The breakfast spread before us was absurd—fresh pastries, exotic fruits, perfectly cooked eggs, imported meats, and delicacies I didn't even have names for. Servants moved with practiced silence, ensuring everything was perfect.
I picked at my food, my mind already racing ahead to the conversation I needed to have. The system's task was clear: become famous, establish influence, build a reputation separate from family connections. And I had a plan. But convincing my family—especially my mother—would require careful maneuvering.
Riya sipped from a glass of what looked like pure lemon juice, not even flinching at what had to be eye-watering sourness. Her expression remained serene, almost pleased, as she set the glass down.
"So, Yan," she began, her voice casual but her eyes sharp, "you've been unusually quiet this morning. Something on your mind?"
Here we go.
I set down my fork and met her gaze directly. "Actually, Mom, there is something I'd like to discuss with you. It's important."
The room's energy shifted immediately. Livia perked up with interest. Syra's hostility sharpened into focus. And my mother's expression became unreadable—the mask of a guild master and family head sliding into place.
"I'm listening," Riya said, taking another sip of her lemon juice without so much as a wince.
I took a breath. "I want to become a model."
The silence that followed was profound. Livia's eyes widened. Syra's expression flickered between surprise and what might have been amusement. My mother's face remained perfectly neutral, but I saw her fingers drum once against the table—a tell I recognized from Riyan's memories.
"A model," she repeated, her tone giving nothing away. "Elaborate."
"I can't register as a Hunter until I'm twenty. The Academy won't accept applications until I'm eighteen. That's three years where I'm essentially invisible to the larger world." I kept my voice steady, laying out my reasoning like pieces on a chessboard. "I want to use that time to build my own reputation, separate from the family name. Establish influence that belongs to me, not inherited from the Descartes or Mairis families."
Syra snorted. "You? A model? You can barely manage not to embarrass yourself at social functions, and now you want to put yourself in front of cameras?"
Her words stung because they were true—for the original Riyan, at least. But I wasn't him anymore.
"Things change, Syra," I said evenly. "People grow."
"People grow," she shot back, "but fools rarely do."
"Syra." My mother's voice cracked like a whip, and my sister immediately fell silent. Riya's eyes hadn't left my face. "Continue, Yan."
I nodded, pressing forward. "The modeling industry has massive reach across the continent. A successful model becomes a brand, appears in advertisements, builds followings that span multiple cities. It's visibility without requiring Hunter status. And with the right approach, it could establish me as more than just another privileged young master."
"And you think you have what it takes?" My mother's question wasn't mocking—it was genuine inquiry, the same tone she probably used when evaluating guild recruits.
"Yes." I didn't hesitate. "My appearance has... improved recently." That was putting it mildly, given the SS+ Charm rating. "And I'm willing to work for it. Study, train, whatever it takes."
Riya leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. "The modeling world is cutthroat. More political than you might think. Image is everything, and scandals can destroy careers overnight."
"I'm aware."
"You'd be representing not just yourself but the family name. Any misstep reflects on all of us."
"I understand that too."
She picked up her lemon juice again, taking a long sip while her eyes never left mine. The silence stretched, and I could feel Livia practically vibrating with suppressed excitement beside me. Syra watched with what might have been grudging interest.
Finally, my mother spoke. "What's your plan? Specifically."
This was it—the opening I needed. "I want to start with a professional portfolio. Hire a top photographer, proper styling, the works. Use the initial shoots to approach modeling agencies in Qara City. Once I have representation, start building a presence—print ads, runway shows if possible, brand ambassadorships."
"Timeline?"
"Six months to establish a solid foundation. A year to become a recognized name in Qara. Two years to expand reach across the continent."
Riya's lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "Ambitious."
"I learned from the best," I replied, and meant it. Whatever else she was, my mother hadn't built a SS+ rank reputation by thinking small.
She set down her glass and leaned forward, her gaze intensifying. "Let's discuss terms, then. You want family resources for this venture?"
And here was where it would get tricky. "I want startup capital and access to family connections in the industry. But I'll pay back every coin from my earnings."
"Interesting." She tapped one finger against the table. "And what do I get in return? Besides a son who might embarrass me in front of cameras?"
Syra made a noise that might have been a suppressed laugh. I ignored her.
"You get a son who builds his own power base before entering the Academy," I said carefully. "One who learns how to navigate public scrutiny and political maneuvering in a relatively low-stakes environment. Better I make mistakes now as a model than later as a Hunter where failures cost lives."
My mother's expression shifted—approval, maybe, or at least respect for the reasoning. "And the Fera situation? Because I'm not funding this if you're going to use it as another excuse to chase after the Starlight girl."
The mention of Fera made Livia tense beside me, and Syra's hostile interest sharpened to a razor's edge. This was the moment that would sell it or sink it.
"I'm done with that," I said flatly. "It was stupid, obsessive, and beneath me. Fera Starlight made her disinterest clear, and I'm not interested in humiliating myself further."
The shock on everyone's faces would have been comical under different circumstances. Even my mother's composure cracked slightly, one eyebrow rising in genuine surprise.
"Done?" Syra's voice dripped with skepticism. "Just like that? You've spent years making a fool of yourself over her, and now you're suddenly over it?"
"Just like that," I confirmed. "Call it a moment of clarity. Or call it finally growing a brain. Either way, I'm focused on my own future now, not chasing someone who wants nothing to do with me."
Livia actually looked relieved, though I noticed a flicker of something else in her eyes—possessiveness, maybe. That "deep obsession" rating was going to be a problem I'd have to handle carefully.
My mother studied me for a long moment, and I could practically see the calculations running behind those blue eyes. She was weighing risks, benefits, political implications. This wasn't just a mother concerned about her son—this was a guild master evaluating an investment.
"Two conditions," she finally said. "First: you maintain your training as a Hunter. I don't care how busy modeling makes you—you keep up with your combat practice, mana control, everything. The Academy will still be your ultimate goal."
"Agreed." That was more than fair—I needed to get stronger anyway.
"Second: you accept Syra as your advisor for this venture. She has experience with public relations from her guild work, and she'll keep you from making idiotic decisions."
I glanced at Syra, who looked as surprised as I felt. Her hostility had shifted into something more complicated—suspicion mixed with what might have been curiosity.
"I..." Syra started, then stopped. "Mom, I don't think—"
"You'll do it," Riya said, her tone brooking no argument. "You've complained for years about Yan's behavior. Here's your chance to actually do something about it instead of just glaring from the sidelines."
Syra's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Fine. But if he screws this up, I'm not taking the fall."
"Deal," I said before she could change her mind. Having Syra involved would actually help—it gave me a chance to fix that "Hate-Love" relationship and turn her from hostile to ally. "So do we have an agreement, Mom?"
Riya picked up her lemon juice, drained the last of it with obvious satisfaction, and smiled—a real smile, warm and slightly dangerous. "We have an agreement. I'll arrange meetings with photographers and agencies starting tomorrow. Don't make me regret this, Yan."
"I won't," I promised.
"Good." She stood, and everyone else rose with her. "Now finish your breakfast. Livia, stop staring at your brother like he's about to vanish. Syra, start making a list of contacts in the modeling industry. Yan... try not to do anything stupid before tomorrow."
As she swept out of the room—probably heading to her office to start making calls—I felt the tension drain from my shoulders. I'd done it. First major hurdle cleared.
Livia immediately grabbed my arm, her smile radiant. "I'm so proud of you, Yan! This is going to be amazing!"
Syra gathered her things with less enthusiasm, but as she passed my chair, she paused. "Don't make me look bad," she said quietly. "And maybe... maybe you really have changed. We'll see."
Then she was gone too, leaving just Livia and me and the servants clearing dishes.
I let out a long breath. One conversation down. About a thousand more challenges to go.
But for now? I'd take the win.