The next few days blurred into a chaotic mix of etiquette lessons, magic drills, and Lucien trying not to lose his mind in public.
This is worse than rush hour deliveries during a typhoon.
At least in Tokyo I could curse out loud.
Here I have to smile while learning which fork to use before I accidentally start World War Nobility.
This morning’s disaster was wardrobe fitting.
Three seamstresses buzzed around Lucien like angry bees, draping him in black-and-emerald fabrics that screamed “rich but make it evil.” The youngest one pricked her finger while adjusting a hem and flinched hard, clearly expecting him to laugh or curse her.
Instead, Lucien offered a gentle, “Are you okay?”
The entire room went dead silent again.
One seamstress actually dropped her pins.
Oh I’m cooked.
They’re going to think I’ve been replaced by a saint.
Or possessed.
Or both.
Plot twist: the real villain was the customer service voice all along.
Elara swept into the room halfway through, already dressed in a stunning dark violet gown that looked like it cost more than his old apartment’s yearly rent.
She took one look at Lucien standing awkwardly on the fitting platform and smirked.
“My, my.
You’re being positively charming lately, brother.
Practicing for the palace reception?
Or did that strange dream of yours turn you into a pathetic little lamb?”
Lucien met her eyes in the mirror.
“Just trying not to embarrass the family, sister.”
Take that, villainess route.
I’m not biting the bait today.
Unless it’s literal bait and poisoned, in which case—hard pass.
Elara’s expression flickered with something unreadable.
Suspicion?
Amusement?
Mild concern that her favorite punching bag was broken?
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
“You’re up to something.
I know it.
The real Lucien would have made that poor girl cry by now.” She glanced at the seamstress who had pricked herself.
“Keep this up and Father might actually start favoring you.
We can’t have that, can we?”
Ah yes, sibling rivalry in a family of shadow assassins.
Healthy.
Totally normal.
I give it three chapters before she tries to frame me for something.
Later that afternoon, during joint magic practice with Elara (because the Duchess thought “family bonding” would look good for the palace visit), Lucien got another glimpse into the world’s power mechanics.
Elara summoned elegant threads of shadow that danced like living serpents, forming intricate patterns in the air.
Lucien’s own attempts were clumsier but surprisingly stable—his adult focus helping him maintain control where the original brat would have thrown a tantrum and exploded something.
“The palace will have anti-shadow wards,” Elara said casually while twisting a shadow into a thorny rose.
“But our bloodline can still whisper through them if you’re skilled enough.
Remember that when you’re tempted to play nice with the prince.”
Whisper through wards?
That’s some next-level spying bullshit.
No wonder this family lasted so long before getting wrecked by heroine plot armor.
The power system here rewards paranoia.
Great.
Lucien tried to copy her rose but accidentally made it look like a lopsided blob.
Elara laughed—a sharp, crystalline sound.
“Pathetic.
At least try to look threatening.”
Oh I’m so fucked.
I’m out here making shadow blobs while she’s crafting murder flowers.
If the Saintess sees this I’m done for.
“Behold, the Nightshade menace… he makes abstract art.”
That evening, as servants prepared their travel trunks for the upcoming reception, Lucien snuck into the family library.
He needed more intel on the novel’s plot points.
The Duke had surprisingly granted him limited access after his “improved behavior.”
Tomes on shadow contracts, noble lineages, and forbidden spells lined the shelves.
One dusty volume caught his eye: A Chronicle of Divine Interventions.
It detailed past Saintesses and how they toppled corrupt houses.
Yup.
This is basically the heroine’s win condition guide.
Cecilia shows up, purifies everything, collects handsome capture targets, and my family becomes a cautionary tale.
Not on my watch.
I refuse to be the NPC that makes readers cheer when I die.
He was halfway through a chapter on royal politics when the door opened.
Duchess Isolde entered, her expression unreadable.
“Researching, are we?
How unlike you.” She glided closer.
“Your father is pleased with your recent progress.
But I wonder… what changed, my sweet boy?”
Lucien closed the book carefully.
Mom’s fishing.
Play it cool or she’ll have me exorcised by noon tomorrow.
“I just… don’t want to be weak anymore,” he said, borrowing a line from typical isekai protagonists.
“Dreams like that make you think differently.”
The Duchess studied him for a long moment, then smiled in a way that made his skin crawl.
“Good.
The palace reception will be the perfect stage to show the world our family’s strength.
Especially you, Lucien.
Stay close to Elara.
Learn from her.”
Learn from her?
Lady, your daughter is on the fast track to execution or exile.
I’m trying to uninstall the villain DLC here.
As she left, Lucien let out a long breath.
One royal reception.
I just have to survive one fancy party without triggering any death flags.
How hard can it be?
Famous last words, probably.