"Young Master~! It's time for your lessons!"
The door to a modest baby room swung open. Well—modest in the sense that everything that wasn't a couch, pillow, or bed was covered in pure gold. Everything within the room screamed opulence.
From the gold-laced curtains and drapes to the baby mobile made of the rarest, most expensive materials in the Eastern realms, nothing was held back to make this baby the most extravagant within a 100,000-mile radius.
Meilan always felt herself get a throbbing headache whenever she set foot in this room. And not because of the obscene wealth being wasted on a baby rattle covered in pure wind ore, or the dolls made of Dream Moth silk that probably cost more than the entire city they lived in.
No… her issue was with the fact that yet again her young master had flown the coop.
She let out a weary sigh as she left behind the room of sin and gluttony. Her destination? Well, there was only one place her young master would be if not in his room.
He was off confronting his greatest enemy. Well, one of them at least.
Another sigh slipped through her lips before she started toward the Master's study.
Meilan considered herself an exceptional maid—full of propriety and beauty—but she couldn't understand where she had failed in guiding her young master.
Sure, she didn't have the fullness and motherly charm of the Mistress. With her… horrifyingly huge mounds of annoying flesh, or her wide, full hips that could tempt even the purest member of the seraphim.
But she believed her subtle and modest figure held a charm that could rally its own army of sycophants. Yes! One didn't need such things to be beautiful or desired.
Nodding to herself in satisfaction as she stared at her washboard of a chest, she began to hear faint whispers and giggles down the corridor. As she got closer, she identified the source of the noise to be a group of maids crowding around the study door.
'Well, looks like the search has ended. Sigh… I should alert Madam.'
Meilan bowed her head in resignation as she walked toward the crowd. Noticing the approaching figure, the maids hurriedly bowed toward her before continuing to watch the spectacle inside.
"How many attempts this time?" she asked curiously.
"Fourteen! Well… this one would make fifteen. I am always impressed by the young master's persistence. Anyone else would have given up by now. The young master is truly amazing indeed!" one of the maids responded without removing her gaze from inside.
As if on cue, every head in the crowd nodded seriously.
Meilan felt her headache return as she stared at these starry-eyed cultists. No matter what the young master did, these girls would always react as if it was the most astonishing feat ever produced.
She had long since resigned herself to ignoring their nonsense—and also conveniently decided to play dumb about their late-night cult meetings, exchanging paintings of the young master in various cute poses. (Though she would never admit to disguising herself to attend them every once in a while. After all, the young master was indeed the cutest darn thing to ever crawl on four limbs.)
Before she could respond, a shiver shot through her spine. A sharp, almost imperceptible killing intent radiated from within the study. Without a second thought, Meilan disappeared from where she stood, reappearing inside the study with her senses extended to their limit.
As she searched for the source of the killing intent, she froze as she finally identified where it was coming from. Slowly turning her head toward the floor, she found the source of that horrifying feeling… and the beginning of a new headache.
Sitting on the plush carpet, glaring hatefully at the couch before him, was the cutest, chunkiest boy you ever did see.
His hair was black at the roots and slowly transitioned to a dull gray toward the ends. His arms and legs were thick with baby fat—so thick you just wanted to nibble on them for hours.
His large eyes were wide in fury, yet that didn't mask their inherent beautiful green glow, looking like the purest jade. Though his brows, knitted in frustration and indignation, only added to the overall charm of his full cheeks.
If someone ever asked how cute the young master of their house was, there was only one agreed-upon answer by all the staff: "Yes."
As Meilan continued to gaze, mesmerized by the cuteness of her young master, he once more started toward his arch-nemesis. The bane of his 11-month-old existence.
His father's couch.
"GABAAA!"
With a fierce war cry, he once again sprinted toward the couch, grabbing hold of one of the legs. He raised his head toward the towering demon that had denied him victory and conquest time and time again. His face was etched with determination, seeming to say, Today is the day.
Meilan and the other maids felt as though arrows had pierced their hearts. Their breathing grew feverish as they stared, transfixed by the gallant form of their young master.
With a mighty pull, he lifted himself on the two drumsticks he called legs. Cursing them for their unsteadiness and fear.
"Dobaa!"
Yet still he pressed on. His brow etched with a will that could pierce the heavens. His fat fingers gripped tightly to the edge of the couch as he reached for the seat cushion.
His audience held their breath. No one dared utter a single sound as they watched his brave, heart-wrenching battle.
Only one could emerge victorious in this battle. Only the strongest would hold fast and conquer the other. The young master had learned this fact two months ago during his first battle with this… entity.
It had always stared down at him. Mocking him for his weakness, for his lacking strength. He would have none of it. Today he would slaughter this beast and stand above its defeated remains!
He continued to stretch his hand as he gripped the cushion precariously. His eyes shone with a calculating light. This was where he always fell.
But not today.
"GABBBBAAAA!"
With a fearsome roar (babble), he expertly swung his other hand to grab the cushion as well. The second his hand left the couch leg, his legs began to wobble. He could feel himself slipping. The abyss of defeat and misery calling toward him from the floor below.
Meilan's eyes widened, her fist clenched as her breath caught.
'You can do it, young master!'
'Don't give up, young master!'
'The suspense… oh gods, I'm gonna faint.'
Furious sketching
The maids on the couch screamed out prayers and encouragement as they watched. Some of them even took out their sketchbooks to immortalize this moment for all of time. (Such sketches became highly sought-after historical artifacts much later in the future.)
And in that tense moment, his hand grabbed onto the cushion. Both of them held on with all their strength as he struggled to right himself.
Seconds ticked by in tense silence as they watched the young boy—no, warrior—fight for his life. Until finally, he succeeded.
His stubby little drumsticks stood tall, his posture holding an unyielding grace—like that of a War God standing on the brink of victory.
The maids let out squeals of joy and excitement. Meilan's eyes began to mist as she wiped away nonexistent tears.
He had finally done it. He had surpassed his previous weak and feeble self, and now stood at the cusp of glory.
His jade-like eyes gleamed with triumph. There was only one more step and his victory would be cemented into the annals of history.
As he began to gather his remaining strength to push himself onto the couch, a subtle gust of wind blew from his side.
Whipping his head to the side quickly, he was met by the sight he had come to fear most.
A deep valley of flesh appeared right before his face. The two massive mounds around it swayed hypnotically, as if dancing to a siren's song.
Startled by the appearance of an unexpected adversary, his grip faltered. Before he could react, he felt the world spin as he tumbled to the floor below.
"""Young master!"""
A chorus of voices screamed out in panic and desolation.
Time seemed to slow around him, his eyes locked on the hateful balls of flesh attached to a figure he knew all too well.
A great unwillingness filled his soul. He wondered if this was simply his fate — to always fall before this great enemy of his.
As he fell, his eyes closed slowly, accepting yet another defeat at its hands. Just as he was about to hit the floor, a worried shout reached his ears,
"YOUNG MASTER CHAYRITH!"
And thus, Chayrith Aetherion, the young master of the Aetherion clan, suffered his hundredth loss on this day.
A day where his young, babyish mind swore eternal vengeance on all couches—vowing to destroy and wipe their ilk from all of creation.
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Title: Chayrith Aetherion