Mikhail walks the long, silent expanse of the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the polished marble. The weight of anticipation is immense, his mind a whirlwind of tactical planning. Thousands of things running through my head. This is the man who rules the Empire and, more importantly, the man who knew the original Mikhail best.
When he finally reaches the imposing double doors at the hall's end, the two Imperial knights standing guard immediately snap to attention and bow. They move to open the doors, but Mikhail halts them.
"No, wait," he says, lowering his voice slightly and adopting a tone that's hushed yet conspiratorial and friendly—a deliberate, calculated deviation from the original Prince's habitual indifference. "Is it natural that I'm nervous?"
The guards exchange quick, surprised looks with each other. A Crown Prince admitting nervousness is unthinkable. "N-No, My Lord," one replies, clearly confused.
Mikhail offers them a genuine, though fleeting, smile, acknowledging their confusion, playing the role of the relatable human being before his descent into cold authority. "Hmm," he sighs, letting the tension drop. "Okay, open the door now." With a slight nod, they obey, and the massive doors swing inward.
Mikhail steps into the Emperor's Study. It's a space that radiates power and intellect: a lavish room lined with towering bookshelves reaching the ceiling, filled with ancient tomes of knowledge and magic. Portraits of stern, successful older Emperors line the walls, and a massive Flag of the Great Empire is prominently displayed. At the center stands a colossal desk, and behind it, the imposing figure of the Emperor.
Oh shit, here we go now, Mikhail thinks, his gaze sweeping over his father. The Emperor is a living mirror of his own potential future: taller, broader, with a neatly trimmed beard and longer, distinguished hair. He looks like Mikhail but older, with a beard and longer hair. So this is what I'll look like in a few years.
The Emperor breaks the silence first, offering a wide, welcoming smile that seems both genuine and utterly political. "Son, welcome back. I heard what you did in the Eldrath court. You're going to be a diplomat one day, son. You handled a humiliating crisis with decisive force, turning defeat into advantage." The Emperor pauses, his smile growing inquisitive. "But I don't understand—you could have chosen anyone, hell, even Queen Yuehua herself to secure the alliance. But I wonder why you decided to choose that... commoner girl."
This is the test. The Emperor is fishing for a weakness, a justification, an explanation that the old Mikhail would have either sulked through or dismissed with a sneer. Mikhail quickly accesses the game lore: the original Mikhail had a deeply rough and secretive relationship with his father, marked by distrust and mutual disrespect. He'll capitalize on that known dynamic. Ok, it's time to decide.
Mikhail meets his father's gaze, the arrogance of the Crown Prince firmly in place. "You don't reveal any of your secrets to me, Father. So why shall I?"
The Emperor's smile falters for a single, critical moment. His eyes narrow as he stares hard at his son, searching for the underlying emotion. The room is utterly silent.
Well, shit, Mikhail thinks, his internal panic flaring. I'm fucking done for. He's pushed too hard, too fast.
Then the Emperor's head suddenly goes back, and a huge, booming laugh fills the study, washing away the tension. "Haha! Now that is proof that you're my flesh and blood after all, Mikhail! That insolence... it has been too long since I've heard you speak with such fire!" The Emperor waves a hand dismissively. "Good. Every man has their secrets, especially a Crown Prince. I will not press the matter further." He rises slightly, settling the discussion. "Go take some rest, and prepare for the Royal Banquet. You and your woman will be the center of attention tonight, so be prepared."
Mikhail gives a small, reserved nod of acknowledgment—the perfect gesture of a son who respects his father's rank but chafes at his authority—and, without another word, turns and walks out of the study. He's survived the first and most critical test by simply acting like the arrogant, secretive prince he's supposed to be. The door closes softly behind him.