I pushed open the door to my room and stepped inside.
Everything was exactly as I’d left it, bed made. The window overlooked the training yard, where I could already hear the faint sounds of servants beginning their morning routines.
I dropped my bag on the bed and sat down beside it, the mattress dipping under my weight. Then I just... laid back, staring up at the ceiling.
A long breath escaped me.
Now I just want to take a nap.
My body ached, not badly, just the dull, persistent soreness that came from fighting, traveling, and not sleeping properly for too long.
The cuts from the bandit encounter had already started healing, barely more than thin lines now, but they still stung when I moved wrong.
My mind drifted back to the encounter in the corridor.
Cassandra had just... greeted me. That was it.
A few words, that sharp look, and then she’d turned and walked away without another word, her practice sword still in hand, heading back toward wherever she’d come from.
No questions.
Just acknowledgment that I’d returned, and then she was gone.
I’d been baffled, honestly. I’d expected no one to be there waiting for me, and I’d been right about that, but seeing her there, of all people, had thrown me off balance in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
What was that about?
I shook my head, closing my eyes.
No need to think about it. Not now.
Right now, I just needed sleep.
The familiar sounds of the manor filtered through the walls, distant footsteps, muffled voices, the creak of old wood settling.
I let them fade into background noise.
Within minutes, exhaustion pulled me under, and I slept.
*****
I woke to afternoon light slanting through my window.
For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented, my mind struggling to place where I was.
Then memory caught up.
Right. Home.
I sat up slowly.
How long was I out?
I glanced at the window. The sun’s position suggested mid-afternoon, probably around three or four. Which meant I’d slept for... what, six or seven hours?
Standing up, I began stretching. A yawn forced its way out, jaw cracking.
I’m getting too old for this. And I’m seventeen.
Then I moved to the washbasin in the corner, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to make myself presentable.
My reflection in the small mirror looked tired, dark circles under my eyes, hair sticking up at odd angles, the faint marks of healing cuts visible on my jaw and neck.
Presentable enough.
I changed into fresh clothes from my bag, simple black trousers and a dark grey shirt, nothing fancy.
As I finished buttoning the shirt, voices drifted through the door. Distant but clear enough to make out.
Laughter. Multiple people. The refined, controlled kind that came from noble social gatherings.
Guests?
I opened the door carefully, peering into the hallway. Empty, but the voices grew clearer, coming from the direction of the main sitting room downstairs.
I recognized Father’s voice immediately.
Then Cassandra’s voice, smooth and professional, playing the perfect daughter.
And two others.
Victor and Cedric.
I had exactly zero interest in sitting through whatever social performance was happening down there. Father would expect me to attend, to present myself properly, to act like a dutiful son returning from the Academy.
Yeah, no.
I closed the door quietly and moved back into my room, grabbing my sword from where I’d left it leaning against the wall. Not because I expected trouble, just because it felt wrong to leave it behind.
There was a servant’s staircase at the far end of the hallway. Narrow, poorly lit, used by staff to move through the manor without disturbing the family.
I’d used it countless times as a kid—or rather, the original Jin had—whenever he wanted to avoid people.
I slipped out of my room, moved quickly down the hall, and descended the servant’s stairs two at a time.
The voices faded as I went lower, replaced by the distant sounds of kitchen activity, pots clanging, orders being called, the general chaos of a household preparing meals.
I emerged on the ground floor near the back entrance, checked to make sure no one was watching, and stepped outside.
To the estate gardens.
It was one of the few parts of the estate I’d actually liked. Quiet. Isolated. A place where you could disappear for hours without anyone bothering to look for you.
I followed the main path away from the manor, hands in my pockets, letting my feet carry me without any particular destination in mind.
The afternoon air was cool, carrying the scent of late-blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. Somewhere nearby, birds sang, something cheerful.
I found my usual spot, a gnarled oak with roots that created a natural seat against its trunk. The shade was cool and dark, the ground beneath soft with fallen leaves. I settled down, leaning back against the rough bark, and let out a long breath.
Perfect.
I pulled out the small knife I kept in my boot and picked up a fallen branch from the ground. Started whittling without any real goal in mind, just letting my hands work while my thoughts wandered.
Back to the academy, to the fight with the bandits. To Agnes, and the fact that I still didn’t know where she lived or how to find her. To Cassandra’s strange greeting in the corridor, and to the fact someone had sent a carriage for me.
The knife scraped against wood, curls of bark falling away.
What am I even doing? Playing at being a student? Pretending I belong in this world?
I died. In my old life. And woke up here, in someone else’s body, with someone else’s memories and problems.
And now I’m just... what? Going through the motions? Surviving?
The knife slipped, nicking my thumb. A thin line of blood welled up.
"Fuck."
I stuck my thumb in my mouth, tasting copper, and stared at the half-carved branch in my other hand.
Get it together. You’re alive. That’s more than you had before.
Stop overthinking.
A breeze rustled the leaves, sending dappled shadows dancing across the ground.
Then I leaned back, closed my eyes and just... existed for a while.
Time passed in that disconnected way it did when you weren’t tracking it closely. The sun moved across the sky, the shadows shifting and lengthening. I didn’t move from my spot, content to let the afternoon slip.
Then I heard footsteps on the gravel path.
Not the soft tread of a servant going about their duties. These were deliberate. Coming from the main path.
I didn’t open my eyes. Maybe they’d pass by. Maybe they were looking for someone else.
The footsteps stopped a few feet away.
"Hiding in the gardens," a familiar voice said, cold and sharp. "How typical."
I opened my eyes and looked up.
Cedric stood on the path, silhouetted against the brighter light beyond the trees. He wore formal attire, deep blue jacket with silver threading. His brown hair was styled with the same precision, every strand in place.
But his expression ruined the composed image.
Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, hands clenched at his sides. The fury was barely concealed, simmering just beneath the surface of his practiced control.
I met his gaze steadily, keeping my own expression neutral.
"Cedric," I said evenly. "Didn’t realize you were looking for me."
His eyes flashed, and I knew immediately, whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.