"Young Master!!!" The servant, Ivan, nearly dropped the tray holding tea and dry biscuits. His face was deathly pale, his hands trembling violently so that the tea in the cup was close to spilling over the rim.
"Why are you acting this way, Ivan? You look absolutely shocked. Is something wrong?" Ivan's voice shook, barely audible over the cheerful chirping of birds outside the window. He bowed his head slightly, waiting for Lucian's response.
Lucian did not answer the servant right away. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then pressed his hand to his temple. A sharp pain suddenly shot through his head, like a bolt of lightning striking without warning. His heart hammered against his ribs, and in an instant, fragments of information that felt both alien and familiar flashed across his mind.
Lucian Hale, second son of the noble Haelric family. He had a closed-off personality and was quite temperamental. His reputation was notoriously poor among the mansion's servants.
He was known for being quick to anger, often punishing servants over minor mistakes. Some even claimed to have been struck simply for accidentally holding his gaze for too long. Most of them avoided him whenever possible, or bowed their heads the moment they crossed paths in the halls.
And the middle-aged man standing before him now was Ivan Darnell. Head servant of House Haelric, and the only one who—for reasons unknown—still showed genuine concern for Lucian. Even though the man had been yelled at and even slapped by Lucian in the past, he had stayed on, serving calmly and always expressing heartfelt worry whenever Lucian looked hurt or exhausted.
"Young Master, what is it?!" Ivan cried out, looking as if he might faint himself. His face was as pale as paper, his hands shaking so badly the tray of tea and biscuits was nearly thrown to the floor.
"It's nothing—just... my head suddenly started spinning terribly." Lucian rubbed his temple gently, his vision blurring for a moment before slowly focusing again as he looked at the middle-aged man before him.
"Thank you for worrying about me, Ivan." His voice was soft but sincere—a thing never before heard from Lucian's lips. For a moment, Ivan fell silent. His eyes widened slightly, as if he could not believe what he had just heard.
"Y-Y-Yoouuunnng M-M-Master!!!" Tears welled in Ivan's eyes as he suddenly pulled Lucian into a tight embrace. His hold was filled with overwhelming worry and relief, his body shaking violently as if holding back a sob that threatened to burst forth.
"You thanked me—it is an honor for me. I was so worried, Young Master. I was truly afraid..." His voice cracked with emotion, the sound of an old servant speaking with complete sincerity and loyalty.
Lucian was slightly startled by Ivan's intense reaction. He felt a touch awkward but tried to stay calm. "Alright, alright—I understand. Can you let me go now?" He gently tried to pull away from the embrace, though his body still felt very weak.
"Oh, forgive my forwardness, Young Master." Ivan quickly released him, his face full of embarrassment. "As usual, I've brought you your favorite chamomile tea and some dry biscuits, Young Master. I do hope you enjoy them."
Lucian only nodded, and with practiced movements, Ivan set the tray of tea and biscuits on the table. Lucian glanced briefly at the tray—the chamomile tea sat steaming lightly, releasing its sweet, brewed aroma into the air.
Ivan waited a moment, worried the Young Master might say something more, but seeing Lucian fall silent, he finally stepped back slowly, maintaining his respectful demeanor. "If you need anything else, Young Master, I will be just outside," he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
Lucian stared for a moment at the closed door, his expression neutral, then let out a quiet breath. He moved casually toward the table and picked up the porcelain cup with both hands.
Warmth spread through his body for a moment as he gazed at the golden liquid, letting the chamomile scent tickle his nose.
Slowly, he took a sip—warm, not too sweet, but not overly bitter either. Lucian closed his eyes briefly; the taste... somehow felt deeply familiar.
"Honestly, I prefer coffee over tea, but... I suppose this body is far too used to this flavor," Lucian murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the cup for a few more seconds as if trying to unravel the memories hidden behind its gentle taste.
Then, his hand reached for one of the dry biscuits on the plate beside the porcelain cup. The first bite filled his mouth with a simple sweet and savory flavor. It was not the finest pastry he had ever eaten, but once again, there was a certain comfort in its familiarity.
He took another slow sip of tea before setting the cup back on the tray. His gaze shifted to the glass window outside.
"Sometimes the body remembers more than the mind does."
Lucian drew a slow breath, then settled back into the oak chair, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hands.
He closed his eyes for a moment, while his free hand tapped his fingers lightly against the side of the chair. The sound of birds chirping drifted in from the distance.
"One thing I know now—none of this is a dream." He thought to himself.
His eyes opened slowly, fixing on the table before him, where documents and untouched books were neatly arranged. He let out a small scoff, then leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his clasped hands.
"Alright, complaining won't help. If this is how things are, then I have no choice but to see it through, do I?" he continued thinking.
"If I am Lucian—not Navien—then that means everything hasn't started yet, right?" He finally spoke aloud in a quiet murmur, his eyes fixed on the window showing the Haelric manor's backyard.
He leaned back against the chair, gazing up at the ceiling, letting his hair fall over his shoulders. "Besides, living as a noble isn't all that bad," he went on in a murmur.
"...And also... Lucian is the second son. That means I don't need to deal with major political affairs, manage territories, or inherit titles. I just need to... live quietly and keep my distance."
His fingers tapped lightly against the chair's armrest. "To avoid the path laid out in the game... that means I just need to stay away from the protagonist, doesn't it?" Lucian's eyes narrowed, a small smile curving his lips. "That sounds easy enough—at least until I know which way the wind will carry the story."
But his smile did not last long. He sat up straight again, leaning forward slightly with his chin on his clasped hands.
He stared at the porcelain cup holding half its original amount of tea. His fingers slowly reached out, tracing the rim of the cup, creating soft vibrations that only he could hear.
"But... precisely because I am Lucian, I can't afford to be too relaxed." A realization slowly hit him—cold and sharp as a blade at his throat.
"The information I have is far too little, and I can't just rely on the memories that recently flooded my mind." He stopped tracing the cup's rim, staring blankly at his reflection in the still surface of the tea. His eyes narrowed sharply.
"Even back then, information about Navien was scarce on the game's forums." He remembered clearly—the character was like a shadow, appearing only as a nuisance in the protagonist's story path before vanishing without a trace. "And his real name only came to light in the story's... terrible ending," he thought, full of frustration, his lips twisting into a mocking smirk. "A messy script with cheap twists that came too late... but now, I'm inside it."
He drained the remaining tea from his cup, trying to soothe the sudden restlessness that had risen within him.
"If I let my guard down, just waiting for events to pass and hoping everything will turn out fine... I'll lose. I'll die." His gaze was now fixed on the empty tea cup.
"I need information. About this world. About everyone who holds influence. About Lucian, the people around him—even about the world's very system itself."
He clenched his fist, his fingers trembling slightly. Then he let out a short breath to steady himself.
"Heh... Hey, you who call yourselves Architect or Developer or whatever," he called out softly, almost speaking to thin air, though his gaze was sharp as it pierced the ceiling above. "Can't you help me now? Didn't the game have stats, skills, systems, and all that digital nonsense?"
He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I feel like I'm truly trapped in a maze right now..." he continued softly, his voice nearly lost in the silence of the room—like a prayer not meant for anyone, or perhaps directed precisely at the entities watching from behind the screen.
But no answer came as he had hoped. All he could hear was the ticking of the wall clock and the chirping of birds from outside.
Lucian leaned back in his chair again, closing his eyes briefly, his brow furrowing for a moment. Then he calmly rubbed his temple. "So this is how it is, huh?" he murmured quietly.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence seemed to mock him. No system, no notifications, no mysterious voice to answer his call.
Lucian ground his teeth, his hand—once rubbing his temple—now clenched tightly on the table. The emotions he had held back since morning finally began to push their way out.
"...You throw me into this world, give me a body with a terrible reputation, no guidance whatsoever, and expect me to survive just like that?" he murmured again, this time in a heavier tone.
Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the table, sending the cup and plate rattling violently. A small amount of liquid spilled over the surface, seeping into the wood grain. The sound of his punch echoed through the room, shattering the silence that hung like mist in the air.
His breath came in short gasps as he bowed his head, staring at the hands that now felt foreign to him.
"...DAMN IT," he hissed, more to himself than anyone else.
He took another breath, then pushed his hair back from his face where it had fallen across his eyes. His gaze was sharp and steady as he looked forward.
"Alright," he said firmly, his voice full of resolve.
"I suppose I'll have to find information on my own now—both about this world and the life I'm living now." He continued, "Even if I wanted to, I can't afford to relax until I have enough information."