***********
He took a measured sip, then frowned faintly as he studied his youngest sibling more closely.
What he saw unsettled him.
The boy before him carried himself differently—no restless fidgeting, no impatient glares, no impulsive flare of anger. Instead, there was a strange stillness about him. A quiet pressure that seemed to dominate his surroundings without effort.
Something subtle.
Something unfamiliar.
His grip on the cup tightened ever so slightly.
Is it just me or something has changed within little three's composure? Unlike his unruly behavior of throwing tantrums whenever he feels like it. Right now, it feels like…. Something that covers him within his range that I couldn't pinpoint what that was…
"Nariana… Okay. I'll ask you one last question. Where does your loyalty lie?"
The question itself sounded harmless—spoken calmly, even casually—but the moment it left the fifteen-year-old young master's mouth, the so‑called pitiful servant felt as though icy water had been poured straight into her veins.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She understood it immediately.
Despite being merely, a maid and a commoner, she was not stupid. That question was not about spilled tea, nor was it about etiquette or discipline. It was a probe—a thinly veiled blade wrapped in polite words.
Still kneeling, she clenched her hands beneath her sleeves, forcing herself to steady her breathing.
So, this is how it is…
She quickly straightened her posture, suppressing the panic threatening to surface. Any mistake now would be fatal. She had always heard rumors—that the Third Young Master of the Chevalier household was nothing more than an uneducated, ill-tempered brat, a disgrace who lashed out at servants for the smallest inconvenience.
But the young man standing before her did not resemble those rumors at all.
"This lowly maid's loyalty lies with the Marquis Chevalier household," she replied respectfully, lowering her head. "This lowly maid is deeply grateful for being accepted here and given a chance to work."
Her demeanor shifted seamlessly. The fearful sobbing vanished, replaced with humble gratitude—polished, convincing, and without a trace of shame.
The transition was smooth enough to fool most.
The young master smiled.
It was an innocent smile, one befitting a boy his age. Yet the moment Nariana saw it, an indescribable chill crawled down her spine.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Wasn't he supposed to explode by now? she thought, her pulse racing. Isn't this the bad-tempered Third Young Master from the rumors? Why hasn't he done anything?
From the moment she had "accidentally" spilled the hot drink on his hand, he had done nothing—no shouting, no screaming, no threats. Not even anger.
That silence was far more terrifying than a tantrum.
Before she could speak again, the young master cut in, his voice shifting.
"Really?" he asked lightly. "Are you willing to put your life on the line to swear an oath for that loyalty and gratefulness you've just stated? Hmm~~~"
His tone turned teasing, almost playful.
Nariana's breath caught.
Her instincts screamed danger.
Though he spoke without explicit threat or meaning, anyone with even a basic education could hear what lay beneath those words.
The air in the dining hall grew heavy.
The other servants remained frozen in place, their gazes darting between the kneeling maid and the Third Young Master. None of them dared speak or move. Most of them—born commoners—could not fully grasp the implication behind his words, but they sensed something ominous unfolding.
Among them, the more educated servants—those from fallen noble families or with formal training—palmed their sweating hands nervously.
They understood.
And they were afraid.
The young master himself, however, felt nothing but irritation.
Why do I even need to deal with this kind of bullshit?
His gaze flickered briefly toward the long dining table where his so-called family continued eating in silence, uninterested, indifferent—as if nothing unusual was happening.
As expected,.
Tsk.
Looks like I'm on my own again.
His thoughts drifted momentarily, slipping past the present scene.
First things first… I need to figure out how to get the hell out of this household.
He refused to suffer the same fate that awaited him in his first life.
Or perhaps, to phrase it more accurately—
To avoid walking the path already written by this world's novel.
......…
..............
...............…..
Where did it all begin?
It all traced back to his first life.
He had been born an illegitimate child.
His biological father was a high noble from one of the most prestigious clans in the Empire. His mother, on the other hand, was nothing more than a commoner in the eyes of noble society.
A half-blood noble.
That was what they called him.
Contrary to the romanticized tales often whispered by drunkards and poets, his birth held no hints of destiny or passion-filled love. His parents had spent only one night together—one moment of indulgence that neither could change afterward.
By the time his mother realized the gravity of what had happened, shame had already consumed her.
She fled.
Before his father even awoke, she disappeared.
Months later, his mother discovered she was pregnant. She knew what that meant—a child carrying the blood of a prestigious noble household. Instead of seeking protection or acknowledgment, she chose to run further, leaving the Empire entirely and going into hiding.
Though a commoner by status, his birth mother was no ordinary woman. She was the eldest daughter of the largest merchant company in the Empire, a household that stood at the head of the Merchant Alliance.
Yet even with wealth and connections, fear outweighed hope.
From what he could recall, it took nearly eight years before his father's subordinates finally tracked them down.
They were brought back to the Empire.
Back to the source.
That was when he learned the identity of his father.
AUGUSTUS RYNUS CHEVALIER.
The Marquis Chevalier.
The Iron-Blooded Swordmaster of the Empire.
At the time, he believed their lives would improve. He thought that returning to such a powerful household meant safety, stability—perhaps even belonging.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
The moment he stepped foot into the Chevalier household, his life turned into a slow, relentless nightmare.
He was labeled a disgrace from the very beginning.
An illegitimate child.
A stain on the Chevalier name.
Worse still, he failed to manifest the family's proud bloodline—the legacy that defined the Chevalier lineage.
In simple terms, he was useless.
A wastrel.
An embarrassment masquerading as a young master.
**********