I was reincarnated into a world with both magic and holy power.
I wasn't particularly thrilled about it.
It wasn't something I asked for. Who would be happy being suddenly tossed into a completely foreign environment when they were living just fine?
If I'd been blessed with overflowing talent or at least given a reason for ending up here, that might've been different. But no—I was born mana-less with zero faith, starting my new life with absolutely nothing.
A drastic change in environment and relationships.
I spent 17 years overcoming the depression and loneliness, adapting to this new world.
They say a decade changes the landscape entirely, and now I'm more or less accustomed to this life.
Aside from a few nagging complaints, that is.
The nobles' pretentious swagger and fake facades.
Their obsession with extravagance and beauty.
The convoluted, dizzying etiquette and formalities.
I still hadn't grown accustomed to the things most important to nobles.
It's downright dreadful.
If I had to nitpick, the etiquette, formalities, pretension, and facades were uncomfortable but understandable.
They exist everywhere, just in different forms.
But what truly tormented me to the end was their obsession with extravagance and beauty fused with pretension.
Especially their clothes.
The nobles' attire felt way too excessive to me.
Men wearing stockings and garter belts, women cinching their waists insanely tight with corsets, puffing out their skirts with panniers to waddle around like hourglasses—it was like staring at faces addicted to plastic surgery.
Grotesque and creepy, that's what it was.
You might think it's just clothes, but when a person's figure narrows like a funnel then blooms into a parasol, how could that not feel bizarre?
"Tsk..."
I clicked my tongue softly and picked up a glass of champagne from the reception table, heading toward a wall where hardly anyone was.
Socializing is a noble's duty, so unless you're on death's door, you must attend national holiday events.
And today was the anniversary of His Majesty the Emperor's ascension.
That's why I was dragged to this ball, forced to gawk at outfits I couldn't stand.
Under the dazzling chandeliers, the hourglass legion appeared as always, decked out in vibrant colors and glittering jewels.
They sparkled so much, I felt like I'd have a photosensitive seizure without even needing a monitor.
"Haa..."
I let out a sigh.
Staring at the crowded, noisy center any longer would make me dizzy enough to collapse.
I tilted my head slightly after downing another champagne.
The edges were at least less crowded.
But I always realized too late that averting my gaze like this wasn't a great choice.
A red-haired lady about my age caught my eye.
Her dress was a mess of frills and lace from shoulders to ankles, her skirt so voluminous it made a parasol look modest, her waist wasp-thin like an hourglass, her bosom gathered to soul-snatching heights with cleavage half-exposed, and jewels the size of eyeballs.
I didn't know which family she was from, but her solo display of peacock-like splendor suggested she was from quite noble stock.
"Sss..."
I hissed like a threatened snake and chugged more champagne to calm my irritated chest.
The desire to look beautiful isn't bad.
It's natural for any creature to adorn itself for a mate and prove superiority.
Like cicadas screeching loudly for partners, peacocks flaunting iridescent feathers, or stags boasting massive antlers.
But aren't those all males?
Hmm...
Screw it, I don't know.
I just wish they'd all vanish.
The corsets, the panniers, the frill-and-lace-drenched dresses.
"..."
My chest felt choked to bursting, so I hurriedly brought the glass to my lips, but nothing flowed in.
"Aigh..."
I stared blankly at the empty glass and sighed deeply, tearing my eyes from the peacock lady to fetch a fresh champagne.
Mother's stern warning before the ball flashed in my mind: "Don't drink like a whale." But what could I do?
It was suffocating, and staying sober was unbearable.
"Young Master, please give me the empty glass."
"...Thanks."
As I slowly stepped toward a new glass, a butler appeared silently at my side, swapping it with fluid grace before vanishing.
I always thought highly trained top-class servants were indistinguishable from ninjas.
They glide in when needed, finish the job, and disappear like the wind—what else could you call that?
"..."
I sipped the champagne the butler handed me and leaned against the wall again.
Just blend into the wall like this, sip quietly without seeing anything, finish the ceremony, and go home.
The perfect plan...
"William, what are you doing over here?"
It fell apart the instant she appeared.
I lowered my glass slightly and turned toward Mother's voice.
"Feeling dizzy, so I was taking a break."
"No wonder, chugging champagne like that. I saw you darting around like a mouse and downing a glass in under five minutes."
"Haha..."
I bit my lip at Mother's sarcasm and raised my glass again with an awkward smile.
Damn, she'd caught me already.
At least it was still just the first one.
If I pretended to hold back from now on, she'd probably let it slide without dragging it out.
"Sorry, the ball's atmosphere got me excited. I won't have any more after this."
"Tsk..."
Mother clicked her tongue sharply, furrowing her brow and hiding her mouth with her fan.
She looked genuinely displeased—my words must've irked her.
That's not what I meant...
"If the atmosphere intoxicates you so much, why do you always stick to the wall like wallpaper? Don't you plan to mingle with people?"
"No... I've been making efforts too..."
"To blend in with the wall? Decided to become a cicada or some exotic sloth from a distant land? You're glued to it except when fetching drinks—so natural, your own mother almost mistook you for wallpaper."
"Sorry..."
I hung my head with a dejected expression, but Mother just stared coldly.
A chill ran up my spine, spreading through my body.
Today's Mother had come armed with sharpened blades.
I could feel in my bones this wasn't the light scolding I could brush off.
"William, how old are you this year?"
"Seventeen."
"Yes, a full seventeen. While other boys your age build connections and prepare for engagements or marriages, you'll just waste time like this? Or rather, do you even meet any girls lately? Seeing you rub against walls every time drives me mad with frustration."
"I've been making efforts too..."
"Enough with your endless 'efforts'! William, I hold back because you're not the eldest son, but are you really trying? You hate arranged marriages, free love, won't make friends—no, you have none. No dreams either. You skip any gathering—ceremonies, balls—whatever. You don't go out much. Is that your idea of effort? If you were truly trying, you'd at least show up to parent-arranged meetings, right? William, we won't fall for your 'effort' nonsense forever. How long do you think we'll keep overlooking it?"
"I, uh..."
"You were so bright and full of promise as a child—why so listless now? I still vividly remember you talking about your dreams back then."
"..."
Her torrent of scolding tore my heart apart in an instant.
Every word brimmed with intent to shred me, yet it wasn't baseless criticism—it stemmed from love and facts, which hurt even more.
Like how an anti-fan strikes hardest and truest.
"M-Mother, I do want to change, but..."
"William..."
As I fumbled for excuses, emotion welled up in Mother's eyes, tears glistening as she gently grasped my right hand.
Her wistful, sorrowful jade eyes made my stomach churn and heart ache.
I felt guilty for being such a worthless son, but I absolutely refused to mingle with those peacocks.
No, even if I wanted to approach, my motivation plummeted the moment I saw them—what could I do?
It was maddeningly unfair.
"..."
But I couldn't voice that injustice honestly.
Forcing an awkward smile as I awaited her words, Mother—face etched with worry—spoke cautiously.
"Are you perhaps impotent?"
"Pardon?"
I blinked wide-eyed, staring blankly at her.
Had I heard something weird from Mother's mouth?
"William, other boys your age get fiancées or flirt with the servants, but you just stand around gawking—it's making me worry needlessly..."
"That's definitely not it."
"Then, are you afraid of women?"
"..."
Mother, who'd been striking with facts, now pivoted to wild speculation and fabrication.
It was so absurd I was speechless.
As I pressed the cold champagne glass to my forehead to soothe my racing thoughts, Mother's grip on my right hand tightened.
"Should I ask Aunt Caroline for help?"
"What?"
Aunt Caroline's name suddenly slipped from Mother's lips.
Why bring up the widow quietly living in her countryside estate since Uncle passed years ago...?
"?!"
Goosebumps erupted over my skin.
I'd realized the 'role' a secluded widow might play.
I frantically shook my head, eyes bulging as I protested.
"No need! I'm not afraid of women, and there's no... problem there either."
"I'm that desperate. Do you know how suffocating it is to see my outwardly fine son act like a woman-shy recluse? Be honest."
"No, haa..."
Faced with Mother's unyielding stance, I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed explosively.
No matter how desperate, assigning a widow for 'sex ed' felt wrong.
"I really don't need it, and it'd burden Aunt too."
Mother narrowed her eyes at my response, leaned in close, and whispered softly.
"You're not into men, by any chance?"
"..."
My shoulders trembled.
First 'Are you okay?', now 'Are you really gay?'—I was losing my mind.
"Absolutely not. Mother."
"If not this, not that, then please find a mate already. The whole family's worry over your marriage isn't trivial."
I clenched my molars, emphatically denying the gay suspicion word by word, but Mother pressed on undeterred.
"I'll give you good results soon."
"Yes... If you want to show real results, the sooner the better. Our patience won't last forever."
Even my sincere vow didn't soften her gaze.
With narrowed eyes and a sharp glare, she issued a low warning before turning and striding toward the glittering center of the hall.
"..."
I watched her retreating figure and chugged the champagne.