Jiro sat alone in his chamber. A candle burned low on the table, casting a thin, wavering light — too faint to continue reading the latest volume he had borrowed from the royal library.
With a quiet sigh, he set the book aside, leaned back, and rang a small silver bell.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
A young boy in the gray robe of a common slave appeared at the half-open door.
"Fresh candles. Wine. And summon Kaimi."
"At once, my lord."
The boy bowed deeply and withdrew without lifting his eyes.
"Where have you vanished to, my cunning little nephew?" Jiro murmured to himself.
As he waited, his thoughts returned — as they always did — to the injustice of his birth.
He had come into the world second.
Twenty seconds after his elder brother.
Twenty seconds that had cost him the throne of Anatodom.
In a week he would turn sixty-five. He had fathered two sons and three daughters. His brother, despite his age, had produced only one heir — and that embarrassingly late.
Jiro had waited.
He had endured.
And when at last he had cornered his nephew —
The wretched boy vanished.
A blinding white flash. A scorched circle burned into the stone floor.
Nothing else.
How had he done it?
Where was he hiding?
The questions gnawed at him day and night.
But one thing was certain.
He had to find Klaus.
Without the rightful heir, all his years of patience would be wasted. He needed the boy alive — and once he had him, he would finish his brother and take what should have been his from the beginning.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
A tall, gaunt man in a deep purple robe — the mark of a high-ranking slave — entered the chamber.
"Kaimi." Jiro gestured him closer.
Another servant slipped in silently to replace the candles.
"How may I serve you? My power is yours."
"I wish to test the limits of that power," Jiro said. "I must find my nephew. Your amulets have failed me. Can you create something stronger?"
"With respect, my lord, the amulets I craft are exceptionally potent," Kaimi replied evenly. "They would find their target even on the far side of the world."
Jiro lifted his eyes from the flame.
"And if the target is no longer in this world?"
Kaimi hesitated.
"That would require tremendous power. Transporting a living person across worlds is no simple feat. Your nephew could not possess such strength."
"He may have had assistance."
"Do you know who aided him?"
"If I knew," Jiro snapped, "I would not have wasted days hunting shadows. So answer me — can you find him wherever he is?"
After a pause, Kaimi inclined his head.
"I can craft a tracking talisman. But it will take several days. And I will require something strongly attuned to him — an object he carried often."
"I have it. His sword."
"That will suffice. Its resonance will allow me to forge a binding link. You will know his location at all times."
"Begin immediately. You have two days."
Jiro gestured toward the trembling boy near the door.
"This slave is at your disposal. Use him if needed. Take whatever you require in my name. Two days, Kaimi — or you will prove more useless than this shaking mouse."
His gaze flicked to the child, who nearly collapsed with fear.
Kaimi bowed and withdrew.
Jiro lifted his wine and smiled.
"I will find you… and I will take what is mine."
"I told you — act as if you were… as if you were a slave."
The comparison felt brutally accurate to Egor. Perhaps now Klaus would understand.
"Do you realize what you're asking?" Klaus demanded.
"Yesterday I didn't tell Grandma about your behavior. But I won't keep covering for you. Just do what I say!"
"Is that a threat?"
"No!" Egor shot back. "I'm trying to help you. I promised her. And honestly? I want you out of my bed, my room, and my life as soon as possible!"
Klaus fell silent.
A sudden ripple of unease passed through him — as if danger hovered just beyond sight. He scanned the street.
Blue sky. Passing pedestrians. Ordinary calm.
He pushed the feeling aside.
Egor noticed the change. Something in Klaus's presence had shifted — grown heavier, sharper. The air seemed charged.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"You are right," Klaus said at last. "I wish to return home. I will attempt to follow your advice. Consider yourself promoted — a high-ranking slave. My advisor."
"How generous, my lord," Egor replied dryly.
"You learn quickly," Klaus said — and laughed.
The sound startled Egor. He had never imagined that such a severe face could soften like that.
Without meaning to, he laughed too.
Sveta was exhausted. All she wanted was to get home. Her eyelids drooped, so she turned up the music and sang along to stay awake.
Almost there.
The highway stretched ahead, empty and hypnotic.
She was fighting sleep when a blinding white flash erupted in the middle of the road.
Her tires screamed as she slammed the brakes. By the time the car stopped, the light had vanished.
"That's it. I need to quit night shifts. I'm starting to hallucinate."
Still uneasy, she stepped out to check.
Nothing.
Of course.
She was about to climb back in when the flash appeared again — same spot — and a beam of brilliant light struck her forehead.
The exhaustion vanished.
She slid into the driver's seat.
Sleep no longer mattered.
Only one thought remained.
I must find him.
The car began to move.
She did not know where she was going.
But her body did.
I must find him.
Soon she no longer remembered who she had been before that thought.
Klaus stood at the bar exactly as Egor had instructed, surveying the space.
Dim lighting. Polished parquet floors. A heavy wooden counter. Tall stools. Shelves lined with expensive bottles. A well-groomed bartender polishing glasses with methodical precision.
Large wooden tables filled the hall. Leather sofas curved into private alcoves. Soft jazz drifted through the air, carrying hints of herbs and alcohol.
Hookah smoke explained the unfamiliar scent.
Under other circumstances, he might have appreciated the place.
Tonight, he despised it.
That he would work here was the true insult.
A crown prince reduced to serving drinks.
His pride ground down to dust.
He studied the layout. The ceiling rose high above the center of the hall. A staircase led upward to a second level that overlooked the room — likely reserved for wealthier guests.
Nearby, Egor spoke with an elegant brunette in a tailored suit. She appeared in her early forties, though she concealed it skillfully.
Klaus had no doubt she had made use of this world's surgical miracles.
While speaking, she assessed him openly.
The sensation unsettled him.
Is this how a slave feels when being evaluated?
It was deeply unpleasant.
Egor motioned him over.
Suppressing the urge to leave, Klaus joined them.
"Hello, Klaus," the woman said smoothly. "Egor tells me you're looking for work."
"Yes."
The word felt like swallowing glass.
"You have no experience?"
"This would be my first position."
"My establishment is demanding," she said. "I do not usually hire people with no background in service. However…" Her eyes swept over him. "Given your appearance, I'm willing to make an exception."
"So you accept me?"
"A probationary period. Can you start today?"
"Let us not postpone the inevitable."
"Excellent. Egor, he's under your supervision. Show him everything and find him a uniform."
She left.
"That went better than I expected," Egor said with relief. "Please keep your promise. Follow my advice."
"You are my advisor," Klaus replied. "I will listen."
For Egor, that was enough.
It was progress.
The dim hall gave way to brightly lit service corridors. They passed a kitchen where an aging chef shouted at his staff before reaching the employees' locker room.
"This locker's free," Egor said. "We'll find you a uniform. Do you know how to iron?"
Klaus's expression was answer enough.
"I'll handle it," Egor sighed. "Just wait."
"I will look around."
"Please don't do anything reckless."
"I am observing."
That did not reassure him.
Outside, Klaus nearly collided with two waitresses in fitted skirts and crisp white blouses. They looked him over boldly, giggled, and walked on.
In his world, no one would dare study the crown prince so openly unless prepared to lose their head.
The attention unsettled him.
He was not sure whether it merely irritated him — or stirred something darker.
Unexpectedly, he thought of Egor.
Only now did he realize the young man was, in his own way, attractive — though not by the standards of Isorobia. Slender. Almost fragile.
Back home, such a youth might have been sold to a pleasure house — and likely in high demand.
The thought gave him pause.
Why should that matter?
"Getting acquainted with your new workplace?"
Klara's voice interrupted him.
"Yes."
"You're quiet. That's good. But when greeting guests, try to look… kinder."
"I will try."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
His body tensed instinctively.
"Yes, she was a woman.
But a dangerous one.
"Call me Klara," she said softly. "My staff use my name."
She brushed a strand of hair from his face.
"I like your hairstyle. It suits you. What do these mean?" She reached toward the tattoos on his temple.
Klaus caught her wrist.
"I do not appreciate being touched without permission."
"You'll have to loosen up," she said calmly. "In this job, people won't ask."
"That may prove difficult."
"I hope not — if you intend to stay."
"Klaus, everything's ready," Egor called.
"I am coming."
The uniform was another humiliation — fitted black trousers, white shirt, apron, polished shoes.
As Egor explained the duties, Klaus's face grew steadily paler.
Serving others.
Unthinkable.
"And most importantly," Egor finished, "whether you keep this job depends on my grandmother. She's kind — but if you upset her…"
He shuddered.
The shift began.
For five minutes, Klaus managed well.
He stood behind the bar, observing.
"That is not your task," Klara reminded him calmly.
He clenched his jaw.
"See those three women? Seat them and bring menus. And try not to look as though you're about to sentence them."
Suppressing his fury, Klaus obeyed.
"Welcome. Please follow me."
The women exchanged amused glances but complied.
"When you're ready to order, I'll return."
He retreated quickly.
Hours passed. He managed several tables.
He considered it progress.
Klara disagreed.
"Out of four tables, three requested another waiter," she informed him. "That's a record. One last chance. Take a break."
Outwardly calm, inwardly furious, Klaus stepped outside.
He hated defeat.
Now he had both defeat and humiliation.
"First day?" a waitress asked, leaning against the wall with a cigarette.
"Mia."
"Klaus."
"Relax. Smile. Be friendly. That's it."
"That is more than one instruction."
She laughed.
"Trust me. Follow that and your tips double."
"Why help me? I am your competition."
"I've known Egor for years. He's a good guy. I don't want him stressed."
She smiled and left.
Klaus remained alone.
"This is a battle," he murmured. "And in war, all means are acceptable."
His final test came with a large group of office workers.
"Last chance," Klara said.
Klaus approached with a flawless smile.
"Welcome. Please follow me."
Warm tone. Slight bow. Polite recommendations.
The performance was impeccable.
Egor stared in disbelief.
Who is this? Where did the arrogant prince go?
Klara smiled knowingly. Sergei simmered with jealousy. Mia watched with amusement.
Inside, Klaus burned.
But he endured.
Victory required sacrifice.
Walking home later, Egor could not hide his amazement.
"You were incredible. Where did you learn that?"
"I observe," Klaus replied coolly. "I have seen servant-slaves attend their masters at royal receptions. I never imagined such skills would serve me."
"Grandma will be happy."
"I hope so."
His politeness ended at work.
"Make the coffee yourself," Egor snapped the next morning.
"How can I? I have you."
"I. Am. Not. Your. Servant."
Yet he still made the coffee.
A week passed.
"I am impressed with how quickly you've adapted," Pauoka said.
"I honor our agreement," Klaus replied. "When will you honor yours?"
"I am trying. Fifty years have passed. I must find the place where I first arrived."
"If that will help, I am ready."
"We work today."
"To hell with work if I can return home."
"Patience. This is only the beginning."
Klaus's patience was thinning — but he had no alternative.
"If I must remain a slave a little longer to reclaim my status," he said coldly, "then we go in two days. I have a day off."
"Very well," Pauoka said. "Two days."