Taking the clothes, I waited until the man left the room before I began undressing. There was something about this space that made me uneasy, as if the mannequins scattered around were silently watching me. Their blank, lifeless faces seemed to shift in the corner of my vision, though I knew it was just my mind playing tricks.

After slipping into the new attire, I turned toward a nearby mirror. The sight of myself caught me off guard. The fabric was dark blue, almost black, with a subtle sheen that hinted at its quality. The tunic fit snugly, tailored to perfection, with silver embroidery tracing patterns along the cuffs and collar. A wide belt cinched the outfit at my waist, while a long cloak draped over one shoulder, its edges trimmed with delicate threadwork.

This wasn’t just clothing—it was a damn statement. Back in my world, my wardrobe consisted of a school uniform and pajamas. Transitioning from those to this? It felt surreal.

“Huh…” I muttered, brushing a hand over the fabric. “This is… different.”

A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Are you done in there?” the man called impatiently. “Hurry up!”

“I’m done,” I replied, tucking my phone into my inventory for safekeeping. “Coming.”

Opening the door, I found myself face-to-face with him. He immediately grabbed my shoulders, tilting his head to examine me from different angles like an artist critiquing a sculpture. After a few grunts of approval, he darted back into the room, returning with a small box. He then yanked me back inside the room, closing the door.

Without warning, he sprayed a cool liquid onto my hair and began brushing it. The sensation was unfamiliar; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used anything beyond shampoo, let alone brushed my hair properly.

“Hah,” he said, stepping back and placing the brush and container into the box. “You’re not half bad when cleaned up.”

I glanced at the mirror again. The person staring back hardly felt like me. My hair was slicked back neatly, with two stray strands framing my face. The bullet wound on the side of my head was still there, a reminder of what hadn’t healed, but otherwise… I almost looked somewhat respectable.

“Now you’re ready,” he said with a satisfied nod. “And we still have some time to spare. Let’s go.”

I followed him out of the room, my steps leading me toward the last place I wanted to be—the grand doors that opened to the Queen herself. I still couldn't believe I’d burst in and interrupted her dinner. I couldn’t possibly just wait it out though; my neck was on the line… literally.

The two guards stationed at the entrance exchanged a glance before lowering their swords in unison. Then, to my surprise, they bowed slightly.

“Hmm?” I murmured, glancing at the fat man beside me. He wasn’t looking at the guards. His wide eyes were fixed on something behind me.

“Oi,” he whispered, gripping my arm and yanking me aside. “Step back and bow. Now.”

He forced my head down, and I obeyed without question. A woman loomed in front of me—commanding, suffocating. Slowly, I turned my gaze just enough to catch a glimpse of her.

Her long dress was pitch black, flowing like liquid shadow. It clung to her form, hugging every curve and accentuating the elegance of her silhouette, leaving little to the imagination. The front of the dress dipped low, just enough to suggest an elegant neckline, the edges full with delicate, lace-like patterns that resembled tendrils creeping up her skin.

On the left side, the hem of the dress split at an angle, exposing her long, smooth leg nearly to her hip. The cut was sharp, daring, with the fabric flowing just enough to hint at the sleek lines of her thigh, only adding to the mystery of her form. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that was strikingly regal yet icy.

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There was something unsettlingly magnetic about her—a pull, like the shadow of the moon over the tide. Her beauty was just out of this world, perfected, and as she moved, it was as though the very air around her thickened with an almost electric tension.

“We’ve met before.” She said, “Haven’t we?”

“Hmm?”

I remembered her now—she had been there when I delivered the dagger to the Queen. Even through the haze of that memory, her image was sharp. She wasn’t someone easily forgotten.

She was accompanied by five guards, each clad in armor distinct from the Queen’s soldiers. Their weapons gleamed even in the dim light, a silent warning to anyone who might cross her. It was clear that she was someone important… or just someone rich. Or, well, both.

“You must be the guest Mirelda mentioned,” she said, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. “Lift your head.”

I hesitated at first, then I slowly looked up. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I’m Nora.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“No, Axel. She is Nora…” The fat man whispered angrily as if I said something terrible. “the Queen of Gatay.”

“Oh…” I managed, my brain scrambling to process her presence. “It’s… an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

‘No more crazy Queens. Please.’

“Likewise, Axel.” She turned her attention to one of the guards at the door. “Is Mirelda inside?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” one replied crisply. “Queen Mirelda and Lady Miu are waiting.”

“Good,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of command. “Let’s not keep them waiting then, shall we?”

As the doors swung open, the fat man grabbed my arm, pulling me back abruptly. He leaned in close, his eyes darting to Nora’s retreating figure as she strode into the room.

“She’s a sensara,” he whispered, his voice low. “Be careful around her.”

“A what?”

“Hey!” The guard at the door barked, snapping my attention back. “What are you waiting for, boy? Get inside!”

“Right,” I muttered. “Sorry.”

I stepped forward, the heavy double doors groaning shut behind me. For a moment, I stood frozen, my back still to the entrance. My gaze lingered on the now-closed doors, my dull eyes fixed as if I could somehow disappear into them. I missed that feeling—being invisible, blending into the background. It was safer, quieter. I didn’t belong here, not with these people or at this table.

With a sigh, I finally turned around, only to freeze again. A hulking figure was striding toward me, his steps heavy and fast. My back hit the double doors as I instinctively stepped away.

It was him—the Queen’s general. He was a mountain of a man, his muscular frame seemingly carved from stone. Scars crisscrossed his weathered face, each one telling a story I didn’t want to hear. His broad shoulders and veiny, massive arms made my frame seem almost laughable in comparison.

“Axel Millo,” he boomed, gripping my hand in an ironclad handshake that nearly crushed my fingers. “I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, pumping my hand up and down with unsettling enthusiasm. “I pushed you away at Redwood. I didn’t realize you had assisted our Queen.”

“Oh,” I muttered. “That’s… uh, it’s fine, sir. No need to apologize.”

His grip lingered for a moment longer before he released me, giving a nod that felt more like a command than a gesture of respect.

Looking past him, I spotted her—the Queen. She stood near Nora, her posture composed, deep in conversation. By her side was a young woman, close to my age or maybe a year older. She shared her mother’s refined features, her blonde hair neatly tied back. While the Queen wore an elegant dress of deep crimson with gold embroidery, the girl’s attire was simpler—a darker red gown with minimal embellishments, though no less regal in its design.

The general stepped aside, motioning for me to approach. My legs felt like lead, but I moved forward, each step measured. As I drew closer, the Queen’s gaze shifted to me. Her piercing eyes locked onto mine briefly, her expression unreadable. She gave me a small nod before returning her attention to Nora, continuing their conversation as if I hadn’t disrupted anything.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “Nothing will go wrong. Nothing.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed it, but at this point, it was all I had to hold on to.