"Okay, I'll be there," I said quietly, my voice carrying just enough to reach the maid before her footsteps faded down the corridor.
The silence that followed pressed against my ears. I stood there for a moment, letting the stillness settle, using it to organize my thoughts. This wasn't just breakfast—it was reconnaissance. Information gathering. The first real test of whether I could navigate this family without triggering the landmines the original Riyan had planted everywhere.
I moved back into the bedroom and approached the wardrobe with methodical purpose. The clothes inside were exactly what I'd expected from the memories: expensive, tailored, designed to project wealth and status. I selected a crisp white shirt and black pants, both well-made but understated. The fabric felt restrictive as I buttoned the shirt, but that was fine. Discomfort kept you sharp.
My reflection in the full-length mirror stopped me cold.
That hair. That ridiculous, impractical hair that hung down past my shoulders like some kind of costume piece. Even when I pulled it back into a ponytail, it made me look softer than I needed to be. The original Riyan had grown it out because he'd overheard Fera Starlight mention once—*once*—that she thought long hair on men could be attractive.
So naturally, the obsessed fool had spent years growing it out, maintaining it, styling it. All for a woman who never looked at him twice.
I'd cut it soon. But not today. Today, I needed to present continuity, not change. Sudden alterations in appearance would raise questions I didn't want to answer yet.
I turned away from the mirror and headed for the door.
The hallway outside was a monument to excess. Marble floors polished until they reflected like still water. Paintings in ornate frames—original works, not reproductions, judging by the faint magical preservation wards I could sense humming around them. Crystal fixtures that probably cost more than most families earned in a year.
The Descartes family didn't just have money. They had the kind of generational wealth that reshaped landscapes.
My mind was already working through the angles as I walked. How to approach the modeling plan. What arguments would work on my mother versus what would work on Syra. Whether Livia would be an asset or a complication. The task from the system required fame within two years, which meant I needed to move quickly. But rushing would look suspicious.
I needed to be strategic. Plant the idea, let them think they'd come to the conclusion themselves, then—
Arms locked around me from behind, and I went rigid.
"Good morning, Yan!"
The voice was bright, cheerful, entirely too close to my ear. I turned my head slightly and found myself looking at Livia Descartes—my twin sister in this life—and the memories provided context even as my eyes registered the present reality.
Black hair that matched mine, but hers fell in waves that caught the light. Blue eyes that were bright and clear, completely unlike my crimson ones. Her smile was warm, genuine, the kind of expression that made people instinctively trust her.
The memories also provided the truth beneath that smile.
Livia Descartes. Villainess. Brother-complex yandere who would, according to the novel's timeline, become increasingly unstable as the story progressed. She was brilliant, ruthless when necessary, and had an obsessive fixation on the original Riyan that bordered on pathological.
Dangerous didn't even begin to cover it.
I carefully extracted myself from her embrace, keeping my movements gentle. Her face fell for just a fraction of a second—a flash of genuine hurt that cut through her cheerful mask—before the smile returned, brighter than before, as if that moment of vulnerability had never existed.
Interesting. She was better at hiding her reactions than I'd expected.
"Good morning, Livia," I said, keeping my tone neutral but not cold.
Out of curiosity more than anything else, I mentally commanded the system to show me her status.
[Ding!]
[Loading Status...]
[Status
Name: Livia Descartes
Charm: A-
Strength: D+
Speed: C+
Endurance: E+
Aura: C-
Current Rank: D+
Talents: S Rank Archer
Affinity: S Rank Ice
Age: 15 years
Race: Half Asura and Human
Relation With Host: Twin Sister
Siblings: Riyan Descartes and Syra Descartes
Titles: Ice Princess, Youngest Daughter of Descartes Family, Miss of the Mairis Family, Prodigy Archer
Identity: Villain in the Novel "Saint's Odyssey"]
D+ rank at fifteen. That was exceptional. Most prodigies didn't hit D-rank until sixteen or seventeen. The Asura bloodline combined with her S-rank talent was clearly doing heavy lifting.
I noted the system didn't provide information about her emotional state or internal motivations—just publicly available facts and stats. That made sense. The system was powerful, but it wasn't omniscient. It could measure power levels and affinities, but people's thoughts and feelings were their own.
Still, the memories gave me enough context. Livia was dangerous because she was brilliant and obsessive, not because the system told me so.
"What are you thinking about?" Her voice pulled me back to the present. Those blue eyes were studying me with an intensity that didn't match her cheerful tone.
"Nothing important," I lied smoothly. "Just wondering what's for breakfast."
A pause. Then I added, "We should get going, or we'll be late."
Her smile widened, and she looped her arm through mine with practiced ease. "Let's go then!"
As we walked toward the dining hall, I noticed her fingers tapping a rhythm against my sleeve. One-two-three. One-two-three. Some kind of nervous habit, maybe. Or she was thinking about something.
We approached the massive double doors that led to the dining hall, and I felt my pulse steady rather than quicken. Nerves were useless. I needed to be present, focused, ready to adapt.
I pushed the doors open.
The dining hall was exactly as excessive as the rest of the house. A table designed to seat twenty dominated the center of the room, set with china and crystal that gleamed in the morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The whole space smelled faintly of fresh bread and something sweeter—fruit, maybe.
But my attention locked onto the two women seated at the table.
The first occupied the head position—the seat of authority. Riya Descartes. My mother in this life. She looked like an older, refined version of Livia, with the same black hair and blue eyes, but her features carried a sharpness that spoke of experience and calculated violence. She wore a simple but elegant dress that somehow made her look more dangerous, not less.
Pure-blooded Asura. Current head of the Descartes family. Master of one of the continent's most powerful guilds.
One of the novel's main villains, destined to die protecting her children from the protagonist.
The second woman had greenish-white hair that seemed to shift in the light and striking green eyes that currently regarded me with thinly veiled hostility. Syra Descartes. Half-elf, half-human. My adopted older sister and, ironically, one of the novel's main heroines.
Her expression made it abundantly clear that she considered me only slightly more useful than a broken weapon.
I activated the system's analysis function.
[Status
Name: Syra Descartes
Charm: S+
Strength: A-
Speed: A+
Endurance: D+
Mana: S-
Current Rank: A+
Talent: A- Rank Mana Control
Affinity: S Rank Wind
Relation With Host: Adopted Sister
Siblings: Riyan Descartes and Livia Descartes
Titles: A+ Rank Hunter, Sword of the Wind, Cold Princess, Eldest Miss of Descartes Family, Vice-Master of Descartes Guild
Age: 20 years
Race: Half-Elf and Human
Identity: One of the Main Heroes in the Novel "Saint's Odyssey"]
A+ rank at twenty. Vice-master of the guild. Those stats were impressive, though not surprising given her role in the story. The system couldn't tell me how she felt about me beyond what was publicly visible, but the hostility in her expression said enough.
Then I checked my mother's status, and my assessment of the situation changed entirely.
[System Error: Unable to fully analyze target]
[Partial Status Available]
[Name: Riya Descartes (Former Mairis)
Charm: S+
Strength: ???
Speed: ???
Endurance: ???
Mana: ???
Current Rank: SSS
Talent: [Insufficient permissions to view]
Affinity: S Rank Fire
Husband: Cris Descartes
Children: Syra Descartes (Adopted), Livia Descartes, Riyan Descartes
Titles: SSS Rank Hunter, Fire Empress, Ruthless Queen, Former Heir of Mairis Family, Asura Duchess, Current Head of Descartes Family, Master of Descartes Guild
Race: Asura
Identity: One of the Main Villains in the Novel "Saint's Odyssey"]
SSS rank. Triple-S. The system couldn't even properly measure her stats—they were too high, or she had some kind of protection against analysis. Either way, the message was clear: my mother was so far beyond my current level that the system treating her as an unknown quantity was probably mercy.
And yet, according to the novel's plot, even she would eventually fall to Alex's protagonist powers.
I kept my expression perfectly neutral. Whatever else was true, Riya Descartes was one of the most dangerous people on the continent, and I was about to have breakfast with her.
"Good morning, Yan and Liv."
The voice was warm, sweet, utterly motherly. It cut through my analysis like a knife through silk. Despite everything I'd just learned—despite the danger radiating off that SSS rank like heat from a forge—the tone carried genuine affection.
Carefully. I needed to be very, very careful.
"Good morning, Mom," I replied, keeping my tone respectful but not overly familiar.
Livia echoed the sentiment with her usual brightness. "Good morning, Mother!"
Riya's smile was warm as she gestured to the seats near her. "Come, sit. Breakfast is ready." Then she paused, her eyes settling on me with an intensity that felt heavier than it should. "You look different this morning, Yan. Healthier, somehow."
There was a question buried in that observation, wrapped in maternal concern but sharp underneath.
"I feel better," I replied simply. Not a lie—the Processing Serums had done their work. "Slept well."
Syra made a sound that might have been a scoff. "Since when do you sleep well? Usually, you're up all night writing poetry or whatever pathetic thing you do for Fera."
The jab was delivered with surgical precision, meant to cut. The original Riyan would have flinched, gotten defensive, maybe lashed out. But I wasn't him.
I sat down, keeping my posture relaxed, and met her gaze evenly. "People change."
Livia practically bounced into the chair beside me, reaching for the juice pitcher with one hand while her other hand found my arm, fingers curling around my sleeve. The touch was casual, familiar, but there was something possessive about it that the original Riyan's memories didn't quite explain.
"Syra, don't be mean to Yan," Livia said, her voice still bright but with an edge underneath. "He said he feels better. That's good, right?"
Syra's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't respond. Instead, she reached for her tea, the movement precise and controlled.
Riya, meanwhile, had picked up a crystal glass filled with what looked like lemon juice. She took a small sip, her eyes never leaving me. There was something calculating in her gaze, an assessment happening behind that motherly warmth.
"So," she said, setting the glass down with deliberate care. "You slept well. You feel better. And apparently, people change." Her lips curved into a smile that was equal parts amused and dangerous. "What else has changed, Yan?"
The question was a test. I could feel it in the way she watched me, the way Livia had gone perfectly still beside me, the way even Syra's hostility had shifted to wary attention.
This was the moment. The first real interaction where I had to prove I wasn't the same pathetic fool who'd occupied this body before.
I held my mother's gaze. "I've been thinking about the next few years. Before the Academy."
"Oh?" Riya leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting to something more interested. "And what have you been thinking?"
"That I've wasted enough time," I said quietly. "And that if I want to accomplish anything meaningful, I need to stop chasing things that don't matter and start building something real."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Livia's fingers tightened on my sleeve. Syra had frozen with her teacup halfway to her lips, her green eyes wide with something that looked like shock. And Riya—
Riya laughed.
It was a genuine sound, warm and rich, but there was something sharp underneath it. She picked up her lemon juice and took a long drink, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Well," she said finally, setting the glass down. "That's certainly unexpected." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her interlaced fingers. The pose should have looked casual, but on her, it looked predatory. "Tell me, what exactly do you consider 'something real'?"
This was it. The opening I needed.
"I want to build my own reputation," I said. "Not as the son of the Descartes family or the Mairis family. Not as Livia's twin or Syra's brother. As myself. Something that belongs to me alone."
Syra finally set her teacup down. "And how exactly do you plan to do that? You can't register as a Hunter for another five years."
"I'm aware," I replied evenly. "Which is why I've been considering alternative paths. Ways to build influence and recognition that don't require a Hunter's license."
Riya's smile widened, and there was genuine interest in her eyes now. "Go on."
"The entertainment industry," I said. "Specifically, modeling. It's a field where appearance and presentation matter more than rank. Where someone can build a public profile quickly if they're strategic about it. And it provides access to social networks—merchants, guild representatives, politicians' families—that would be useful later."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Livia laughed—a bright, delighted sound. "Yan! That's actually clever!" She squeezed my arm, her eyes shining. "You'd be perfect for it. You're beautiful enough, and with the family connections—"
"No family connections," I interrupted. "That's the point. If I do this, I do it without using the family name. Build the reputation first, then reveal the background. Otherwise, it's just another privileged noble playing at being famous."
Syra was staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "You're serious."
"Completely."
Riya took another sip of her lemon juice, her expression thoughtful. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight that made everyone at the table pay attention. "You realize what you're proposing would be difficult. The modeling industry is competitive, often cruel. You'd be entering a world where you have no established advantages, no protection from the family name. People would try to use you, exploit you, tear you down."
"I know," I said simply.
She studied me for another long moment, then smiled—and this time, there was genuine approval in it. "Good. I was worried you hadn't thought it through." She stood, moving around the table with fluid grace, and placed a hand on my shoulder. The touch was warm, maternal, but I could feel the strength in it. "If you're serious about this, then we'll support you. But understand—if you fail, you fail on your own. No family intervention to save you."
"I wouldn't want it any other way," I replied.
Her smile widened. "Excellent. We'll discuss the details later. For now—" She gestured to the food spread across the table. "Eat. You'll need your strength."
As breakfast began in earnest, I felt Livia's fingers still curled around my sleeve, Syra's suspicious gaze tracking my every movement, and Riya's attention settling on me like a physical weight.
The game had begun.
And I'd just made my opening move.
---