Here's the polished version with enhanced sensory details, internal thoughts, and improved pacing:
Rising from the murky depths of sleep, I groaned into my pillow—a sound somewhere between protest and surrender. The sun was being unusually aggressive this morning, downright rude considering I had specifically requested blackout curtains to avoid exactly this kind of wake-up call. Sleeping in until noon was supposed to be a sacred right, practically enshrined in the constitution of lazy people everywhere.
And yet, here I was. Awake. Against my will.
The birds outside my window were also far too cheerful for my taste. Loud, chatty little bastards, chirping away like they were auditioning for a Disney movie. And definitely not native to my usual concrete jungle of an apartment back home, where actual trees were rare and birds even rarer—mostly just pigeons staging coups over discarded french fries.
All of it—the aggressive sunlight, the enthusiastic birdsong, the unfamiliar comfort of sheets that felt like they cost more than my entire wardrobe—slowly dragged me up from the haze of sleep. I blinked blearily at my surroundings, vision still fuzzy and unfocused...
And froze.
The room was too large. Too ornate. Too not mine.
And that's when reality came crashing down around me like a bucket of ice water.
"…Fuck."
Right. Other world. Magical nonsense. Sword Saints and disgusting healing potions that tasted like battery acid mixed with cough syrup.
It wasn't a dream. Wasn't some elaborate stress-induced hallucination.
This was real.
'Welp, up and at 'em,' I thought with resigned acceptance. 'No point lying here having an existential crisis when I could be having breakfast instead.'
Finally dragging myself out of what had to be the most comfortable bed in existence, I realized something shocking.
I didn't feel like a walking bruise anymore.
Yesterday, every muscle had screamed in protest, everything burned from all the unfamiliar movement.
Now? Nothing. Not even a twinge.
'Huh. That potion really did do the trick,' I thought, flexing experimentally. 'Guess when magic healing works, it works.'
Still bleary-eyed and moving on autopilot, I stumbled my way into the attached bathroom and blinked in surprise at the unexpectedly modern setup. There was a decent-looking porcelain sink, actual running water (bless), and a toilet that wasn't just a medieval bucket or chamber pot (double bless). The toilet even had one of those old-fashioned pull-chain flush mechanisms hanging from a tank mounted near the ceiling.
And, unless my sleep-addled eyes were completely deceiving me, there was a fucking shower.
Or something close to one, at least. The showerhead looked normal enough, but there were no knobs or handles, just a set of embedded crystals where the controls should've been, glowing faintly with what I could only assume was magical energy.
Didn't matter. Magic shower was still a shower. I'd take it.
After taking care of the morning necessities, I caught sight of the mirror mounted on the wall and instantly regretted looking. I'd been semi-consciously avoiding mirrors since yesterday for a very good reason.
Staring back at me from the reflective surface were those same long, white bangs from yesterday, hanging down past my eyebrows. But this time, in the better lighting of morning, I caught something I hadn't fully processed before.
My eyes.
Dull gold. Like old coins or tarnished brass. Not quite the vibrant amber I'd seen in anime, but definitely not my original brown anymore.
'Fucking great,' I thought, leaning closer to the mirror with morbid fascination. 'I look like a Sith lord or a final boss from a JRPG. All I need is a dramatic cape and some tragic backstory about betrayal.'
I ran my fingers through the white hair, watching it fall back into place with unsettling perfection. It was going to take some serious getting used to.
'It's too early in the morning for this identity crisis shit,' I decided firmly.
I hopped in the shower, fiddled with the magic crystals until water started flowing, and let the warm spray wash away the remnants of sleep and existential dread.
The water pressure was perfect. The temperature stayed consistent. And somehow, the soap provided, a simple bar sitting in a carved niche, smelled amazing. Like pine and mint and something else I couldn't quite place.
Toweled off with what might genuinely have been the fluffiest towel known to man, I padded back into the bedroom and rifled through the wardrobe for something to wear.
I selected a grey tunic that looked comfortable and well-made, a pair of black dress pants that seemed appropriately formal without being stuffy, and some fresh socks. But I kept my trusty black hoodie from home, pulling it on over the tunic for that small comfort of familiarity. And I slipped on my sneakers for good measure.
Everything I'd borrowed fit surprisingly well, though there was just enough of that slightly off feeling to know it wasn't perfectly tailored to my measurements. Close, but not exact. It'd do fine for now.
Finally dressed and feeling almost human again, I stepped out into the hallway...
...and realized something crucial.
I had absolutely no fucking clue where I was going.
And so I just... stood there. Like an idiot.
Turning left. Then right. Then left again, hoping some kind of directional instinct would kick in.
'I never actually made a plan with Rein about where we'd meet this morning,' I realized with growing embarrassment. 'That little dining room from last night, maybe? Or does he have an office? Do I just wander until I find someone?'
The ornate halls of the Astrea estate stretched endlessly in both directions, each corridor looking exactly like the last, elegant, pristine, and absolutely unhelpful for navigation. I turned in a slow circle, hoping for a hint. A smell of breakfast, maybe. Or divine intervention. I wasn't picky.
Naturally, that's when I heard poorly suppressed laughter from behind me.
"Oh no," came Flam's voice, unmistakably amused and dripping with schadenfreude. "He's doing the lost puppy look."
"Poor thing," Grassis added, her twin rounding the corner beside her. Both were already dressed in their maid uniforms, looking far too put-together for whatever ungodly hour this was. "Should we get him a leash? Maybe a little bell for his collar?"
Apparently, they'd been peeking around the corner the whole time, quietly watching me flounder in my directional confusion like it was the morning's entertainment.
I turned slowly to face them, expression flat. "You two have the exact energy of little sisters who'd dare each other to hide my shoes just to watch me panic and run late for work."
At that, they locked eyes for a beat, some kind of twin telepathy passing between them, then spoke in perfect, unsettling unison.
"Thanks for the idea."
My expression went even flatter. "Great," I muttered, brushing past them with as much dignity as I could muster. "Wonderful. Can't wait to wake up shoeless tomorrow."
As I passed between them, I reached out and gave both a light hair ruffle.
Instant indignation.
They swatted my hands away with all the grace and precision of offended cats, batting at my wrists with surprising coordination. But I caught the small smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths, barely suppressed amusement breaking through their mock outrage.
They didn't really mind.
—
The twins flanked me like pint-sized royal guards as we strolled through the estate's winding halls, their matching steps falling into perfect sync with each other.
We descended the grand staircase that led from what I'd mentally labeled as "the guest floor" of the manor, our footsteps echoing softly on polished marble. Then we turned down yet another hallway, this one quieter and more refined than the main corridors. The morning light streamed through tall windows, casting geometric patterns across the floor.
On the way, we passed a few other members of the manor staff, maids carrying fresh linens, a butler overseeing some early morning task. Each offered polite nods and, surprisingly, warm smiles toward the girls. And to my shock, even directed at me. No suspicious looks or cold professional distance. Just friendly acknowledgment.
I noticed something else interesting too. Around the other staff members, Flam and Grassis instantly snapped into their proper maid personas. Backs going ramrod straight, faces becoming composed and neutral, hands folding just so in front of them. They looked like model professionals, like they could pose for a "How to Be a Perfect Servant" instructional manual.
It was honestly kind of cute watching them code-switch so smoothly.
Eventually, after what felt like navigating a particularly elegant maze, we arrived at a door tucked into a more secluded corner of the second floor. Grassis knocked three times with practiced ease, a specific rhythm that was probably some kind of courtesy signal, before pushing it open without waiting for a response.
"Master Reinhard," she called out, her tone noticeably lighter and more casual than it had been with the other staff. "We managed to wrangle Ethan down here. Found him doing lost circles in the hallway."
I gave her a look of exaggerated indignation, which she completely ignored.
Both twins stuck their tongues out at me in perfect synchronization. The professional masks had slipped.
From within the room came Reinhard's familiar voice, calm and genuinely kind. "Send him in, please. And thank you both for the assistance."
Grassis patted me firmly on the back like a soldier being sent into battle, her hand hitting with more force than strictly necessary. "Don't get lost on the way in."
"Or cry," Flam added helpfully, her grin absolutely shameless.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, counting to three in my head, then stepped forward into Reinhard's private office.
The first thing I saw was him, seated behind a massive wooden desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of ancient timber. Paperwork was spread out across its surface in neat, organized stacks, color-coded documents, everything arranged to perfection.
Sunlight streamed in from the wide window behind him, framed by heavy curtains that had been drawn back to let in the morning light. The sky outside was clear and bright, promising a beautiful day. But the light filtering in felt soft somehow, diffused by the window's treatment before it could become blinding.
Reinhard himself looked absolutely flawless. Just like yesterday. Like he'd stepped out of a painting or a recruiting poster. His distinctive red hair practically glowed in the sunlight, catching fire at the edges where the light hit strongest. His outfit, similar in structure to his Royal Guard uniform but clearly more casual, still carried an undeniable air of quiet regality.
And then there was the smile.
That natural, radiant, could-burn-through-cloud-cover kind of smile that made it physically impossible not to grin back. An authentic grin directed at me like I was actually worth being happy to see.
Even while offering that smile, his hand moved with calm efficiency across the page in front of him, pen gliding in clean, elegant strokes. Multi-tasking without breaking focus on either task.
He glanced up properly and nodded in greeting, voice soft and welcoming. "Good morning, Ethan. I hope you slept well."
I returned the nod, already feeling that smile pull at my own face. "I don't know if it was magic or just incredible craftsmanship, but that was the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. Same with those pajamas, felt like sleeping in a hug. And that's coming from someone who grew up with mass-produced comfort technology and memory foam."
I gestured vaguely at myself. "So yeah. Slept like a baby. A very well-rested, non-crying baby."
"I'm glad to hear it," he replied warmly. Then, with a graceful gesture toward both the chairs positioned in front of his desk and the more casual couches arranged off to the side near a small table, he added, "Please, make yourself comfortable wherever you'd like."
I chose the seat directly across from him at the desk. It felt more personal than lounging on the couches, more like we were actually having a conversation rather than me just existing in his space while he worked.
"I'll be finished with these reports shortly," he said, even as another completed page whisked itself into a growing stack with a casual flick of his wrist. A fresh blank sheet floated smoothly into place from a holder, and his enchanted quill continued its steady work. Silent, fluid, almost mechanical in its precision.
"Then, perhaps..." His tone shifted just slightly, becoming lighter but also somehow more uncertain. Like he was stepping from comfortable duty into less familiar territory. "We could head to breakfast together?"
The question came out almost tentative, as though he wasn't sure if I'd want to or if he was overstepping somehow.
I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the Sword Saint being uncertain about asking someone to breakfast. "Rein, of course I'd eat with you. It's not like I've got anywhere else to be or a packed social calendar to maintain."
I leaned back in the surprisingly comfortable chair, letting the quiet rustle of parchment and the smooth scratch of enchanted ink on paper lull me into a peaceful, meditative state that was dangerously close to falling back asleep.
The office was warm. The chair was comfortable. The ambient sounds were soothing. My eyes started to drift closed...
Then, with a faint creak of his chair, Reinhard stood up.
"My apologies for making you wait, Ethan. I've finished my work for the morning."
I blinked myself back to full alertness and sat up properly, glancing at the desk. The previously scattered paperwork had been transformed into a neat mountain of completed documents, all organized and ready for filing.
He'd finished it all in under ten minutes.
'Show off,' I thought with a mixture of awe and amusement.
With that accomplished, he ushered me out of the office with a gentle hand gesture, and we walked side-by-side down corridors that were starting to feel familiar rather than alien. The morning light poured through the tall windows lining the hallways, and once again I was absolutely taunted by the heavenly aroma drifting from somewhere ahead.
Butter. Sausage. Something faintly sweet, maybe honey or cinnamon. Fresh bread.
I clenched my jaw, resisting the powerful urge to break into an undignified sprint like a starved raccoon who'd just discovered an unguarded dumpster.
Thankfully, salvation came quickly.
The moment we stepped into that same cozy dining room from last night, whatever fragile self-restraint I had left evaporated completely. Not because I lost control, but because I didn't need it anymore. The food was right there, waiting for us. Set out like the opening scene to a food commercial specifically designed to personally ruin me.
Flam and Grassis stood positioned in the corner with their usual semi-smug smiles, clearly proud of whatever they'd prepared or helped prepare.
And before us sat a breakfast spread that looked straight-up divine.
There were bowls of creamy-looking grits, their surface smooth and inviting. Thick links of sausage that glistened with just enough oil to be dangerous in all the right ways. Fluffy scrambled eggs cooked to absolute golden perfection, not too dry, not runny. And a stack of biscuits so perfectly browned and buttery that they practically begged to be drowned in the jar of golden honey sitting beside them. A pitcher of what I assumed was orange juice waited nearby, the glass beaded with condensation.
I wasn't usually a breakfast person, eating this early normally churned my stomach and made me feel vaguely nauseous. But this was different. The food here didn't just taste good; it felt good. Like the very act of eating was healing something deep and tired in me, nourishing more than just my body.
'Maybe food in this world has actual magical benefits?' I wondered. 'Healing properties or stat bonuses or something? Wouldn't that be wild.'
I shook my head, dismissing the speculation, and focused on the more immediate priority of handing out righteous praise.
"Thanks, girls," I said sincerely, making sure to meet both their eyes. "This looks absolutely amazing. Seriously."
I paused, then turned toward them with hope. "You two gonna join us?"
Flam hesitated for just a fraction of a second, something flickering across her expression before her face settled back into its usual cool neutrality. "Wish we could. But we've got morning rounds to complete. Inventory and cleaning schedules."
Grassis gave a playful little shrug, but there was a faint downturn in her expression too. "Maybe next time, yeah?"
With that same practiced grace that clashed slightly with their earlier teasing behavior, both of them performed perfect curtsies, then slipped quietly out the door.
I watched them go, already missing the usual background chaos and banter they brought to any situation.
Still, the quiet that settled in after they left wasn't unpleasant.
Reinhard and I took our seats across from each other. He picked up a folded newspaper from beside his plate, some kind of local bulletin or gazette, judging by the official-looking crest printed in the corner, and unfolded it with that same calm precision he brought to literally everything.
We ate in companionable silence, the kind where nothing needed to be said and the quiet felt natural rather than awkward.
For a moment, despite everything, it felt... normal. Which was bizarre given my entire life situation right now.
Yesterday, around this exact time, I'd been unceremoniously yeeted into another world without warning or explanation.
Now I was sitting in a sunlit dining room in a noble estate, next to a living legend with fire-truck red hair and a smile that could probably power a small city, eating breakfast like it was just another lazy Sunday morning back home.
'Man... what even is my life right now?'
As I sipped what turned out to be the freshest, most perfectly balanced orange juice I'd ever tasted, if that's what it actually was, I glanced over at Reinhard. I was wondering if today had some kind of schedule I should know about, if there were expectations or duties I was supposed to fulfill.
Before I could actually voice the question, he folded his newspaper with a faint snap and looked up with that warm smile, then spoke like he'd somehow heard the question forming before I'd opened my mouth.
"I was thinking," he began lightly, setting the paper aside with care, "that since today is technically my day off from official duties, it might be nice to spend it showing you around the capital properly. There's a market district near the center that tends to be especially lively on days like this."
I blinked, momentarily thrown. "You sure you're not secretly telepathic? Because that's the second time you've answered a question I hadn't asked yet."
He chuckled warmly, genuine amusement lighting his features. "Not quite telepathy, no. But some of my Divine Protections are... attuned to certain things. Sometimes I just get a feeling. Like when someone nearby has something specific on their mind, or when I'm needed somewhere."
"...Man, that's mildly terrifying when you actually think about it."
"Don't worry," he added with a small, reassuring grin. "It's not actual mind-reading. More like... a nudge. A hunch. Vague impressions. The blessings are meant to help me be where I'm needed most, when I'm needed there. And today—" his expression softened, "—I think that place is beside you. Helping you get acclimated to your new circumstances."
I leaned back in my chair and tried to play it cool, raising my hand in mock grandiosity. "Well then, I certainly won't complain about having the Sword Saint himself as my personal tour guide through the capital."
Reinhard chuckled softly at the delivery, but I noticed the way his eyes flicked briefly to the side, a subtle shift, like a crack appearing in otherwise perfect glass. Some kind of discomfort with the title, maybe.
"Though," I added quickly, lowering my tone and dropping the act, "you're honestly a lot less intimidating in person than the reputation suggests. Bit of a letdown, really. Expected more brooding and mysterious staring into the distance."
That earned a genuine smile, warmer and more relaxed than before. "I'll try to disappoint you further before the day's out."
"You'd better," I said, letting my own grin soften into something more sincere. "Otherwise I might forget you're supposed to be some untouchable legend and just keep thinking of you as a regular person."
He gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. "And here I was desperately hoping you'd already forgotten that part entirely."
We shared a quiet laugh, then he gestured toward the hallway with a flick of his wrist.
"So then, shall we get you something a bit more fitting to wear for our outing? After all, you'll be representing House Astrea today while we're out in the capital."
I stood, stretching my arms overhead until my spine popped satisfyingly. "Dress me as you see fit, my liege," I replied with exaggerated formality.
His grin widened at the joke.
With obvious amusement still playing across his features, Reinhard led me out of the cozy dining room and down a different hallway, shorter than the main corridors, one I definitely hadn't noticed during yesterday's manor tour. There were no servants bustling about here. The air felt still and quiet, lit by soft filtered morning light streaming through stained-glass windows.
He stopped before an ornate door and turned to face me, that ever-gentle smile firmly in place. "Before we head out into the city proper... I thought you might want to look the part of someone associated with House Astrea."
I blinked, momentarily confused. "You're giving me a sword? Already? I can barely swing a practice blade without embarrassing myself."
He laughed at that, warm and genuine, shaking his head. "Not just yet. Let's start with something more immediately appropriate for a casual walk through the capital streets."
He pushed open the door with one hand, revealing a small but impressively ornate changing room. Rich wood paneling, a full-length mirror, comfortable seating, clearly a space designed for properly preparing one's appearance.
Reinhard crossed the room with easy confidence to a tall, finely carved wardrobe and opened it with a gentle creak of expensive hinges. He stepped aside gracefully and gestured for me to come look inside for myself.
"I had something prepared," he said casually, like this was no big deal. Like he didn't just imply he'd had custom clothing made for someone he'd known for exactly one day.
Inside hung what could only be described as Astrea-tier drip of the highest caliber.
A pristine white coat with lilac-colored lining, the fabric looking expensive even to my untrained eye. The crest of House Astrea was stitched on the left arm in flawless embroidery—gold thread forming that distinctive dragon design. Beneath the coat hung a sleek black shirt, identical in style to the one Reinhard wore under his own jacket. Paired with it were tailored white trousers, their cuffs tipped elegantly in pale violet. A matching black belt of fine leather rested on a nearby shelf, and a pair of polished boots plus black gloves sat neatly arranged below everything, looking like they'd been shined mere moments ago.
I just stared at the ensemble for several seconds, processing.
"...This is your idea of casual wear?" I finally managed.
Reinhard actually looked a little bashful, a faint color rising in his cheeks. "It's what I typically wear when I'm not in official uniform, yes."
"Right," I deadpanned, still staring. "Royal knight-chic. Understood. Totally normal everyday clothing."
Despite my sarcasm, I reached out and ran my fingers along the coat's fabric. It was impossibly soft, clearly expensive, and judging by the way everything was arranged with such precision, you would think it was tailored specifically to me.
I blinked, realization hitting.
This wasn't like the borrowed stuff from the wardrobe yesterday, which had been close but not perfect. Or even the very nice pajamas. This looked like it would fit me with absolute precision. Down to the shoulder width, the sleeve length, even the taper of the pants.
And I knew I hadn't given my measurements to anyone. Hell, until just now, I probably couldn't have even accurately guessed them myself.
Click
I activated Reason and Judgment briefly, letting its analytical clarity filter my perception. Examined the outfit with enhanced awareness, running mental calculations.
The measurements matched my current body exactly. Every proportion perfect.
Somebody had gone seriously out of their way to get my sizing with freakish precision. Probably magical measuring at some point when I wasn't paying attention.
I let the Authority fade and time resume.
Still, I absolutely couldn't complain. The outfit looked damn good. Better than anything I'd ever owned back home.
I turned to Rein with a raised eyebrow and a genuine grin. "Gotta say, if I manage to look even half as good in this as you do in yours, the capital might not survive the combined aesthetic assault."
He smiled modestly, but his eyes lit up with a quiet kind of pride. "I think it will suit you quite well. And..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "you deserve something that properly represents your place here. Your connection to House Astrea."
That statement brought me up short, stopping my casual examination of the clothes.
My place here?
I didn't really have an answer to that yet. Didn't know what my place was or what it would become. But something about the sincerity in Reinhard's voice, made me twist in an embarrassed manner.
I reached into the wardrobe, pulled the coat from its hanger with careful hands, and nodded.
"Then I'll wear it with pride."
The stupid double-entendre hit me immediately and I had to suppress a snort. 'Pride. Authority of Pride. Very clever, Ethan.'
"I'll step out and give you privacy to change," Reinhard said, already moving toward the door. "Take your time."
With him gone and the door closed, I turned to face the changing room properly and began the task of equipping my new outfit.
The black shirt slid on smooth as silk, hugging my frame like it had been literally grown from my skin rather than sewn. The fabric felt expensive against my chest, temperature-regulating in some way I couldn't quite explain.
The trousers fit with almost mathematical perfection, no uncomfortable sag, no pinching anywhere, just clean lines and tailored grace. They moved with me rather than restricting movement.
But the coat was the crown jewel of the ensemble.
Long and regal, its cutaway front caught and reflected the light with every subtle movement. The lilac lining flashed with each step like it was showing off on my behalf, creating beautiful contrast against the dominant white. The Astrea crest sat proudly on my left arm, marking me as... what? A member of the household? A guest? A friend?
I wasn't entirely sure yet. But it felt right somehow.
I slid on the gloves, supple leather that fit like a second skin, tightened the belt to a comfortable position, and stepped into the fitted boots. They clacked with satisfying authority against the wooden floor as I positioned myself in front of the changing room's full-length mirror.
Silence fell as I took in my reflection.
Then—
"…God damn," I muttered to myself, genuinely impressed.
I couldn't lie to myself, as strange and initially unsettling as suddenly gaining white hair and golden eyes like some kind of anime protagonist had been, it definitely added to the overall aesthetic. The unusual coloring actually worked with the formal white and black ensemble, creating a cohesive look that screamed "important person you should probably not mess with."
I looked like I was about to march off to fight a final boss and one-shot them as if it was barely worth mentioning. A side chore. Probably because the outfit was essentially Reinhard's style, and from what little I'd read about what Sword Saints could actually do during yesterday's library research session, that kind of casual overwhelming victory sounded right up his alley.
A knock on the door interrupted my self-admiration.
"Come in," I called out, still examining the fit.
Reinhard entered and immediately chuckled from behind me, obviously seeing my expression in the mirror. "I take it the outfit is satisfactory?"
I spun around with theatrical flair, arms spreading wide in exaggerated fashion. "Rein, you really didn't have to get me something that looks this ridiculously good. At this rate, the manor might literally drown in combined elegance when we walk back in together."
He laughed properly at that, head tilting back with amusement. "I'm very glad you approve of the choice."
"Oh, I don't just approve," I said jokingly, gesturing toward my reflection with emphasis. "I'm legitimately thinking of charging people admission just to look at me now. Set up a little booth. 'See the mysterious white-haired stranger - five copper per viewing.'"
My confidence was rising now, even without needing to trigger Reason and Judgment for the boost.
Together, we stepped out of the changing room looking absolutely ready to crash the fanciest party in the capital and somehow still be underdressed by noble standards.