The other day, he woke up slowly. Since it was Sunday, he had a day of rest, which he really needed to get his head straight. He woke up drooling on his sketches, which were absolutely delusional. He reluctantly accepted this fact and then got up.
He needed a more sensible plan, so he decided to take a walk around the territory and see what kind of problems he could solve to gain everyone's confidence.
He made his way to the door and opened it.
Upon seeing his face, a maid gasped and walked away. Greeted by this dramatic reaction and the huge hallways he was slowly growing accustomed to, he made his way to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror—
His eyes were dead and downcast, but deep inside there was still a hint of arrogance. His lips carried a suppressed smirk he hadn't even realized was there.
His expression was disgusting.
He touched his face. "Bad" wasn't enough to describe it. For a second, he dropped the prideful act and looked genuinely scared of himself. But seeing himself as he truly was—a scared teenager—hurt. So he put the arrogant mask back on to hide his insecurities.
He "fixed" his expression in the mirror, sighed, and walked out. Facing his emotions like that made him realize how vulnerable he truly was. Still, he refused to accept it and kept the "I'm better" mentality.
After leaving the bathroom, he wore a more socially acceptable expression. He walked through the unfamiliar mansion until he reached the main door. He sighed deeply before opening it.
Outside, there was a large patio surrounded by a garden.
Several people were training. In the distance, he saw another large structure that resembled the mansion. Only then did he realize everything stood on top of a massive hill. Far below, there was a village—most likely the one owned by Trevor Vermont the Second, along with the surrounding territory.
After observing everything, he decided to head toward the other structure.
As he walked, he watched the people training. It was strangely inspiring. After everything he had gone through in such a short time, he began appreciating the small things more—the chirping birds, the wind brushing through his hair, the rhythmic sounds of training.
It gave him a faint sense of belonging.
After about ten minutes, he arrived. It was a large wooden building with elegant medieval details. There was no sign indicating its purpose, so he steadied his breathing, adjusted his posture, and slowly entered.
Inside, the roof was made of glass, allowing natural light to flood the space. Rows upon rows of bookshelves filled the room. At the far edge sat a mature-looking woman in her twenties or thirties, reading a book. She appeared to be the receptionist.
There was also an open second floor supported by the walls, seemingly designed for reading, with tables, chairs, and decorations.
Seeing this brought Dante deep relief. Finding books had been one of his biggest concerns. The less information he had, the more suspicious he would seem.
He smiled and closed the door behind him, eyes shining as he looked at the endless shelves. Then he turned toward the woman and walked over.
Upon getting closer he had a small sense of familiarity, but he did not trust his mind right now, so he pushed the thought away.
"Hello… uhm… good morning?" he asked, trying to sound confident.
Her bored eyes lifted slightly.
"Good morning… Who are you? I've never seen you here before."
"I'm Dante. I'm a new servant in the mansion."
"I see… My name is Elsa. What do you need?"
"May I ask where the basic history and geography books are?"
She blinked twice, slightly surprised. Most people asked for magic tomes or combat manuals.
"They're at the back of the third row. Good luck, I guess."
She returned to her book, clearly uninterested in further conversation.
Dante nodded and walked toward the indicated row. There were dozens of books—far more than he expected. He picked three basic history books, two geography books, and one fairy tale collection, placing them into a wooden carrying box provided nearby.
He then headed toward the stairs leading to the second floor.
As soon as he reached the top, the first thing that caught his attention was a girl.
She had long, straight purple hair with bangs framing her face and striking green eyes. Her figure was slim with gentle curves. She wore a beautiful white and pink robe with simple white sandals.
She smiled faintly at him.
His breath hitched.
He was a socially awkward fifteen-year-old boy—of course he reacted. Startled, he dropped the box, and it fell straight onto his foot. Tears formed in his eyes as he frantically tried to lift it.
The girl chuckled softly and stood up.
"Oh my… how clumsy."
She walked toward him, amusement in her expression. Kneeling in front of him, she said gently:
"Stop moving."
Her face was close to his. His already red cheeks grew warmer as he looked away.
"O-Okay… I'll stand still…"
She chuckled again and placed her hand over his injured foot. A faint yellow glow appeared. Within seconds, the pain vanished.
It was magic—the first time he had seen it with his own eyes.
He tried to remain calm.
"Thank you… May I know your name?"
"No problem," she replied with a soft smile. "My name is Ana. Ana Wan Froid."