Saruto chuckled to himself in his head. 'Of course I'd remember her name. She's the second hero I picked the most back in the game.'
'Because c'mon, why would anyone play just one character when there are nearly a hundred heroes to choose from? Right?'
As he thought, the memories of her backstory rose to the surface.
She was born from an assassin family. Her father was a master assassin, her mother a gifted mage. Those genes combined, producing her frightening natural talent. But her life was cold. Mechanical. Almost empty you could say.
That was, until she was hired as a personal maid for this particular idiot.
The original owner of this body treated her like dirt. Barked orders. Demanded things without thanks. Acted like a spoiled brat even till death.
And yet… to her, it was the first time she'd been given that much attention in her life.
But his tragic lore would destroy that light.
Because of Crowbar Guy's disappearance… and eventual death… Elena's heart froze over. She became one of the coldest, most merciless killers in the entire lore story.
"Y-young Master, could you please... refrain from staring with such... eyes, at me too much~?"
Her words tumbled out, her body fidgeting like she was caught between embarrassment and her eye shape like a heart, maybe something more obvious?
Was she actually shy, or just too flustered to process his deadpan gaze? Nobody knew. Not even Saruto.
"Huh?" He blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Oh yeah, thanks for the tea." Without a second thought, he grabbed the cup straight off her tray.
Elena's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened to an anime proportions. "Wait... Did y-you thank me??"
Saruto froze mid-sip, tea dribbling down onto the ridiculously expensive golden-trim carpet like his soul leaving his body.
'Shit. Did I just mess up my identity already?!' His brain went into alarm mode, red sirens and flashing lights screaming in the background.
"What? Since when did I say that, idiot." His expression snapped into Trash Mode, his face twisting with disdain as if nothing happened.
Elena gasped like someone had just spoiled her favorite drama. "Eh?! B-But you DID!"
"No I didn't. Why would I thank a worthless servant like you?" His tone came out flat, sharp, dismissive—the exact brand of cruelty the original brat would have spat out.
Gaslighting: 100%. A perfect score.
Inside, however, Saruto's heart was breaking apart like a paper cup under rain.
'I'm sooo sorry, Elena! Please forgive me! I swear I didn't mean it, I'm just trying to survive in this damn body!'
Then, before she could short-circuit and start doubting herself, he switched the topic.
He didn't want his hero mindset to get complicated—except for that random dude he'd just tossed out the window. That one was already written off.
"Quit talking like you're hallucinating and tell me about the family breakfast gathering." His tone came out low and rude.
"A-ah? Yes, of course." Elena's shocked expression deflated instantly.
She snapped back into her role as the obedient maid, lowering her eyes and steadying her tray.
"They called you to discuss an important matter, Young Master." She gestured for him to follow.
Saruto shoved both his hands into his pockets and trailed her through the long mansion halls until they reached a massive dining room.
She opened the door with practiced grace, bowing slightly as a personal maid would've done.
The first voice that greeted him was stern, heavy like a hammer. "Huh? Oh, you finally came. Didn't expect someone like you to bother showing up."
Then came the opposite tone, warm and soft. "Now, now, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on him. It's breakfast, not a battlefield."
Saruto lifted his eyes. The man at the table carried a serious expression, dark circles sunk beneath sharp eyes, his larger frame carrying a surprising edge of muscle—not the round, lazy nobleman Saruto had pictured.
Beside the man sat a woman. Blonde hair, young and beautiful, her sweet smile radiated the exact opposite energy of her husband's fatigue.
"Are you going to stand there? Come and sit down." she said gently.
Letting out a light sigh, Saruto walked toward the round table and dropped himself onto the fancy wooden chair.
He didn't say a word—because honestly, he didn't know how to interact with them. In his past life, he didn't even have parents.
But then…
his eyes drifted downward.
The table was covered in food so glorious it looked like an art museum exhibit that had been bullied into being edible.
Golden, fluffy omelets glistened with melted cheese oozing from the middle. Thick-cut bacon strips shimmered with just the right amount of fat, still sizzling faintly as if they'd been pan-fried by angels. Sausages sat next to them, plump and juicy, leaking tiny droplets of oil like they were flexing their protein muscles.
Then there were the breads—basket after basket of croissants so flaky that one wrong breath might make them collapse into pastry dust. Fresh loaves of butter-crusted bread filled the room with a smell so rich it made Saruto want to bury his face in them like a pillow.
And the fruit—oh god, the fruit. Grapes so shiny they reflected his drooling face back at him. Strawberries so red they looked photoshopped. Melons carved into perfect bite-sized cubes that seemed to whisper: eat me, you starving peasant.
Even the drinks were next level. Silver pitchers of fresh milk, golden goblets of fruit juice that sparkled unnaturally, and...
'Was that a chocolate fountain in the middle of the breakfast table?!'
Behind his mask of rudeness, Saruto's mouth was practically flooding.
'Why the hell does it look so delicious?! I want to eat it!! I've never seen food this good outside of anime openings! I must try it!!'
The silence was broken when his father's stern voice cut through the air. "Now, let's talk about your behavior yesterd—"
Suddenly, the door slammed open.
That same dude walked in, grass still sticking out of his blonde hair like he'd rolled through an entire lawn, grumpy expression plastered on his face.
He muttered under his breath while trudging silently to the table and plopping down into a chair with a loud creak.
'Geez, does he only know how to burst open doors?' Saruto thought.
His father let out a long sigh, rubbing his nose temples. "Anyways, about your behavior yesterd—"
Crunch! Crunch!
But before he could finish, the blonde idiot grabbed a sausage, bit into it with an obnoxious crunch, and started chewing like a lawnmower.
He spoke through his mouthful, glaring daggers at Saruto. Grease dribbled down his chin as he grumbled something incomprehensible but definitely insulting.
Saruto just stared, not even reacting to his hostility.
The family dining room had officially turned into a battlefield: one side stern discipline, the other loud chewing and passive-aggressive sausage revenge.
*
To be continued...
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Synchronization: 000.██