As the first light of dawn spread across the sky, the tranquil morning scene was bathed in a palette of soft pastel hues. The golden rays of the sun gently illuminated every corner of the villa and the surrounding landscape, casting a warm and ethereal glow.

Arlon came out of the bathroom feeling refreshed after his bath wearing a robe. He walked to the window and looked around, noticing that the skies were starting to brighten up.

It had been a long time since he woke up with such pleasant sensations in the morning. It seemed that the clouds and rain had left during the night, leaving only a beautiful blue sky filled with white fluffy clouds.

Perched on the southern edge of the Throndsen estate, the villa had become Arlon's gilded cage—a place of exile disguised as luxury.

It was his father's property, nestled near the lake, far from the bustling capital. Arlon had been sent here to quarantine for five long months, exiled after causing trouble among the nobles. They could no longer tolerate his reckless behaviour, and the villa became a convenient solution to distance him from their affairs.

The reason why Arlon act like that because of the pressure the nobles putting him after his father die, he was pressured into taking over the position of the Duke.

Knock—Knock

"My Lord",a voice interrupted.

Flutter—

["Dimitri entered the room after he knocked at the door, seeing Arlon finished his bath waiting for him. He walk forward until he was behind Arlon,"]

Suddenly, the golden screen flickered before Arlon's eyes, capturing his attention. His thoughts froze. The screen—an unnatural presence—had appeared again. He turned his gaze toward Dimitri, eyes wide with surprise.

Dimitri, his loyal attendant, entered the room after knocking lightly on the door. He approached quietly, as he always did, his presence a comfort in the stillness of the villa. Dimitri's sharp gaze fell on Arlon, who had finished his bath and stood silently by the window, lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" Dimitri asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Nothing," Arlon replied quickly, masking his unease. But his heart raced, the words on the screen shifting once more, narrating from Dimitri's perspective.

So, it only shows a third-person viewpoint, Arlon thought, trying to make sense of the bizarre phenomenon.

"Are you alright, My Lord?" Dimitri pressed, his voice soft but insistent. "You've been quiet since you arrived here. Are you not pleased with the awakening of your ability?"

Arlon scoffed inwardly. His "ability"? The so-called power to control people was nothing but a facade—a lie he had woven to maintain the image of strength. In this world, there were two types of powers that people could possess after their awakening: cursed and blessed gifts.

The cursed awakener has incredible physical strength they could shift into any form into another person or animal and other that enchant their physical bodies, while the blessed awakener wielded magical abilities like manipulating elements, healing wounds, crafting potions and relics.

As for Arlon Throndsen, as the son of a Grand Duke, was supposed to have inherited a cursed ability from his father. He had claimed that his eyes turned gold when his power activated, giving him the ability to cast a curse of anyone who looked into them. But it was all an act.

He wore a mask, hiding the truth—there was no real power, only deception. He had never awakened anything. It was a clever performance that kept people at bay, kept them in fear of what he might do.

"I'm fine," Arlon replied, but his voice was cold, distant.

["Dimitri's frown deepened. "You're sure? You've always been calm under pressure, but something feels off."he protest inwardly in passing didn't want to urge his lord."]

"..."

Arlon found himself in a comical predicament, one he never signed up for. As he glanced at the golden screen flickering away like some video game glitch, he quickly snapped back to reality.

Arlon Throndsen wouldn't be caught dead gawking at an invisible screen, so Arlon swallowed the awkwardness and put on his best stoic face.

"Dimitri, get me dressed," he ordered, trying to channel the cool, distant vibes of original Arlon Throndsen. Dimitri, as obedient as ever, didn't question it and promptly began helping him into some ridiculously elegant casual clothes.

"..."

He kept a straight face, though. No one could know that under this mask was a guy who would rather be in pyjamas eating chips than playing noble heir.

Dimitri handed over the black mask, and Arlon hesitated before putting it on.

It felt... ridiculous. This is Arlon's trademark?

The golden screen flickered in the corner of his vision, the words forming before his eyes.

["Arlon hesitated before putting on the mask, his fingers trembling."]

Trembling? Shin scowled. He wasn't trembling! But as the words formed, his hands betrayed him, a faint quiver running through his fingertips. The screen wasn't just recording him—it was shaping him.

He stared at the finely crafted piece in his hands before reluctantly fitting it onto his face. It didn't help that he could barely see out of one eye now.

'Great, let's make pretending to be an aristocrat even harder.'

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Arlon remained still throughout, maintaining the calm and distant demeanour that everyone had come to associate with him. This was the mask he wore in more ways than one—the mask of Arlon Throndsen, the son of Grand Duke Ciel, the troubled heir, now hardened by the pressures of the estate and the nobles' expectations. He couldn't afford to let anyone, even someone as loyal as Dimitri, see any cracks in that facade.

Once fully dressed, Dimitri gave a respectful bow, gesturing toward the door. "My Lord, breakfast is ready."

Ah, yes, breakfast, Arlon thought, his stomach growling. At least there's food. Fancy food. But food.

Arlon nodded wordlessly, following Dimitri through the villa's familiar halls, their grandeur feeling more stifling than ever.

As they descended the stairs, the soft clink of armour from guards stationed at key points echoed faintly, adding to the weight of formality that hung over the place. The villa was grand and luxurious, but it had always felt more like a gilded cage than a home.

They arrived in the dining room, where a lavish breakfast awaited—silver platters of fruits, bread, and meats carefully prepared. The smell of freshly brewed tea and roasted coffee filled the air, tempting and rich.

Flop—

Arlon sat down, silently taking in the scene before him. He forced himself to slow down, taking smaller bites. Each forkful felt like a tiny performance. He had to chew with purpose, like a noble.

'Alright, food! This'll keep me sane for a bit. Fancy food does taste better—.'

Dimitri interrupted his thoughts. "After breakfast, your usual sword training awaits, My Lord."

Arlon froze mid-bite. Sword training?.

He took a deep breath, trying not to let his panic show. Alright, calm down. Just pretend. You've watched movies with sword fights. How hard could it be? I mean, you just... swing the sword, right?.

This was all part of the daily routine he had perfected over the years. The 'original' Arlon would have done the same—wake up early, maintain discipline, act as though everything was under control.

But for someone who had once been lazy, someone who avoided unnecessary physical activity like the plague, this lifestyle was suffocating. Sword training, endless study, morning routines—it was exhausting.

'How did the original Arlon even manage this every single day?.'

Flutter— Flutter

The breakfast did little to erase the creeping sense of dread that lingered from the golden screen fluttering, but he pushed those thoughts away as he ate in silence, keeping up the facade of stoicism. His mind wandered to the upcoming training session.

As soon as he finished, he stood up, his mask firmly in place, and without a word, signalled to Dimitri that it was time to move on. Dimitri, ever obedient, led him out of the dining room and toward the training grounds outside the villa. The brisk morning air greeted him as they stepped outdoors, the sky now fully illuminated by the sun, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

Arlon, despite his internal complaints, knew that maintaining this routine was necessary. The cool wind rustled his clothes, reminding him of the task ahead. It was time to put aside his laziness and step fully into Arlon's role. The moment they arrived, Arlon eyed the wooden swords lined up against the wall with a sinking feeling in his gut.

Dimitri, of course, said nothing, standing off to the side with an expectant look as if this were just another routine for the Lord. Arlon took a deep breath and picked up one of the wooden swords, the weight of it feeling both familiar and completely alien in his hand.

He tightened his grip, ready to give it a half-hearted swing—he just needed to look competent enough to fool Dimitri. But as soon as the sword was in his hand, something bizarre happened.

Shing—Clink

His body moved like it had done this a thousand times before. Without even thinking, he swung the sword with such precision that it sliced through the air and smacked straight into the training dummy in front of him. The wooden figure rocked violently, as if it were personally offended by the blow.

Arlon froze, eyes wide, staring at the dummy. Wait... what? How did I…

He blinked in disbelief, his heart racing. He hadn't expected this. Shin had always been more of a thinker than a fighter—well, more of a lazy couch potato, if he was being honest with himself. Yet here he was, handling the wooden sword as if he'd been training for years. His arms moved with surprising fluidity, striking the training dummies with the precision of a seasoned warrior.

Slash—

His hands moved again, as if on autopilot, launching into a series of perfectly executed strikes. Each one landed with such force and accuracy that it felt like he was watching someone else control his body. The dummies didn't stand a chance. One after another, they fell to the ground, defeated.

'Okay, am I secretly a sword prodigy? Or is this just Arlon's muscle memory kicking in?. '

Huff—Huff

He paused for a moment, panting slightly as he looked around at the wreckage of dummies scattered on the ground. His gaze flickered over to the golden screen, hovering like a silent observer in the corner of his vision.

["He swung to the left —then forward—step to the side and forward again."]

Is this thing... guiding me? Recording me? Or am I just that amazing?,Arlon couldn't tell. He glanced at the screen again, hoping for some kind of clue, but all it did was flicker, showing nothing but his own actions. It wasn't making things any clearer.

Dimitri, of course, watched from the sidelines without so much as a raised eyebrow. Of course he's not surprised. Arlon probably does this every morning before breakfast, while I, meanwhile, feel like I've just unlocked the swordsmanship version of cheat codes.

He paused, panting slightly as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"Who knew pretending to be a nobleman with killer sword skills would be this exhausting?!"

Arlon shook his head, trying to focus. After a while, he called it quits, not wanting to push his luck.

"Alright, that's enough for today," he said, trying to sound cool and casual, though inside he was still freaking out a little about what just happened.

Dimitri stepped forward. "Very well, my Lord. Your study awaits."

Arlon's stomach sank. Study session? Of course. Being a noble meant you couldn't just fight with swords all day. Nope, there had to be books involved. Always with the books. Arlon sighed inwardly but kept his cool demeanor, still processing his weirdly successful training session as they made their way to the study room. His legs felt a little shaky—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weirdness of it all.

'If I keep this up, I might actually fool everyone. Or, you know, trip over my own feet tomorrow and blow the whole thing. '

"Lead the way," he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

When they arrived at the study, Dimitri excused himself for a moment, leaving Arlon alone in the massive room lined with books. He wandered over to the shelves, scanning the spines without any real interest. His mind was still half-stuck on the golden screen and his newfound sword skills.

He pulled a random book off the shelf, hoping to distract himself. The title read The Wolf and the Sheep. He raised an eyebrow. Children's stories? Really?.

Shrugging, Arlon sat down and opened the book. As he read, the story unfolded about a wolf who wanted to eat sheep but couldn't because of a shepherd who kept protecting them.

[—"The wolf then disguised himself as a sheep, sneaked into the flock, and ate as many as he could until he became so fat and bloated that the shepherd mistook him for a sheep and cooked him for dinner."]

Arlon closed the book and sighed. Well, that ended exactly how I thought it would. No surprises there. He chuckled to himself. The wolf thought he was clever, but in the end, he got himself roasted. Kind of feels like me right now, pretending to be Arlon Throndsen . Only, I hope I don't end up cooked by the nobles.

He glanced around the room, still waiting for Dimitri to return. The study was quiet, peaceful even, but Arlon couldn't shake the growing feeling that the more he faked being Arlon, the more tangled he was going to get in this web.

"Note to self," he muttered under his breath. "Don't end up like that wolf."

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, the weight of Arlon's world pressing down on him. Sword training was hard enough, but now he had to survive a study session—and whatever else this insane schedule threw at him.

Please let it be something easy, like napping.