So what do you think is the best thing to do early in the morning?Yes, walking.
And that's exactly what I was doing — walking through a garden that looked like paradise itself.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of blooming lilies and faint mint. The dew still clung to the emerald grass, glimmering like a thousand tiny stars fallen to earth. The breeze stirred the branches of silverleaf trees, their petals drifting lazily like pieces of light. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, soft and golden, painting everything in hues that made you forget what sadness was. Birds sang from somewhere unseen, their chirps weaving with the hush of fountains nearby.
And beside me walked Serenya, a girl whose beauty belonged in the pages of the very novels I'd half-remembered.
If beauty were a weapon, she could've conquered nations without drawing a blade. Her hair, silver with a faint rose sheen, fell like silk ribbons over her shoulders. Her eyes — clear violet with flecks of gold — reflected the morning light like gems hidden beneath water. She carried herself with a grace that seemed learned from wind and etiquette both, her every step too perfect for this flawed world. Even her uniform, the soft white and pale blue of House Ashvale, looked like it had been woven around her rather than worn.
But as I've said before, I'm one of those dense introverts for whom the difference between average and beautiful is mostly… makeup.
I wasn't enjoying any of it. Maybe because she was my sister—officially cousin in some family charts and sister enough in everything that mattered—or maybe because she was giving me a long, slow lecture.
What was she saying? honestly I didn't know. I wasn't listening. I refused to let this beautiful morning and the stupid dawn of my second life be ruined by a lecture on mannerisms, not even for a noble sermon delivered by a beauty.
I could've ignored her entirely if not for the traitor in my body: my sinful stomach, staging a loud revolt for breakfast. So to end the lecture quickly I said, "Yes, I understand you are absolutely right, Serenya. So let's just go for breakfast."
She stared at me—actual, clear certainty in her voice. "You were not listening to me." It wasn't a question.
Mild shock flickered through me. "How can you accuse me of this? I am the best brother in the world and listen to every word my sister says."
Her tone sharpened, amused. "Because the last thing I said was — your face looks like a pig. And you, being the pure embodiment of narcissism, wouldn't accept that so calmly."
"…"
I blinked. My mind stuttered.
Behind me, there came a stifled laugh. Lira, my maid, was doing her best to hold it in, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Serenya's maid, on the other hand, completely lost the battle and was now pressing her hands over her mouth, shaking.
I gave her a cold glare. She almost dropped to her knees trying to stop laughing.
Yeah, that was my fault. I tried to use the same trick I used with Mother — nodding through her lectures and pretending to understand everything. But unlike Mother, Serenya doesn't let things slide.
"Whatever," I sighed, trying to steer the conversation back to survival. "You got the cue. Let's just go for breakfast."
"You're taking it too lightly, Rishi." Her tone turned serious. "If you do something like this again, Father might expel you from the house."
Now, you might be wondering — what did your noble, honest, shy, and utterly innocent narrator do?
Well, I might've beaten someone half to death. Broke a few bones, maybe a leg or two.
It's fine, right? Happens.
But the problem was — the one I beat was the heir to a Marquis. Future Marquis, to be exact.
Meanwhile, I'm just the Duke's nephew with a questionable future and a tendency to invite trouble. So yes, by hierarchy, I might've gone a little… overboard.
But did it matter? Not to me.
"He was the one who bullied Lily," I told Serenya, voice firm. "He got what he deserved."
"You went overboard," she insisted, frowning.
"He made Lily cry," I said flatly. "He should be thankful I let him off that easily."
She sighed, shoulders relaxing a little. "Okay, I understand. But don't do it again. Father's already walking on eggshells with the Elders. Next time, punishment won't be as light as a week of room imprisonment."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you," I said, waving it off. "Next time, I'll do it without anyone knowing."
"Rishi!" she snapped.
"Alright, alright," I raised my hands in surrender. "Let's have breakfast first. Then we'll discuss it like civilized nobles. And besides, I haven't seen Lily for a week. I want to check on her."
Serenya sighed again but nodded, reluctantly.
And so, we resumed our expedition through what nobles like to call corridors and I call mazes designed to confuse the hungry.
The walls gleamed with golden patterns, portraits of ancestors staring down with the kind of judgment only oil paintings can give. Tall arched windows let in ribbons of light that shimmered against the polished marble floors. The air itself seemed perfumed — faint lavender and old books, the scent of legacy.
We finally reached the dining hall.
The room stretched wide, with a ceiling painted in scenes of battles and blessings. A grand chandelier hung like a small sun, scattering crystal light across the long obsidian table that could seat fifty. At the far end sat Duke Avish von Ashvale — my uncle.
He was a man carved out of elegance and iron. His black hair, streaked faintly with silver, framed a sharp, proud face. His eyes were the same blue as the northern sea — calm, yet carrying storms beneath. Even sitting, his presence filled the hall, his posture straight, his aura commanding but never loud.
Beside him sat my aunt, Lady Selene von Ashvale. She was warmth wrapped in grace — soft-spoken, with silver hair cascading in waves and eyes like amber glass. Her smile was gentle but calculating; she had the talent of reading a person before they even spoke.
At the table's side sat my cousin — Alaric, ten years old, wearing a white shirt far too neat for his age. His silver grey hair glimmered under the chandelier, his expression already molded into noble poise, though every now and then a mischievous spark betrayed the child within.
I had just opened my mouth to greet them when something slammed into my stomach like a cannonball.
My mind flashed — assassination?!
But then I looked down.
A small figure clung to me, arms tight around my waist, face buried in my chest.
"Brother, you're so hateful!" came the muffled voice.
I exhaled in relief — Lily.