One Week Later
In seven days, I'd come to two conclusions about Yen Von Sumidra.
First, he was the kind of overachiever who made everyone else look like they were standing still.
Second, he was a protagonist straight out of a handbook—a shining example of what happens when the universe gifts someone too much talent.
Every morning, he strode into Proven Academy with the precision of a soldier marching to war. His every step radiated purpose, his sharp eyes absorbing everything like a predator scoping the field. Tests, lectures, combat theory—none of it fazed him. It was as if he'd memorized the answer key to life itself. The rest of the class? Background characters, mere extras in the cinematic masterpiece that was Yen's existence.
By afternoon, he was back at the estate, trading his immaculate uniform for combat gear. Training sessions followed—brutal, unrelenting drills that would make grown men weep. I'd watched him spar against opponents twice his size, his movements fluid and relentless. He dodged, struck, and endured with a focus that bordered on mechanical.
Evenings offered no reprieve. Yen buried himself in tomes that looked like they contained the secrets of the universe, their ancient scripts scrawled in languages I couldn't even begin to decipher. On rare nights, his father summoned him for private lectures, the kind that made the servants whisper in dread. Rumors swirled that even the air in the master's study dared not stir without permission.
Yet Yen wasn't entirely an ice sculpture. His brothers, frequent visitors to the estate, brought rare moments of warmth into his otherwise rigid world. They joked, sparred, and shared stories, their camaraderie almost tangible. Yen, for all his stoicism, soaked it in like a parched desert. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was like a break in storm clouds—brief, fleeting, and startlingly human.
To sum it up? Yen Von Sumidra was the golden child strict parents dreamt of raising. Disciplined. Polite. Brilliant. Maddeningly humble. And while he wasn't charming in the traditional sense, there was something about him that demanded attention.
Meanwhile, I was still adjusting to my new life as a servant. The work wasn't terrible. We were fed well, housed decently, and left alone so long as we followed two simple rules: don't bother the family, and don't touch what you can't afford to replace. I kept my head down, mimicking the others and quietly thanking whatever system magic allowed me to understand their language. Reading their script, however, was still beyond me.
Yen, oddly enough, had a habit of teaching servants to read. Whether it was out of duty, kindness, or sheer boredom, I couldn't tell. But it was one of those little contradictions that made him fascinating—and infuriating.
As I observed him, one question gnawed at me: where was the story in all this? Was I stuck in an endless prologue?
-----
That night, I screwed up.
I'd forgotten to deliver Yen's freshly washed robes to his room. By the time I realized, it was well past midnight. The thought of facing the head butler's wrath in the morning was enough to make me shiver.
"Just drop them off and get out," I muttered, clutching the neatly folded robes.
I knocked softly.
Nothing.
"Great," I whispered. "He's probably asleep."
Still, I couldn't just leave. Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door open. "Young master?"
The room was dark, save for moonlight spilling through the balcony doors. And that's when I saw him.
Or rather, someone.
A tall figure stood on the balcony, his silky jet black hair glinting like an obsidian gem under the pale light. His robes billowed faintly, though the air was still. For a moment, I thought he might be a statue. Then, he turned, his sharp, piercing gaze locking onto mine.
It was like staring into the eyes of a predator.
Before I could react, he moved.
He jumped.
"WHAT?!" The word tore from my throat as I rushed to the balcony, heart hammering. I leaned over, expecting to see a body—or wings?—but there was nothing.
Just the empty courtyard below.
My thoughts scrambled. Was that Yen? Did someone kidnap him? Wait—no, people don't kidnap themselves!
Clutching the robes like a lifeline, I stumbled back into the room. The quiet pressed in, amplifying my racing thoughts. If Yen was missing and anyone found out I'd been here, I was done for. Forget reprimands—I'd be lucky if they gave me a trial before sentencing me to death.
"He'll come back," I muttered, pacing. "He's Yen. He probably does this all the time. Right?"
With no better plan, I stationed myself by the door, determined to play dumb if anyone asked.
Spoiler alert: I'm terrible at playing dumb.
-----
"Ahem."
The sound jolted me awake.
My eyes shot open to find the head butler standing over me, his disapproving gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
"Good morning," I croaked, hastily wiping drool from my chin.
"Likewise." His tone was colder than the courtyard at dawn. "Where is the young master?"
"He's, uh…" My brain scrambled for an excuse. "Still asleep!"
The butler's eyes narrowed. "Move aside."
Before I could protest, the door creaked open.
"I had an upset stomach."
Yen's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stepped into view, fully dressed, his expression as calm as ever. If he'd leapt off a balcony hours earlier, he gave no indication.
"Is Father looking for me?"
"Yes, young master. He's waiting in the study."
Yen nodded and started past me, his movements deliberate and composed. As he passed, he tapped my shoulder lightly, and I could've sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
And… was that a smirk?
I stood there, utterly dumbfounded, as he walked away without a single word of explanation.
What. Just. Happened?