I stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection with zero enthusiasm.
The tunic was clean, at least. Dark grey, no stains, fit reasonably well now that I’d gained some muscle mass. The trousers were acceptable. Boots polished enough not to look like I’d walked through mud.
Good enough.
I ran my fingers through my hair once, shoulder-length now, falling messily around my face because I hadn’t bothered with a proper cut in months.
Presentable. Barely.
I headed downstairs where the family was already gathering in the entrance hall.
Father stood near the main doors in formal lord’s attire, deep blue doublet with the Raith family crest embroidered in silver, black trousers, polished boots. His expression was stern, authoritative, the perfect noble lord ready for a public appearance.
Victor stood beside him, dressed similarly but in darker colors that emphasized his martial bearing. He looked every inch the proper heir, strong, confident, competent.
Cedric bounced on his heels in his own formal clothes, clearly excited about the festival despite trying to maintain a dignified posture.
Then Victor’s eyes landed on me descending the stairs.
His lip curled in disgust.
"Seriously?" He gestured at me with obvious disdain. "That’s how you’re presenting yourself? You look like a vagrant who stole a noble’s clothes."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Father cut me off with a sharp look.
"Victor’s right. You’re representing the Raith name today." his tone was cold, dismissive. "Fix it."
Victor snapped his fingers at a nearby young maid, maybe twenty, with neat black hair.
"You. Take him upstairs and make him presentable. Properly. We leave in twenty minutes."
The maid curtsied quickly. "Yes, young master."
She turned to me, her expression carefully neutral. "Please come with me, young master Jin."
I followed her back upstairs without argument. No point fighting this.
She led me to my room and immediately started pulling clothes from the wardrobe I rarely used.
"Arms up," she instructed, already holding a clean white shirt made of fine linen.
I complied, letting her dress me like a doll. The shirt went on first, then a vest in deep burgundy with intricate silver threading along the edges. Over that, a formal jacket in black with the Raith crest embroidered on the left breast.
She worked efficiently, adjusting the fit, fastening buttons, smoothing wrinkles.
Then she moved to my hair.
"Your hair has gotten quite long, young master," she said, running a comb through it. Not judgment, just observation.
"Haven’t bothered cutting it."
She pulled them back from my face, arranging it so it fell naturally around my shoulders, then used some kind of light oil to give it shine and control the mess.
When she finished, she stepped back to examine her work.
"There. Much better."
I turned to look in the mirror.
And actually paused.
The person staring back at me looked... different.
The formal clothes fit properly, emphasizing the lean muscle I’d built over eighteen months instead of hanging loose on a skeletal frame. The burgundy and black combination was striking against my pale skin, and the silver threading caught the light.
But it was the hair that really changed things.
Pulled back from my face, falling in controlled waves past my shoulders, it actually looked intentional instead of neglected. Combined with the formal attire and my no-longer-gaunt features...
I looked like an actual noble.
Turning around, I saw the maid staring at me, her cheeks slightly flushed.
She caught herself and quickly looked away.
"You should go, young master. They’ll be waiting."
I waved my hand through my hair once, partly checking her work, partly just... processing this new appearance.
Then I headed back downstairs.
The entrance hall fell silent when I appeared.
Victor’s sneer faltered slightly. Cedric blinked in surprise. Even Father’s expression shifted fractionally, not approval, but at least not immediate disgust.
"Better," Father said curtly. "Let’s go. We’re already behind schedule because of this."
He turned and walked out the main doors without waiting for a response.
Victor followed, then Cedric, leaving me to trail behind as always.
The carriage waiting outside was the formal family vehicle, polished wood with the Raith crest painted on the doors, cushioned seats inside, pulled by four horses.
Father and Victor took the forward-facing seats. Cedric squeezed in next to Victor, deliberately avoiding sitting near me.
I took the rear-facing seat across from them, settling into the corner.
The door closed, and the carriage lurched into motion.
Silence filled the space, broken only by the sound of wheels on gravel and horses’ hooves.
Father stared out the window, his expression distant. Victor examined his fingernails with obvious boredom. Cedric fidgeted, trying to sit still but clearly excited despite himself.
None of them looked at me.
Standard family dynamic.
I stared out my own window, watching the manor grounds gradually give way to the main road leading toward town.
The Harvest Festival was held in the central square of the nearest major town, about an hour’s carriage ride from the manor. It was one of the few public events where all the local noble families gathered, along with wealthy merchants and common folk celebrating the season’s bounty.
Politics wrapped in pageantry. Alliances made and broken over wine and dancing. Everyone dressed in their finest, pretending to enjoy each other’s company while maneuvering for advantage.
Exactly the kind of event I’d hated in my old life, corporate networking dinners in expensive suits, making small talk with people who only cared about what you could do for them.
At least here I didn’t have to pretend to network. Nobody wanted to talk to the Raith family embarrassment anyway.
The carriage rolled on, carrying us toward whatever tedious social performance awaited.
I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.