Norax walked toward Celstia.
The moment he opened the door, he froze.
"…What is this?"
Inside, clothes were scattered everywhere. Fabrics hung from racks. Finished coats rested on stands. Elsie stood near a mirror, holding a dress against herself while tilting her head.
Several people moved around, measuring, folding, and discussing designs.
Celstia stood in the center, arms crossed, completely calm.
Norax rubbed his temple.
"Celstia… why does it look like a tailor shop?"
Celstia turned to him as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
"Ahh, master. There's a council meeting."
"And?" Norax asked.
"So I called Renard Brocade to design proper clothes for you," she said.
"And Elsie came to look at dresses too. And… well, this mess was created. She tried on some dresses."
Elsie smiled awkwardly.
"Ugly man… what are you doing here? Whatever—they said I needed something formal, and look at these designs!"
Norax let out a long sigh.
He looked at the man standing nearby.
Norax nodded slightly.
Renard immediately bowed deeply.
"My lord, it is an honor. I will personally design your outfit for the council meeting. I am truly glad to be here."
Norax raised a hand.
"Renard… I'm sorry. Celstia probably called you suddenly. You must already have many orders and be busy."
Renard smiled calmly.
"It's no problem, my lord. More than that, I have always wished to create designs for you."
Celstia added without hesitation,
"We can't let you attend a council meeting wearing normal clothes."
Elsie nodded seriously.
"That would be… embarrassing. Pajamas at a council meeting would be awful."
Norax clicked his tongue.
"I knew this would happen. And Elsie… I don't go anywhere in pajamas."
Celstia stepped closer, pointing at him.
"This is a meeting with House Noctis, Red Society, and other powerhouses. If you embarrass Blue Crescent, I'll never forgive you."
Norax leaned back on a chair.
"Why… you're already scolding me?"
Celstia smiled sweetly.
"Of course. That's my job. I bet you were planning not to follow the dress code, as usual. You always think it's bothersome work."
Renard clapped his hands lightly.
"Please stand straight, my lord. Let us begin the measurements."
Norax looked around at the mountain of clothes and sighed again.
Renard began taking measurements. Two hours later, Norax was still standing.
"Please raise your arm, my lord."
Norax obeyed, already tired.
"…Ugh."
Celstia stood nearby, arms crossed, nagging nonstop.
"No, that line is too sharp."
"The shoulder should look calmer."
"And the waist—adjust it slightly."
Norax glanced at her.
"…Celstia."
"Yes?" she replied without turning.
"Since when did you start designing clothes yourself? I assume…" Norax asked.
"Don't tell me you and Renard are friends."
Renard paused for a moment. Celstia turned and answered casually,
"Yes, we are."
Norax blinked.
"…Huh?"
"We're only friends," Celstia added quickly.
"He helps me design clothes sometimes. That's all."
Renard coughed politely.
"It is strictly professional, my lord."
Norax sighed.
Celstia pointed at him again.
"Now choose."
"…Choose what?"
"Color. Design. Mood. What kind of image do you want?" she said firmly.
"You can't go to a council meeting looking vague."
Norax stared at the fabric samples: black, silver, deep blue, dark red…
"…Something simple," he muttered.
Celstia narrowed her eyes.
"That's not an answer."
Before he could escape, Elsie suddenly appeared in front of him.
She was wearing a new dress and spinning slightly.
"Celstia," she asked nervously, "do I look strange?"
Norax froze.
The room was chaotic. Fabrics everywhere. Celstia arguing with Renard. Elsie waiting for an answer with bright eyes.
Norax went silent.
<…I should've stayed in my office.>
He rubbed his face slowly.
"…This council meeting is going to kill me before it even starts."
Celstia smiled.
"You're overreacting."
Renard resumed measuring.
"Please stand still, my lord."
Norax obeyed, defeated.
Finally, they all decided what to wear for the council meeting.
Later, Norax lay on his bed after training, staring at the ceiling.
"…Celstia handled everything. Just a few minutes and she already took care of it all."
He sat up slightly and looked out the window at the evening sky.
"Seriously… because of @Applepie and this transmigration, I've been busier than my old self," he muttered.
He leaned back, thinking.
He shook his head.
He frowned.
"Garron Steeljaw and Elwood Steeljaw… both part of the second powerhouse."
"Three societies: Red, Blue, Green… and one plans to control underworld thugs."
Norax tapped his chin.
He exhaled.
He leaned back further.
"Looks like I'll have to play dirty at the council meeting. Well… I'm not exactly a good guy after all."
There were many things in the future and countless questions, but for now… survival came first.
"Master, can I come in? There is a report you wanted," Celstia said, appearing in the doorway with a stack of papers.
Norax turned his head.
"Did you change your clothes?"
Celstia looked slightly annoyed.
"I know this isn't a maid dress, master. But… do I look weird? Elsie forced me to try it."
Elsie piped up behind her.
"I told her to try it alone, but urgent reports came, so she came straight here without changing."
Norax blinked.
She was wearing a blue-and-black dress—probably a new Renard Brocade design, not yet on the market.
He stared.
<…I didn't ask for all this. But Celstia and the others I created are good… and kind of cute in reality. Snaya too.>
Celstia pouted, muttering, flustered.
"Master… idiot… pervert! You're staring too much!"
Norax smiled faintly.
"Celstia, I told you to try new dresses. It looks good on you."
She froze, cheeks reddening.
"Eh… really?" she whispered.
"Yes. Really," Norax said, still smiling.
Celstia's pout softened as she held the reports tighter.
"Ugh… fine. But you better stop staring at me like that," she huffed.
Norax chuckled.
He sighed and looked back at the sky, thinking about the council meeting, the assassins, and the countless tasks waiting ahead.
This was only the beginning.
---
A week passed in the blink of an eye.
Today was the day of the council meeting.
The carriage from House Noctis had already arrived at Blue Crescent's mansion. The silver crescent crest shone clearly in the morning light.
Norax stood near the entrance as Celstia carefully placed a coat over his shoulders.
It was Renard Brocade's design—blue and black, simple yet sharp, fitting him perfectly.
Celstia stepped back and nodded.
"Master, you look good."
Norax glanced down at himself.
"Really? I still feel like an idiot."
Celstia crossed her arms.
"You are an idiot. But not right now. Right now, you look like the proud leader of Blue Crescent."
Norax sighed.
"…That wasn't comforting at all."
She smiled confidently, clearly satisfied.
They walked toward the carriage together. No Blue Crescent guards were present—House Noctis took full responsibility for the escort.
Several Noctis knights stood in formation, posture straight and disciplined. Only one person from each powerhouse was allowed to attend the meeting.
Celstia was about to step into the carriage when Norax stopped her.
"Celstia."
She turned.
"Yes, master?"
"You're not coming with me."
Celstia froze.
"What? Master, why—"
Norax stepped closer and lowered his voice, whispering into her ear.
Her expression changed. Serious. Focused.
"…I understand. But you know I'm bad at acting."
Norax shook his head.
"Then don't act. Just say what you think."
Celstia hesitated, then nodded.
"…I'll try my best."
Norax turned to one of the House Noctis knights.
"Excuse me, sir. I have a favor to ask."
The knight bowed.
"Please speak."
"This person has some work to handle first. So," Norax gestured toward Celstia,
"I'd like one of you to stay here and escort her back to the meeting hall once she's done."
The two knights exchanged glances.
One stepped forward.
"Our duty is to escort you safely until arrival at House Noctis mansion. I will remain here with the lady."
Norax nodded.
"Thank you. You've helped me a lot."
The knight bowed again.
Norax entered the carriage alone. The door closed, and the wheels began to roll.
He leaned back against the seat.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
The carriage moved forward, carrying him toward the heart of the underworld—and the council that would shake it once again.