The bed was comfortable.

It was warm and soft...

And yet, he was thirsty. It was a pain, no, an ache. It throbbed in the back of his throat. Still, the bed was soft... it was warm... and it was comfortable.

Finally, the need for water overcame the comforts of the bed. With a lazy and loud breath, he got up and rubbed his stomach. Feeling the fabric, he could only sigh internally as he realized he had slept in his work clothes again. Puffing out his cheeks, he exhaled a large breath, creating a "pah pah phhhhh" sound before opening his eyes.

There was only a moment of silence before he cursed, "Shit."

The room was unrecognizable. Lavish, and it even smelled clean now that he thought about it. Like lavender? "Ah... shit," he mumbled once more as he noticed that he wasn't wearing his work clothes but rather some fancy sleepwear. Was this a good thing or bad? What happened last night... no, he couldn't remember---actually, the attempt caused his head to ache. "You drunk bastard," he chided himself.

Thankfully, it was the weekend, so he wasn't late for work, but at the same time, "It was your first time, you fool. Couldn't you just remember it?" he complained. He rose from the bed, surprised at his own speed. "Wow, it's true what they say," he joked to himself. He took another look around. It was a beautiful room, no doubt some rich woman's house, and he smiled at how well he did. His eyes landed on a pitcher of water by the bedside with an empty glass beside it. "Don't mind if I do." Pouring himself a drink, he savored the water.

Perhaps his luck was turning. This could be the beginning of his great success. He snickered at the foolish thought. More likely, he would have a nice meal and be shown the door, but he would milk it for all it was worth. "Kyle, my boy, you may not remember it, but today you became a man." It only took 41 years. With great pride, the man drank the water and took a deep breath. Rolling his shoulders, he also noticed his back felt fantastic. He nodded. "Today is a great day."

"Oh, shi- ahem. Good morning, s-sir." Wait... wait, no, don't tell me. His eyes scanned the room once more. Rich, affluent, but not at all feminine... There was even a portrait of a naked woman hanging over the mantle. It wasn't even tastefully nude but shamefully. I mean, seriously, that clamshell does not go there... but that... I know I was getting a bit desperate, but still... no, it was fine. It was fine... as long as he was on top, then it was fine.

He coughed nervously, then turned back to the man. "S-sorry, Abbott, that I..." He blinked and squinted at the other man. "Think... I... two peas in a pod?" The man mirrored his words, his actions, and even his facial expressions... to a frightful degree. What's more, he didn't speak, and now that he took a closer look, he noticed that the man was framed in an ornate frame. "That's a mirror," he realized, pointing at it as if to show someone. "That's a mirror, that's a reflection, and that... that isn't me." For starters, the other man was thin, in shape, and kind of good-looking.

In his right mind, he still wouldn't want to tap that, but he could see himself being cautiously flirty with a few drinks. The man worked out, that was certain. You could easily see the toned body had no fat. Fair, medium-length brown hair framed his oval face, and stunning blue eyes burned brightly in the morning light. Looking from the mirror down to his own body, he slowly came to terms with the fact that it was his, and the reflection in the mirror was not broken.

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"Well, there really is only one thing left to do." He nodded to his reflection. Pulling the tie, he undid the robe and looked down at what he was working with now. A smile crept on his face. "I won." He smiled brightly at the man before him. "Smile all you want, ya bastard, but I win." He winked at the mirror, but then the reflection’s smile faded. “Wait…” he looked down once again. “Damnit!”

"M-my lord?" Turning to the voice, he found a maid nervously looking at him. "S-sorry," she stammered and looked at the floor, "but you didn't answer when I knocked." She was shaking and stared at the floor while gripping the front of her dress.

It was fine; he had a general idea of what was going on. It was a little disappointing that truck-kun wasn't involved, but... perhaps it was? Ugh, blackout drunk was the worst. Anyway, what was important now was that he pressed his sudden advantage. With the way she was acting, he was sure he was a noble, so he used a commanding tone. "Do you know whose room you barged into?" he asked, doing his best to appear stern and intimidating.

"Y-yes, s-sir, I'm sorry, I'll—"

"Answer the question," he demanded. She shivered and held her silence for a while, but he knew she was trying desperately to figure out how to answer him properly. He gave her the time; after all, he needed to know her answer. Finally, she understood.

"This maid rudely entered the master's room without permission. She asks for his grace’s forgiveness."

Oh, come on, who talks like that? Great, now what... let's see... ah! "And whose house is this where you work?" he asked, softening his tone in an attempt to ensure she understood she was on the right track.

Silence. Long and awkward. "This is Gracewell Manor, where the Gravestone dukedom has been overseeing the Banorval Region and the western pass."

He reached out, lifting her chin up and looked into her emerald eyes. With a gentle smile, he consoled her. "That's right," he affirmed as he racked his brain for the keywords she had just spoken. Dukedom meant he was a duke; that was great. Couldn't get higher, could you? I mean... you could, but who wants to be a king? You're the first one to lose your head. Banorval Region was... well, region meant they owned some land, so that was good, and western pass... they were on the west side of the empire? Won’t Tupac be proud.

So, Duke Gravestone of the west side of the... place. "And who is this master before you?" he asked softly.

"M-Maxwell Velavon Gravestone," she whispered, her face reddening.

A genuine smile rose on his lips. Maxwell, so I'm Maxwell then, huh? And a duke, wonderful. I can work with that. He could already see his wonderful life. The servants would do everything, and he would finally be a rich cat growing fat on their labor.

"Your Grace," the maid brought him out of his fantasy.

Letting her go, he turned around and walked to his bed. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he quickly pulled the robe over his body and tied it down. Great, the first thing I do in a new world is flash my employee. I really hope there is no HR department here. “So, why have you come here?” he asked as he turned around.

The maid blinked, holding her hands to her chest. Shaking her head, she mumbled something. Great, now what was he supposed to do? He didn't want to be a jerk, but he had no other idea of how he should interact with them for now. “Speak up, or not at all,” he ordered, the tone of his voice causing her to jump.

“I— that is, breakfast is ready.” Her words were clearer this time, spoken with actual clarity. “I have come to assist you in getting ready and starting your day.” He looked over at her as he sat back down on the bed.

“You're new here, aren't you?” he asked, watching as she looked around nervously before closing the door and walking toward him.

“Yes, my lord. Please excuse my inexperience.” Before he could ask anything else, the maid undressed, revealing her body to him. In the light of the morning sun she struck quite a figure, holding a hand on her shoulder, hiding her breast with her arm. He stared; now it was his turn to be silent while his brain moved at 100 miles an hour. Soon enough, she was before him, kneeling down and reaching for his robe.

He really hoped that there was no HR department here.