The next morning arrived with a knock that pulled me from sleep before I was ready to face it.
"Young master, your new sword master has arrived and is waiting for your presence," butler's voice carried through the door with the same measured courtesy it always held, neither apologetic for the early hour nor insistent beyond what duty required.
I blinked at the ceiling, the gilded leaves and gold constellations coming into focus as consciousness reassembled itself piece by piece.
A sword master.
Of course. In a world with magic and divine symbols and tournaments meant to judge a person's worth, sword masters were inevitable. The thought settled over me with the weight of something that had been waiting from the moment I woke up here.
The door opened with a soft click, and butler entered carrying a set of training clothes draped over one arm and a wooden sword in the other. The practice blade was worn smooth at the handle, its surface marked with scuffs from years of repetition. It looked more real and more purposeful than anything I had ever held in my previous life.
I did not have any choice but to accept what came next. This was Theodore's life now, and Theodore trained with swords. Theodore had expectations placed upon him, standards to meet, and a role in a noble household that ran on discipline and tradition. Questioning any of it would only invite problems I could not explain away.
I pushed back the covers and stood, taking the clothes from butler with a small nod. He left with the same fluid efficiency he brought into every room, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality that made the morning feel even heavier.
The bathroom connected to my room through a side door. I had found it on the first day, but only now did I fully appreciate its size. The space was larger than my entire bedroom back in my old world, tiled in pale marble that caught the early light in soft reflections. A deep copper tub sat against one wall, polished and waiting. But it was the shower that drew me in, an unexpected luxury in a place that otherwise felt like a painting of a medieval kingdom.
Steam filled the room as hot water spilled from the fixture. I stepped into the warmth and let it wash the last remnants of sleep from me. The water pressure was nearly perfect, the temperature steady. Whether it was magic or clever engineering, I could not tell, but it worked, and that was enough.
When I stepped out and reached for a towel, my eyes lifted to the mirror on the wall.
I froze.
I had caught glimpses of myself over the past few days, brief looks when my mind was too overwhelmed to linger on the details. But now, alone with no distractions, I finally looked.
The face staring back at me was not mine.
Not Leon's face with its exhausted eyes and forgettable edges, the face that hallways barely registered. This was a stranger. Someone composed, someone almost unreal. Clean skin with no trace of the rough texture I had lived with. Dark hair, nearly black, clung to my forehead in wet strands. Longer than I ever kept mine, yet it suited the shape of this face perfectly.
And the eyes.
Pale green, bright enough to look unreal under the bathroom light. Not quite emerald, not jade either, something in between. They shifted gently as I moved, capturing the light and shifting it back in a soft glow. They looked more like they belonged in a painting than in a mirror.
I leaned in, studying the stranger wearing my consciousness. The bone structure was stronger than mine had been. A defined jawline. Cheekbones that cast faint shadows. A nose placed with the kind of symmetry people online liked to argue about.
I turned slightly, taking in the rest of the body that now belonged to me. The muscles were subtle but present, lined beneath the skin like they had been carved for efficiency rather than appearance. Shoulders broader than my old ones. Arms and chest showing the kind of definition I had never earned in my old world. Theodore, or rather I, looked like someone who had trained for years with purpose.
Even in my past world, teenagers did not look like this. Sixteen or seventeen year olds barely had their balance, let alone a physique like this. But here, where sword skill mattered, where magic shaped expectations, even young people were made into something sharper.
'This kingdom era is frightening'.
I dressed in the training clothes butler had given me. Dark fitted pants and a sleeveless tunic that allowed easy movement. They fit perfectly, tailored to Theodore's body. The wooden sword felt solid in my hand as I lifted it, heavier than expected, yet balanced with intention.
I glanced at my reflection one last time, seeing the unfamiliar young man in training clothes holding a sword like it belonged there, and wondered how long it would take before this face became mine instead of someone else's.
The sword master was waiting.
I drew a long breath, steadied my shoulders in the way this body seemed to already know, and stepped out of the bathroom to meet whatever waited for me next.
I descended the staircase toward the training arena where the sword master waited for me. Sword masters probably looked like warriors or army commanders, right? I tried to picture someone based on the scattered memories this body carried. A man scarred from years of battle, or someone who had the steady calm of a veteran who had spent decades sharpening technique and discipline.
As I followed the corridor leading toward the training grounds, movement flickered at the edge of my vision. Two figures stepped out from a side hallway, their silver hair glowing in the morning light that streamed through the tall windows. Theodore's sisters. Sienna and Vienna. The twins of the house.
They walked in perfect coordination, almost as if they rehearsed each step. Their hair, the same moonlit shade Mother carried, fell in soft waves instead of her smooth, straight style. Their eyes matched too, bright blue and clear like the sky at noon. Even their dresses were identical, pale lavender and cut in the same elegant pattern. They looked like mirrored reflections more than siblings.
How was I supposed to tell them apart?
"Where are you going, biggie?" one asked, her voice brimming with warmth and mischief.
"Do not call big brother that," the other replied, sounding offended in a way that seemed strangely practiced, as if correcting her twin was part of their daily routine.
I paused long enough to study them more carefully. The one who scolded had a neater posture and a slightly formal tone. The first one leaned casually onto one foot, relaxed in a way her sister was not. Finally, something I could use to tell them apart.
A quiet sigh escaped me. The interruption was minor, yet the reminder heavier. These siblings were now my responsibility, part of the role I had inherited with everything else. "The sword master is waiting for me." Their expressions shifted almost instantly, a subtle dimming. They had hoped their brother would stay and entertain them. That disappointment tugged at me, even if it belonged more to Theodore than to Leon.
"I have to go for now. We will play a game next time."
I rested a hand gently on each of their heads. The gesture felt surprisingly natural. Theodore's body remembered this kind of affection even if my own memories did not. Their hair was soft beneath my palms, warm with the morning sun.
Leaving them behind with their matching dresses and silver hair, I turned back toward the training arena. A sword master I had never met awaited me, ready to teach skills that belonged to this world, not the one I came from.