Sebastian returned in precisely ten minutes. Not around ten. Not approximately ten. Exactly ten. Which somehow felt threatening.
He brought with him a set of clothes that looked like they'd been plucked from the finest Ishabana tailors: sharp lines, intricate buttons, and far too many layers for someone like me.
I froze when the maid stepped in. Hair perfectly pinned, expression sharp, she looked like she could straighten a storm with a single glance.
"Sit," she said, her voice smooth but firm. No please, no courtesy. Just sit. I complied, trying not to trip over the hem of the ridiculously long coat Sebastian had handed me.
Buttons. Buttons everywhere. I jabbed at the first one and missed. Jabbed again. Too tight. *Snap.* My fingers ached. She hovered behind me, humming faintly, her fingers suddenly in my hair before I could even object.
"Relax," she murmured. Her hands moved with precision—parting, twisting, shaping. I twitched like a puppet being wound. "Not so stiff. Eyes forward."
I tried to speak, wanting to mention that I didn't even know how to hold a brush. She ignored me, expertly tucking stray strands behind my ears.
"Better," she said after a few minutes. Her tone held the faintest edge of amusement, though I wasn't sure if it was encouragement or mockery. I didn't dare ask.
Sebastian watched from the side, silent, with perfect posture. His stare made me feel even more like a disaster under a microscope.
Finally, she stepped back, hands on her hips, satisfied. "You're presentable," she said. Just that. No congratulations. I exhaled shakily, half relief, half disbelief that I'd survived her ministrations.
I ran a hand down my freshly pressed coat sleeve, feeling the strange stiffness of perfection pressing against my arms. Everything felt… wrong, yet almost powerful.
A faint buzz from my pocket reminded me the coin was still there, warm against my side. Nothing urgent. Just… aware. I ignored it. For now.
Sebastian finally spoke. "You'll meet the others in this attire. Make sure you don't embarrass the household."
I nodded. Words failed me. I couldn't tell if he meant me or the buttons I'd almost destroyed. Probably both.
The maid gave me a final once-over. "Stand straight. Walk like you belong. No fumbling." She turned and left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving a faint scent of lavender and authority behind.
I blinked and swallowed. I tried walking. My legs wobbled like they were still learning gravity, but at least I didn't trip over my own shoes. Small victories.
I braced myself, the coat riding up against my shoulders like it had its own plans. Sebastian stayed a few paces ahead, calm and precise, hands clasped behind him.
"Do try to lift your chin, Master BJ. The marble in this wing was polished specifically to reflect one's best profile, not the toes of one's boots," he said without turning.
"Hard to look at my profile when I'm busy trying not to fall on my face, Sebastian. This coat seems to have a personal vendetta against me," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the lapels.
"A garment only rebels when it senses a lack of confidence in its wearer. Treat it as an extension of your own shadow, and it will behave. Much like the citizens of a kingdom, clothing requires a firm but graceful hand," Sebastian replied, his voice smooth.
"Right. Firm hand. Got it. Does that help with the universe mocking my every step? Because these echoes are brutal," I added, trying for humor.
"The hall is simply amplified for Her Majesty's grand entrances. If the echoes feel like mockery, perhaps you are simply providing them with too much material. Focus on the rhythm of the walk—one-two, one-two," he said evenly.
"No pressure, then," I muttered.
"None at all, Master BJ. Now, pick up the pace. We wouldn't want the tea to lose its optimal temperature. Cold tea is a tragedy even I cannot fix."
We reached the training room. A silver tray rested on a table near the center. Sebastian stepped forward, lifting it carefully.
"Observe."
Every movement was controlled. Clean. Perfect balance.
"Balance is not strength," he said. "It is control."
He placed it down and gestured to me. I lifted it. My hands wobbled immediately.
"Again."
I tried slower. Better.
"Remember, the tray is patient. Your mind is not."
I let out a breath. "Deliberate. Got it."
I observed him once more, learning more from his posture than the tray itself. By the end, I wasn't perfect—but I wasn't falling apart either.
"Acceptable," Sebastian said. "We will continue until perfection is natural. But the training for today ends here. There are other activities that need your attention."
I followed him toward the garden. The air shifted—cooler, more open. The space was too perfect in a way that felt intentional. I scanned the area: uneven stones, curved paths, and branches just out of reach. Everything felt measured, even when it wasn't.
"Your next lesson requires more than observation," Sebastian said near a hedge. "You may have to get your hands dirty. Think of it as foundational work."
He handed me a watering can. "First task: hydration. Observe. Timing and restraint."
I aimed at a nearby plant—and the can handle snapped mid-motion. For a split second, everything froze. Then water burst out violently, soaking the flowerbed in seconds. Delicate petals collapsed under the pressure, the soil turning dark and muddy too fast.
"Seriously?! This thing is actively trying to sabotage me."
Sebastian stepped forward, looking at the ruined patch. For a moment, something softer crossed his face—not dramatic, just genuine concern for the plants.
"Unfortunate," he said quietly. He studied it a second longer than usual. "That one will not recover."
I rubbed my neck. "Yeah… not my proudest moment."
Sebastian gave a small nod. "Agreed. We'll pause here for now. Let me show you to your room, I suppose. With all the training, you haven't had the chance to settle in yet."
I blinked. "Wait… I have a room?"
"Yes," he replied simply. "You are not expected to train endlessly without rest."
"You should have said that earlier," I muttered.
"You didn't ask," Sebastian replied without looking back.
We barely turned a corner when a staff member rushed up, looking panicked near a high-end nutrient-mister machine.
"Excuse me, mister—can you help me turn off the machine? Big red switch. Just flip it."
"Uh… sure." I stepped up and flip it. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.
Then, a faint green glow pulsed in my pocket. The coin.
The machine hissed. Smoke poured out of the vents.
"…this is not good," I muttered.
"GET BACK—IT'S GOING TO BLOW!"
Sebastian moved instantly, grabbing my arm and pulling me away just as a sharp *BOOM* echoed through the hall.
Silence followed. I stared at the scorched wreckage of the mister. "That… wasn't me."
Sebastian didn't answer immediately. His eyes weren't on the smoking machine. They were on me—specifically, the pocket where the coin sat. His usual calm didn't break, but his gaze lingered just a second too long to be a coincidence. It wasn't shock; it was careful, measured attention.
He exhaled lightly. "…Unfortunate timing," he said at last.
The coin stayed quiet. Warm. Waiting
And for the first time today, it felt like the real danger