Quenton was miserable. He’d come to a new world, became a whole new person but he still had to deal with asshole bullies who picked on people for kicks. He’d done his best at the soiree and had still wound up humiliated like he was back in high school.

He sighed heavily. Maybe I’m just permanently stuck as a loser. He thought woefully, sprawled out on “his” bed. Maybe he should give up adventuring and accept that he was a failure, that whatever world he traveled to he was still a nobody. He had run the interaction back in his mind over and over, the laughter, the cutting insults all echoed over and over again in his mind.

He groaned and buried his head in the pillow. Why didn’t I just stay quiet? Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? Because of Juliana, his mind quickly supplied. Because bullies liked to pick on the weak and no hero would stay quiet when someone was abusing such people.

A hopeful thought dawned on him. He had acted differently than he had in the real world, he’d stood up for Juliana and he’d fought back when Aliza attacked him.

Maybe he could be a hero, maybe he could stand up for weaklings like himself, maybe if he grinded and trained he could be someone else, someone worth admiring. He slowly cast off his sheets and stood, going to the mirror.

The face he saw was still unfamiliar, even more so for the look of determination it wore. I will be better. He vowed. It doesn’t matter if I can’t use a sword or I’m stuck as a girl, I’m going to be a fucking hero and I won’t let anyone stop me!

He smiled for the first time since he’d come to the new world and his reflection smiled with him.

It was time for some grinding.

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It didn’t take long for Quenton to accept a key problem with grinding for his class. He had no idea what the hell he was doing. Quenton did not really know how to be a girl let alone how to be a “proper Lady”. All he had to go by were half-remembered tidbits from tv-shows and books he had consumed over the years, and high society had never really been a focus in any of those.

Presently, Quenton was attempting to do something he had seen on tv, walking in a straight line with a book on his head. If he could do that enough then, hopefully, he could grind his Poise up since it was his lowest attribute.

Quenton had gone to the library after breakfast on the morning following the Warwin soiree, to practice in peace and quiet. He had no desire to have Camilla or Lyndon laugh at him as the book dropped off his head, again, and again, and again.

He had found a thin green tome that seemed perfectly fit for a beginner like himself. Yet no matter how hard he tried, the book wouldn’t stay on his damn head. It was on the 15th attempt to try and balance the book and complete a circuit through the room without dropping it or losing his posture, that he heard the door open and close.

The book dropped to the floor once again as he flinched and tried to spin around to face, whoever watched him from the door. A tall woman, probably in her mid-thirties looked him over assessingly. She wore a plain gray high-necked dress and her wispy blonde hair was tied back in a severe bun. Behind her glasses he could see her green-gray eyes, they were captivating and contained far more emotion than the rest of her put together.

“Lady Briony, if you need to practice to maintain or regain the skills of a proper lady you ought to have come to me first rather than fumbling by yourself. I have been informed about your condition, let me first extend my most heartfelt condolences.” Her voice was as melodious as her eyes were expressive, it shifted and warbled as she talked as if each word was a song in itself.

Quenton felt awkward as he had no idea who this person was, but he suspected she was something like a teacher out of context. “I am…grateful Miss-”

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“Mrs. Seaver, your ladyship, senior staff are always addressed as Mrs. or Mr. regardless of their marital status.” She interrupted Quenton with a rather exasperated look on her face, giving off an aura of “oh we have a long way to go”.

“I am the governess of this household, over the years I have taught all the young ladies of House Moray. Even you were in my care until recently, I will do my best to once more impart the skills and knowledge that you have lost. If you would please follow me, Lady Briony.” Mrs. Seaver turned on her heels with a loud click and began walking down the corridor away from the library.

She led Quenton down the corridors of the manor until they reached a small white door that Mrs. Seaver unlocked with a large key and passed through. The governess held the door open so that he could step through into what appeared to be some kind of guest room. Its walls were freshly whitewashed and it was dominated by a large bare four-poster bed; beyond it was a desk bearing a small collection of books, a large mirror, and what looked to be small black suitcases that had been placed in a row.

“It won’t do to have you instructed alongside Lady Camilla and Lord Lyndon. Young mouths often speak without the interference of the mind. So our sessions will be private.” Mrs. Seaver explained.

“We have little time to do this so we must start as soon as possible. First, we will have to assess what you have lost and then we must begin crafting you once more into a proper lady.”

Quenton seated himself by the desk. “Alright. I’m ready.” He said, determined. If this could help him raise his stats he was all for it.

She clicked her tongue. “Amnesia has thoroughly coarsened your speech.” She lamented with a soft sigh. “To begin with, tell me all you know about your current situation.”

Quenton smiled awkwardly. “Well…my name is Briony Moray, I have three sisters and a brother, we live in Faercliffe, and I’m in a country called Molyra.” He rattled off, she looked expectantly at him as if waiting for more and he shook his head.

“Uh…that’s it, sorry.” He muttered.

Seaver frowned. “I see, this is most dire. But we cannot spare time lamenting what is lost. First, you will need to relearn the very basics of the world in which you live. You are correct for instance, that we live in the empire of Molyra but you do not, I suppose, know of the emperor nor the war.”

Quenton nodded. “Yeah, all that is new to me.”

“Allow me to inform you of the fundamentals. Molyra is the first empire of the world, it was founded three thousand and thirty-three years ago by the first emperor, the exalted one. He created man and women, Zemil, our planet that is, and the sky above. He created the echelon, the four edicts, and both Stygia and Elsyia-”

Quenton blinked, taking in all the new information. “So he’s a god?” Seaver shook her head, her expression fierce.

“Gods are false idols worshiped only by the heathen Mizran and Longs. The first emperor was the creator, not some false god of fertility.” She snapped.

Quenton fidgeted under her angry gaze. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know.” He said, apologetically.

“I should hope not. As I was saying, Molyra is a holy land, our emperor retains the grace and blood of the Exalted One and for that he is destined to rule.” She handed him a thick leather-bound book. “This is the Tetricon, written by the fourth emperor after a vision of the Exalt. It tells the story of the Exalt, his sons, and the tenants we must follow. After we are finished here, you will read it.”

“Right,” Quenton murmured, wishing he had thought to bring something to take notes.

“I think that is enough history for today. Our next mission concerns your speech. I’m afraid your current manner of speaking is unacceptably vulgar.” Seaver picked up the second book, a thin brown volume, and opened it to a marked page. “Now, repeat the phrases written here.”

Quenton opened the book, scanning the page she had turned to. “The girl with the pearl is daughter to an Earl,” he said, feeling profoundly silly.

“Good. Recall that you do not say “cannot” you say “can not”. Do let your words run together as if you were a common costmonger.” Mrs. Seaver said imperiously, as she began scribbling on a slate with a piece of chalk.

“Politeness, wit, grace, humility, and fortitude. These are the virtues most important in a Lady, and it is readily apparent that your condition has deprived you of most of these qualities.” She gave Quenton a sad and brittle smile before she continued.

“With the Exalt and the Four on our side, I will endeavor to make a proper lady of you once again. Therefore, we must start with the fundamentals. Courtesy and diction, a lady without etiquette is like a soldier without his rifle. Comical at best and fundamentally useless at worst. If you do not know how to speak without sounding like a common scullery maid then politeness will be a flimsy shield indeed.” Mrs. Seaver drew two big circles around the newly added words courtesy and diction.

“Let us begin.” She said, her voice strong with determination. Quenton braced himself. “I am ready.” He said though he didn’t feel it.