"Yes, I am," Asher replied.
A moment later, the door opened and a gentleman in a black butler's uniform stepped inside. His dark hair was neatly styled, his sideburns sharp and refined. He gave Asher a quick head-to-toe scan.
"Are you feeling better now, Master Asher?"
"Uuuh… yes," Asher said, trying to sound confident — mostly because he absolutely did not want to drink another one of those bitter potions.
After Arthur had brought him back from the academy to the Crimson Mansion on the hillside, doctors immediately swarmed him. No visible wounds, but no one wanted to take a chance. After a series of surprisingly fast examinations, they determined he was fine — just a little bloodless.
So they gave him a fantasy potion from hell (horrifyingly bitter), and a nutrition bar that tasted like compressed air. Then they told him to take a two-hour nap and a warm bubble bath.
…Okay, the bubble bath part was his own idea.
Now Butler Walter had arrived to confirm his condition.
"I'm alright," Asher said, standing up. "As you can see, I am perfectly normal. Please don't give me another potion."
He practically begged, wide-eyed, trying his best "pitiful puppy" expression.
Walter blinked in mild surprise… then chuckled.
"You won't be getting another potion, Master Asher. It wouldn't be healthy. The doctors said nutritious meals and proper rest are all you need to recover naturally."
"Fooo…"
Asher exhaled a deep sigh of relief. His fears had clearly been unnecessary.
"Well—speaking of meals," he continued, "I am a little… well, a lot hungry."
"That is excellent. Your brother is already waiting at the dining table," Walter replied, ever impeccable as he gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
"Um… okay."
Asher followed Walter out of the room, nerves slowly returning as they made their way toward the dining hall.
He wasn't sure how to act around Arthur. He remembered Asher's personality from the memories, but actually behaving like him was another matter entirely.
Come on, Asher, give me some advice.
"…"
Hello? Not even one snarky comment? Not calling me an idiot?
"…"
Nothing.
Wow. Silence. Guess you're shy now…
Still nothing.
Well, I have one idea, but no clue if it'll actually work, he thought nervously as they reached the dining-hall doors.
The doors opened — and a wave of heavenly fragrance hit him like a spell. His stomach growled loudly.
Okay, someone's excited, he thought, stepping inside.
The first thing he noticed was the long table, stretching almost the length of the hall. And the maids — real maids — walking around with covered dishes.
For a moment, he froze.
A lifelong anime fan.
A bucket list that very clearly included "see real maids in real life."
And now… here they were.
He had no idea how to react.
Chough, chough.
Walter nudged him.
Asher blinked back to reality, took a breath, and composed himself. Then he walked toward the head of the table.
Arthur sat in the chair to the right of the head seat, a tablet in hand, a deep frown on his sharp features.
"Master Arthur," Walter announced behind them. "Master Asher is here."
Arthur looked up, eyes meeting Asher's. His gaze swept over him — assessing, calculating.
"Are you feeling alright now?" he asked.
"Y… yes, brother."
Arthur nodded. "Good. Take a seat."
Asher obediently sat across from him and stared at the table full of food. Some dishes looked familiar. Others… not even remotely.
He sneaked another glance at Arthur, who was still frowning at his tablet.
Curiosity won.
"What are you looking at, brother?"
Arthur didn't look up. "Just some articles."
As the maids began serving food, Arthur finally put his tablet aside. He grabbed a handkerchief and tucked it into his shirt.
Asher followed suit, internally imagining his first delicious meal in this new world.
But reality seemed to be too cruel for his taste, literally.
As he saw one of the maid's.
No she was a demon with cruel demonic hands put some kind of cabbage salad on his plate .
His face instantly fell.
Crunch.
Arthur took a bite, as if to taunt him.
Soft giggles reached Asher's ears.
Arthur's brows twitched. He glanced toward the glass reflection on the cabinet behind them — two maids were clearly struggling to contain their laughter. One pressed her lips together, the other covered her mouth, eyes sparkling with amusement.
Their eyes weren't on Arthur.
They were on Asher.
Arthur turned forward — and immediately understood why.
Asher was holding a fork with a trembling hand, a leaf of cabbage speared on the end. His left eye twitched violently. His expression was one of pure despair, as if he were staring down a legendary monster instead of a salad.