
My internal monologue started screaming in seventeen different languages, including some I didn't know I knew.
The Royal Academy? With these pathetic stats? I'd have better luck teaching a fish to tap dance while juggling flaming swords.
"I understand, Father," I said, because arguing with the Duke seemed like a fantastic way to upgrade from 'injured' to 'deceased.'
"Do you?" He studied me with the intensity of a hawk examining a particularly stupid mouse. "Because your previous academic performance suggests otherwise."
From Aria's memories, her academic record was less 'stellar student' and more 'how is she still literate.' She'd failed basic etiquette three times, couldn't cast even the simplest magic spell, and her swordsmanship instructor had reportedly wept actual tears.
"The family's reputation cannot afford another embarrassment," the Duke continued, each word landing like a physical blow. "You will not disgrace the Montclair name at the Academy."
"Of course not, Your Grace," I replied, mentally calculating how quickly I could fake my own death and flee to another continent.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: QUEST RECEIVED
QUEST: SURVIVE THE ROYAL ACADEMY ENTRANCE EXAM
DIFFICULTY: IMPOSSIBLE
REWARD: CONTINUED EXISTENCE
FAILURE CONSEQUENCE: FAMILY DISOWNMENT AND PROBABLE DEATH
Well, that's encouraging.
The Duke turned to leave, then paused at the doorway like he'd remembered something particularly unpleasant.
"Oh, and Aria? Your allowance is being reduced to encourage... academic focus. You'll receive five copper coins per month until your performance improves."
Five copper coins? I'd seen beggars with better financial prospects.
"I understand, Father," I said, because what else could I say? 'Thanks for ensuring I'll starve while trying not to flunk out of magic school?'
"Good. Don't disappoint me again."
He left, taking all the oxygen and hope with him.
The silence that followed was so profound I could hear my own existential crisis developing in real-time.
SOCIAL INTERACTION COMPLETE
EXP GAINED: 25
SYSTEM POINTS GAINED: 5
SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: SURVIVED CONVERSATION WITH THE DUKE WITHOUT DYING
BONUS REWARD: DEPRESSION RESISTANCE +1
"Zara," I whispered, "please tell me the store has a 'How to Fake Your Own Death' manual, because I'm going to need it."
CURRENT EXP: 40/100
CLOSE TO LEVEL 2 USER
STORE UNLOCK IMMINENT
SUGGESTION: MAYBE TRY NOT DYING BEFORE THEN
"Right, not dying. Got it. Simple enough plan."
I stared at the ceiling, contemplating my life choices and wondering if there was a customer service department for reincarnation complaints.
Three months to prepare for an entrance exam that would determine whether I lived as a disgraced noble or died as a family embarrassment.
With stats lower than a tutorial NPC and a family that treated me like their personal punching bag, I had two options: get stronger fast or perfect the art of strategic incompetence.
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted my planning session.
Different footsteps again. Lighter, more hesitant.
A soft knock echoed through the room.
"Lady Aria? It's Elena with your dinner," came a voice that sounded suspiciously nervous.
Through the crack under the door, I could see shadows moving. More than one person.
SYSTEM ALERT: MULTIPLE INDIVIDUALS DETECTED
THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE TO CONCERNING
UNUSUAL ACTIVITY DETECTED IN FOOD PREPARATION AREA
RECOMMENDATION: MAYBE DON'T EAT WHATEVER THEY'RE BRINGING
"Oh, fantastic," I muttered. "Because attempted poisoning is exactly what this day was missing."
The door handle rattled ominously.