Mikhail walks purposefully away from the Emperor's study, his inner turmoil settling into a focused calm. He soon finds his way to what's clearly his personal, private chamber—a space of breathtaking luxury. The room is massive, dominated by a huge golden bed in the center, its headboard intricately carved. The heavy curtains and bedding are all rendered in deep crimson and red, the color of power and passion, clearly the original Mikhail's favored hue.
Man, six-star hotel is a failure in front of this, he muses, a small, weary smile crossing his face. Without ceremony, he simply flops down onto the comfortable bed, letting the exhaustion of the past week's trauma and constant strategic performance claim him. He slips into a heavy, dreamless sleep for a couple of necessary hours.
When he wakes, the natural light filtering through the tall windows has faded, replaced by the soft glow of interior lighting that someone has silently activated. He rises, stretches his powerful new body, and notices an adjacent door. Driven by curiosity, he walks over and opens it, revealing a truly spectacular sight: a palatial bathroom featuring a large, golden-rimmed pool fed by beautifully sculpted, female-shaped fountains. Sweet lord of above. This is a fucking bathroom? The sheer extravagance is astounding. I'm gonna have to take a dip.
He strips and submerges himself in the cool, refreshing water, luxuriating in the sensation of being the son of the most powerful man in the world. This isn't bad at all. After a long, restorative soak, he emerges, looking around for a towel without success. Unconcerned with propriety, he walks back into the room entirely naked.
He opens the massive wardrobe, revealing a dizzying array of hundreds of luxurious suits and robes. He stands there, genuinely paralyzed by choice. Now which one should I wear?
At that precise moment, the main door to the room opens, and Maria, the Head Maid, walks in.
Shit, I'm naked, Mikhail thinks, his guard spiking, but he immediately recalls the persona. I'm not going to try to hide myself. Have to stay in character. The spoiled, indifferent Crown Prince wouldn't care.
Maria, however, shows no visible reaction to his nudity. She simply walks up to him with a familiar, chiding warmth. "My dear young lord, what are you doing? I haven't died yet for you to dress by yourself."
She quickly moves past his indecision, selecting a magnificent, tailored red suit that matches the room's decor and begins the process of dressing him. As she works, Mikhail can't help but notice the contact. Her hands, delicate yet firm, often linger—feather-light caresses across his scarred chest and the rippled muscles of his back, touching him more than is strictly necessary for simply fastening clothing.
She murmurs softly, her voice barely audible. "You have grown up so much, my dear lord."
Mikhail, fully aware of the implied intimacy, gives her a knowing smile. "You always say that, Maria. I don't know when you're telling the truth and when you're lying."
She leans in closer to adjust the fine fabric near his neck, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Forgive me, my lord. But I don't know how to lie to you." As she pulls away, Mikhail sees the top of her fox-like ear is tinged red with a blush. The confirmation is chilling and exhilarating.
Mikhail, oh Mikhail, he thinks, shaking his head slightly. In the game, you had her, everything—unquestioning loyalty, love, power—but you decided to ruin your life instead. The Head Maid, the silent master of the palace's power structure, is deeply infatuated with him. But don't worry, I'll make it all come true, one at a time.
The dressing is finished, transforming him into a commanding figure in the Empire's finest attire. He strides out of the room, Maria following close behind.
"Where is Miyako?" he asks, checking on his new acquisition.
"She is already at the Banquet, my lord," Maria replies.
Reaching the massive Banquet Hall, Mikhail pauses, ascending a short flight of decorative steps to an upper-floor balcony that overlooks the vast hall below. He takes a moment to survey the political landscape before making his entrance.
The hall is teeming with the high-ranking Nobles of the Empire. But crucially, he notes the presence of guests from other factions, observing them through his mental filter. They're all thinking who the Crown Prince of the Empire has decided to marry. They want to see her and are thinking to turn it into their advantage. Bastards, all of them.
Then his gaze sweeps across the floor, and he notices a distinctive individual—one whose mind, like Hilowat and Miyako, is a blank slate. Hmm, another character from the game. The man is enormous, dwarfing the surrounding courtiers. Mikhail wouldn't have known him, but too bad I'm not Mikhail. This is Thulgar, Prince of the Kingdom of Valkor, the Frozen North. He's the type we call barbarian-class warrior. Uses battle-axe and war hammers. Full offensive frontliner. If I'm 6ft tall, then he at least has to be 7ft. The raw, untapped power radiating from the silent man is evident. He's strong and powerful. He has great potential. I'm taking him on my side, just like my lovely Saintess.
Speaking of which, where is she?
His eyes finally locate Miyako. She's standing quietly in a far corner of the hall, alone, sipping wine, almost deliberately fading into the background. Of course, because of her commoner status, no one noticed her yet.
Mikhail turns to Maria. "Maria, what is she wearing?"
"Forgive me, my lord," Maria whispers, a rare flicker of exasperation in her tone. "I tried everything, but she refuses to wear anything other than black. I managed to fit her with a long black dress."
"Hmm, a long black dress. Not completely bad," Mikhail concedes. "What about her blade?"
"She refuses to let it go, my lord. I apologize."
Mikhail smiles, this time with genuine approval. "No, let her be. She can be stubborn at times." The warrior is refusing to shed her identity for court etiquette.
With the stage set and his potential allies identified, Mikhail draws himself up to his full height, taking a final, surveying look at the assembled crowd. He's ready to make his entrance and announce his intentions. He descends the royal stairs into the Royal Banquet.