The next morning, however, the routine started all over again. Arlon dressed, ate breakfast, and sat through more training—all of which the golden screen made sure to narrate in its usual style.
Flutter—
["Arlon continues his daily routine, his swordsmanship precise, movements flawless."]
Arlon almost rolled his eyes at the glowing description. Flawless? Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I've barely survived this whole noble act so far.
But over time, he couldn't deny it—he was getting better at playing the part. The way Arlon moved, spoke, even how he ate... it was all starting to feel natural.
Almost like he was the noble he pretended to be. Occasionally, though, Shin's habits would slip in.
He would grab a snack or absentmindedly study some random object in the villa. But no one seemed to notice.Not even Dimitri, who watched Arlon like a hawk.
"I guess he thinks I'm just getting smarter. That's good. Maybe I can nap in peace later."
But amid all the studying, sword training, and tea-drinking disasters, something about the golden screen caught his attention. It had changed. At first, it merely recorded everything, like some kind of all-seeing diary. But now... now it was as if the screen was reacting to his choices.
Flutter—
The screen flickered once again.
["Arlon continues his studies, deep in thought."]
Whenever he deviated from what the original Arlon might've done, the screen didn't seem to mind. It simply skipped those moments, continuing on without a hitch.
Wait. Could it be? Does the screen... not care?You're not even going to acknowledge that I did something off-script?
The realisation struck him like lightning. Maybe—just maybe—this was his chance. He didn't have to be exactly like the original Arlon. The plot, the story—it could still unfold even if he made different choices.
So... does this mean I can get away with stuff? It'll let me do what I want?
Arlon smirked to himself, staring at the screen like it was an opponent he'd just outsmarted. "I'll call you 'narrator.' You may know my fate, but you have no idea who I really am. Let's see how this goes!"
If the golden screen didn't care whether or not he followed the exact steps of the original Arlon Throndsen, then Shin who was now Arlon would use that to his advantage.
———
The villa was quiet in the early morning hours, save for the faint rustling of trees swaying in the wind outside Arlon's grand bedroom. The first light of dawn pierced through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a pale golden glow across the room. Lying in bed, Arlon Throndsen—or rather, Shin, now inhabiting Arlon's body—blinked himself awake with a sigh.
With a groggy sigh, he rubbed his eyes, muttering, "Right, another day of pretending to be Mr. Perfect Nobleman."
The narrator screen shimmered into existence before him, its soft glow flickering at the edge of his vision. A faint hum echoed as it displayed a small text box, tracking his actions.
["Arlon Throndsen rises early, just as his routine demands."]
The soft silk sheets slid off as he rose, stretching his borrowed limbs. This guy's body really has no chill, Shin thought as he felt the natural tension in his muscles. "How does someone this young have a strict daily routine like these?!"
The adjoining bath chamber was already prepared, steam curling lazily from the large, gilded tub. Arlon sank into the water, the warmth relaxing his muscles.Bathing was a ritual he hadn't paid much attention to back in his old world, but now it was a necessity. As he eased into the tub, the warm water soothed his muscles, and his mind began to churn.
"Sword training right after breakfast. Gotta be sharp today; that sparring match with the knights yesterday nearly exposed me." He frowned. "I still don't fully know this body's limits, but at least muscle memory does half the work."
Once bathed and dressed in the dark training attire embroidered with the Throndsen crest, Arlon made his way to the dining hall. Breakfast was a feast: fresh bread, cured meats, sweet jams, and a fragrant herbal tea. As he ate, the staff moved silently around him, their footsteps barely audible.
The nervous glances from the maids didn't escape his notice. He tried offering a smile to one of them, but she quickly bowed her head and scurried away.
"Do I really look that intimidating? Or was the original Arlon just that terrifying?" he wondered.
He finished his meal quickly and stood, addressing the head maid as she approached to clear his plate.
"Thank the chef for me," he said.
The maid froze for a moment, then stammered, "O-of course, my lord."
As she hurried off, Arlon sighed. "I need to work on my people skills."
After a quick breakfast, Arlon strode out to the villa's training grounds. The crisp morning air carried the faint scent of dew-soaked grass, and a line of guards was already stationed for morning drills.
One of them, an older man with graying hair, saluted. "Good morning, my Lord. Shall I prepare the training dummies?"
"Yes, but don't hold back today," Arlon replied in the measured tone he'd perfected over the last few days.
Arlon's internal voice, however, snarked: "Don't hold back, huh? Who talks like that? Oh, right—Arlon does. What a diva."
As Arlon moved through his drills, his borrowed body began to flow naturally. Each swing of the sword, each pivot and strike, felt like a dance choreographed long ago. Yet there was still a disconnect.
The narrator screen flickered again, tracking his movements as he assumed a fighting stance.
["Sword practice. Arlon's technique is flawless, honed over years of battle and repetition. Yet today, the weight of his future hangs on each swing."]
He paused mid-swing. "Again," he muttered, resetting his stance. The guards exchanged confused glances.
Arlon grumbled internally, "If I'm going to survive what's coming, I need to master all of this muscle memory. It's like downloading a game but having to learn the controls manually."
He practiced until the sun was high, sweat dripping down his face as he sharpened his movements. He could see Dimitri watching from a distance, as always, his eyes unreadable, but the faintest glimmer of approval in his gaze.
Flutter—
["Dimitri watches from the shadows. A silent observer, always present, ensuring Arlon's training is never left to chance."]
After the session, Arlon retreated to the study, a quiet sanctuary filled with shelves of leather-bound tomes and the faint scent of aged parchment. Scanning the rows, his gaze fell on a title: The Fundamentals of Mana and Its Applications.
Flipping through its pages, he paused at an intricate diagram of a glowing crystal. "Mana stones," he murmured, tracing the image with his finger. "Powerful... and dangerous. If I can figure out how to use them, it might give me an edge."
The thought lingered as curiosity stirred within him. Closing the book, he set out to explore the villa, searching for anything that could deepen his understanding of the mysterious stones.
He wandered through the grand halls of the villa again, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The air was heavy with the faint scent of aged wood and fresh polish, a constant reminder of the estate's meticulous upkeep.
As he turned a corner, he spotted Dimitri, ever composed, standing near a row of gilded sconces, inspecting a faint scuff on the wall. The butler's sharp lime-green eyes flicked up immediately, locking onto Arlon with his usual unreadable intensity.
"My lord," Dimitri greeted, straightening as he offered a precise bow. His movements were fluid, almost mechanical, a testament to years of rigid discipline.
Arlon hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking. "Dimitri," he said, keeping his tone casual yet measured. "I was just taking a walk and thought I'd check in. Everything running smoothly?"
Dimitri's gaze lingered on him, just a second too long. "As always, my lord. Is there something specific you wish to discuss?"
Arlon forced a small, practiced smile. "No, nothing urgent. I just like to keep an eye on things personally. You know how it is."
Nice save. Don't overdo it. Just smile, nod, and walk away.
Dimitri tilted his head ever so slightly, the faintest crease forming between his brows. "Of course, my lord. Though I must say, it's rare for you to patrol the villa unannounced. Your attention to detail is... refreshing."
There it was—subtle, but sharp. A polite observation that was also a quiet test. Arlon could feel the weight of Dimitri's scrutiny pressing against him, as though the butler were dissecting every word, every nuance of his behavior.
Arlon let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer to inspect the scuff on the wall as though it had been his original intention. "Well, I figured it couldn't hurt to be more hands-on. A leader should understand his surroundings, don't you think?"
Dimitri's lips quirked ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not a frown either. "Indeed, my lord. A commendable philosophy."
For a moment, the two stood in silence. Dimitri's sharp gaze tracked Arlon's every movement like a predator circling its prey. The golden screen flickered faintly in the corner of Arlon's vision, but for once, it offered no guidance.
Oh, great. Thanks for the help, narrator. Real useful.
With a practiced air of nonchalance, Arlon straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "Good work, as always, Dimitri. I'll leave you to it."
Dimitri inclined his head again, though his eyes followed Arlon as he walked away. "As you wish, my lord."
The moment Arlon turned the corner, out of Dimitri's sight, he exhaled slowly, tension flooding out of his shoulders.
That guy's way too sharp. One slip-up, and he'll see right through me.