I held the "Useless Sidekick" curtsy for a beat longer, my A-Rank `[Deceive]` skill projecting perfect, modest subservience while I internally cataloged Prince Stefan's exit. He was still a pathological neat-freak, and his mana control was sloppy.
"Silvie?"
A nervous, familiar voice cut through the noise of the courtyard. I turned.
It was Thomas.
The nine years had changed him. The small, "Brainy Spare" was gone, replaced by a tall, lean 15-year-old academic.
He wore the Academy's specialized (and expensive) alchemist's uniform, his honey-blonde hair was neatly combed, and he clutched a thick ledger to his chest like armor.
He looked, I noted, exactly like the reincarnated med student he was, and absolutely terrified of the aristocratic chaos surrounding us.
"I saw the third prince," he muttered, his eyes darting nervously back toward Stefan's carriage. "My apologies. Are you alright?"
