Night had draped the villa in a heavy cloak of stillness, the only light spilling from the study's grand chandelier. Outside, shadows stretched across the estate, wrapping the world in deep indigo as a crisp chill crept through the air.

Arlon sat upright in a high-backed chair, posture regal and composed—everything a noble heir should be. Yet beneath the calm mask, Arlon was fighting a losing battle against the tide of boredom crashing over him.

Across the room, Dimitri, ever the loyal butler, stood by a towering bookshelf, gesturing to an ancient scroll detailing the genealogy of noble families tied to the Throndsen line.

"The House of Valenmore has long served as our most steadfast ally," Dimitri explained, his tone sharp with precision. "Their contributions to the estate's military expansion have been invaluable, particularly during—"

Original Arlon might've soaked in every word. Arlon, however, was suffocating.

'Oh great. More noble names and alliances. Just what I need to make my night thrilling.'

He nodded in all the right places, the perfect picture of attentiveness, but his thoughts drifted far from Dimitri's meticulous lecture. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the golden screen floating just above Dimitri's head.

["Dimitri explains the long-standing alliances between the Throndsen family and the House of Valenmore. Arlon listens intently, his expression unreadable."]

Arlon bit back a groan. 'Unreadable? Try dead inside.'

Dimitri, perhaps sensing the need for a break, turned to a silver tea set on the table. With the same precision he brought to every task, he poured a steaming cup of tea and placed it before Arlon.

The aroma hit first—earthy, bitter, and faintly floral. Arlon eyed the cup with suspicion.

"I've prepared a blend of Eldeflower and Ceylroot, my lord," Dimitri said with a subtle bow. "Its properties are known to invigorate the mind and body, particularly during late-night studies."

Arlon barely held back a grimace. 'Invigorate the mind? This smells like a garden died in the pot.'

The golden screen flickered again:

["Arlon calmly sips the tea, savoring the unique flavor."]

'Oh no. Savor? I know what that means, and I already don't trust this.'

He lifted the cup, forcing himself to channel the elegance of a noble. The liquid touched his tongue, and it took everything he had not to choke. It was like drinking liquefied bark with a sprinkle of regret.

His face remained composed—a picture of noble serenity—but inwardly, Arlon was screaming.

'What the hell is this?! Who willingly drinks this? Did the original Arlon like tasting dirt?'

Clutching the cup like it was a weapon, Arlon endured. Sip by agonizing sip, he drained the cup, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.

"Thank you, Dimitri," he said smoothly, his voice betraying nothing.

'Thank you for the torture, you cruel, tea-loving sadist.'

Dimitri nodded, clearly pleased. "Shall we continue?"

Arlon bit back a sigh. 'Sure, why not? Let's add "more boredom" to the list of tonight's tortures.'

He was doing everything he could to look the part of an attentive noble, but internally, he was plotting ways to never drink that tea again.

Arlon shot a quick glance at the golden screen, which had now gone suspiciously quiet. Of course. It only jumps in when it thinks I need direction. You, if you're going to do something, at least be helpful.

Sigh—

Later, Dimitri led Arlon through the grand halls of the villa, introducing various maids, guards, and staff. Each name flew past him, barely registering as he nodded politely, all the while wondering how anyone could remember so many faces.

The golden screen chimed in:

["Arlon acknowledges each servant with dignity, his commanding presence unshaken."]

'Commanding presence, my ass. I've already forgotten half their names.'

["Arlon nods respectfully to each of the villa's staff, acknowledging their service."]

'Well, at least the screen isn't judging me for forgetting their names.'

After dinner—mercifully free of any more questionable beverages—Arlon was treated to a luxurious bath. Arlon couldn't help but marvel at how over-the-top everything was. From the softest towels to the shimmering water that practically sparkled in the candlelight, it was all so... decadent.

"If I wasn't stuck pretending to be a murderous noble, I might actually enjoy this lifestyle."

Finally, he collapsed onto the lavish bed, the silken sheets practically hugging him in a cocoon of comfort. For a moment, Arlon let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

"Okay, I admit, this is kind of nice. At least I get to sleep in style."

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 tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

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.'

He glanced briefly at the golden screen, still silent. "Yeah, thanks for nothing," he muttered under his breath before quickening his pace down the hallway.

The next day, Arlon's attention was drawn to a locked door he had overlooked in the study room. Its heavy wood was worn, its iron handle scratched from years of use.

His curiosity flared, adrenaline sparking. "A locked door? This feels like a secret side quest. What are you hiding, Arlon?"

He fished out the ornate key he had stumbled upon earlier and slid it into the lock. With a soft click, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room cloaked in shadows.

Stepping inside, Arlon froze, his breath catching in his throat. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with glimmering mana stones, stacks of gold coins, and artifacts that seemed to hum faintly with energy.

"This is... incredible," he whispered, his eyes wide. He reached for a mana stone, its surface smooth and warm in his palm. A faint, rhythmic pulse coursed through it, like a heartbeat.

Flutter—

The golden screen shimmered faintly at the edge of his vision:

["Arlon uncovers a hidden trove of power and wealth, remnants of his secret plans."]

"So this is where you kept your secrets, huh?" Shin murmured, turning the stone over in his hand. "No wonder the original Arlon was so overpowered in the novel."

But as he inspected the treasures, something stirred within him. Faint, fragmented memories—not his own—began to surface. Images of Arlon hoarding these stones flashed through his mind, coupled with an ominous sense of purpose.

"What were you planning?" Shin wondered, his heart pounding. "And why does it feel like I've just stumbled into something way bigger than I'm ready for?"

The artifacts and coins faded into the background as his focus returned to the mana stones. Closing the door behind him, he set one on the desk, its faint glow illuminating the pages of an open tome.

"Mana stones are nature's lifeforce, capable of enhancing strength, agility, and perception. But improper use can result in volatile reactions..."

The words rang in his mind as he stared at the glowing crystal. For a moment, he hesitated. The book had warned against misuse. One wrong move, and the energy within could backfire.

"Dangerous... but worth it," he muttered.

Placing the stone in his palm, Arlon took a deep breath and focused, recalling the book's instructions. "Picture the result you want. Clarity is the key."

He closed his eyes. "Just a spark," he whispered.

At first, nothing happened. The stone remained cool and inert, its faint glow unchanged. Frustration bubbled up.

"Focus," he muttered, sharper this time. "Come on."

Flare—

Then it happened. The stone warmed in his hand, its glow intensifying. A flicker of light shot out, swirling like a tiny flame before vanishing into the air.

Arlon's eyes flew open, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "I did it."

Encouraged, he practiced in secret whenever Dimitri wasn't nearby. Some attempts resulted in flickers of light; others flared wildly, forcing him to duck as sparks ricocheted across the room.

One night, he decided to push further. Holding the stone tightly, he closed his eyes and imagined water—a rushing torrent.

"Flow," he murmured.

Swish—

A moment later, a stream of water burst forth, splashing onto the floor. Arlon laughed, exhilarated. "I'm getting the hang of this."

But keeping his experiments hidden wasn't easy. Dimitri, with his hawk-like gaze, had an uncanny ability to appear at the worst possible moments.

One afternoon, as Arlon carefully channeled energy into a stone, he heard Dimitri's voice echo from the corridor.

"My lord?"

His heart jumped. The mana stone nearly slipped from his grasp as the butler's footsteps drew closer. He shoved it into his pocket just as Dimitri entered, his green eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What are you doing?" Dimitri asked, his tone polite but laced with curiosity.

"Research," Arlon replied smoothly, gesturing to the books scattered across the desk. He forced himself to meet Dimitri's gaze, keeping his expression calm.

The butler lingered, his sharp eyes scanning the room before nodding slowly. "Very well. Dinner will be served shortly."

Arlon waited until the door clicked shut before releasing a shaky breath. Pulling the mana stone from his pocket, he stared at it, his thoughts racing.

"That was way too close. I need to be more careful."

But even as his pulse steadied, something tugged at the edge of his consciousness. A strange unease crept over him, the memory fragments resurfacing. He glanced back at the hoard of mana stones, a sense of foreboding settling in his chest.

Then the golden screen flickered violently. New words appeared, jagged and fragmented:

["Beware. The chain tightens."]

Arlon froze, his breath hitching.

"What does that mean?" he muttered, but the screen remained silent, its faint glow fading once more.

For the first time, a knot of fear twisted in his gut. Whatever Arlon's original plan had been, it was far from simple—and far more dangerous than Shin had realized.