Standing in the garden field stood a man, his gaze was focused on a beautiful set of white flowers.
From a distance it was noticeable that the one who took care of the flowers put much love in it.
The mans hair—a cascade of moonlight silver, flowing in tousled layers past his shoulders like wind-swept silk.
It framed his face with an elegance that seemed both noble and slightly wild, the kind of look that hinted at a past too complex to guess in a single sitting.
His skin was pale, but not sickly—more like polished ivory, smooth and unmarred by time. His eyes were a contrast to that cold perfection: sharp, cool-toned, and almost glass-like, with a depth that seemed to see past facades and straight into the soul.
He wore a high-collared tunic embroidered with a fine swirling pattern—arcane, almost cryptic in design. The garment spoke of wealth, yes, but also mystery. As if it wasn't just clothing, but a vestige of some forgotten order, a symbol left untouched by time. Draped over it was a heavy scarf, charcoal gray, worn not for protection but for style—a deliberately placed layer that added an extra barrier between him and the world.
And pinned beneath the folds of that scarf was a gem.
A blue stone, the size of a thumb, set in a blackened silver clasp. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, catching the light with a subtle shimmer.
Yatsu's posture spoke volumes—reclined, yet alert. Relaxed, yet undeniably in control.
"Greetings, Lord Yatsu," the maid Itsuki said, her voice as calm and composed as the wind of an early morning. She bowed with perfect posture, one hand neatly placed on her skirt, and then stepped aside to reveal the group that had been trailing behind her.
The man—Yatsu—turned slowly, his movements deliberate, and his eyes swept over them likoe a king appraising a troop of soldiers. His gaze wasn't cruel, but it carried a weight that pressed down on the shoulders of all who stood before him.
Tatsuya stiffened. A chill ran down his spine the moment their eyes met, and a sour feeling crawled up from the pit of his stomach. The oppressive aura that clung to Yatsu's presence was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
This guy's the real deal…!
Tatsuya swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. A part of him wondered, not for the first time, Why the hell do they just let Stefan wander around freely here?
Tatsuya could already picture it: Stefan, with his endless appetite and oblivious nature, laying waste to the meticulously groomed gardens, ripping up flowerbeds, toppling statues, and perhaps even munching down an entire hedge maze before anyone could stop him.
Amidst the tense atmosphere, Tatsuya noticed something else—something that unsettled him even more.
Ruza walked at the very back of their small group, her steps slower than usual, her gaze locked onto the ground as if the marble tiles had committed some grave offense.
Didn't she just get back from traveling? Shouldn't she be rushing into her father's arms or something?
That thought hit him harder than he expected. An ache stirred in his chest—a hollow kind of sadness.
Mom… Dad…
The memory stung. He shook it off, focusing on the scene before him.
"Thank you, Itsuki," Yatsu said, offering the maid a single white flower as a token of gratitude. His gesture was casual yet strangely sincere, the way a king might casually toss a coin to a bard who had sung well.
Itsuki accepted it with grace, bowing deeply.
"I'm glad you two made it safely," Yatsu continued, his gaze falling on Tatsuya and Ruza. "I was almost afraid something had happened."
He smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that should have put everyone at ease.
But to Tatsuya, that smile felt… off. Like a friendly mask worn over something unreadable.
Shit… He noticed I was late, didn't he!?
Panic flashing through him, Tatsuya immediately mimicked Itsuki's earlier bow, lowering his head so fast that he nearly toppled over.
He didn't really know the manners of how to act around royalty or important people. In his old world the only people he needed to be respectful to were, his parents, teachers and the elderly.
Certainly not people who could blow you to bits with the snap of their finger.
So he just copied what the maid did and hoping that it was appropriate enough.
"My deepest apologies for being late!" Tatsuya cried, his voice wobbling with sincerity.
Yatsu blinked, a faint look of confusion crossing his face.
"Late?" he repeated. "Did Paul give you a date I don't know about?"
Wait… what? There was no set date?
Tatsuya blinked, realization dawning on him like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His tense muscles slackened, and he slowly rose back to standing.
A moment of relief washed over him—
Rustle…
Rustle…
The sudden sound shattered the peace like a thrown rock breaking a still pond.
All heads turned sharply towards the source: a neatly trimmed bush, once perfect, now shaking violently.
And then—
Stefan emerged.
Well, more accurately, half of Stefan emerged. His head was buried deep inside the bush, gnawing away with the relentless passion of a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"Chomp."
"Rip."
"Munch."
Pieces of expertly pruned foliage rained down around him like confetti.
He turned his head lazily towards them, mouth full of leaves, a stray branch sticking out at a ridiculous angle from his lips.
Time froze.
Tatsuya's soul left his body.
I'm dead. I'm dead. I'M DEAD!
Fueled by pure fear, he dove to the ground, prostrating himself on his knees and forehead pressed against the cold stone.
"I'm sorry, Master! I failed you! I should have trained him better! Please have mercy—!"
A deep, rumbling voice cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah, boy."
Tatsuya cautiously peeked up, expecting the fury of a thousand thunderstorms.
Instead, Yatsu wore an exasperated smile, as if this kind of absurdity was part of his daily routine.
"Stand up," Yatsu said, waving him off like an annoying mosquito. "This is why I have maids. So I don't have to do the hard work."
He reached out and patted Itsuki on the shoulder, a silent command.
"Itsuki, if you would?"
"Of course, Master," she replied dutifully, without so much as blinking at the spectacle.
She approached Stefan with the weary expertise of someone who had done this a hundred times before. With calm efficiency, she tugged at Stefan's collar, dragging the protesting goat away from the scene like a mother dealing with a particularly stubborn child.
Tatsuya could only watch, dazed, as Stefan was towed off, still munching on his leafy prize.
With that minor crisis averted, Yatsu gestured for them to follow him into the mansion.
Inside, the marble floors gleamed like frozen rivers, and the high ceilings stretched upwards, catching every sound in their grand vaults.
Yatsu led the way, and Tatsuya subtly adjusted his pace, slipping into step beside Ruza.
She still hadn't spoken. Her head remained lowered, her expression unreadable.
Tatsuya hesitated before asking, "Is something wrong?"
Ruza lifted her gaze, and for the first time since they'd arrived, their eyes met. Her ruby irises were murky, clouded over by thoughts he couldn't decipher.
"Sorry… what did you say?" she asked, her voice thin, distant.
"You seem quiet. Are you okay?" he repeated.
A pause.
Then she smiled, but it was small and tired, like a candle struggling to stay lit in the wind.
"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."
Tatsuya frowned slightly, unconvinced. But he said nothing more. After all, maybe she was just tired. She had just returned from a long journey. Maybe he was overthinking things.
As the group continued, Yatsu suddenly stopped, turning around with a wide, boyish grin.
"Ah, almost forgot," he said, his voice lifting the heavy atmosphere.
He raised a hand in a casual salute.
"Happy Arata, you two."
The words struck Tatsuya like a slap.
Oh yeah… it's New Year's Eve, isn't it?
They had celebrated it hastily the night before, but amidst everything else, he had almost forgotten. A small pang of sympathy touched him for the maids who had to work even on a day like this.
May the gods bless us with a peaceful year ahead…
"We should hold a big dinner for today. To celebrate Ruza's return and to celebrate the new year!" Yatsu said enthusiastically.
"Yeah!" Tatsuya followed Yatsu's enthusiasm. "Let's do that!"
I am starving… I hope the food is just as good as at Paul.
He was already drooling by the thought of it.
Tatsuya quickly gathered himself and offered a deep bow. "Happy Arata, Master!"
Ruza said nothing.
Not a word.
Okay, something is DEFINITELY wrong.
Part 2
Once inside the mansion, the heavy doors closed behind them with a deep, resonating thud, sealing away the outside world.
Yatsu smiled faintly, a glimmer of seriousness flashing in his eyes. "Let's continue this conversation somewhere more private," he said, his tone leaving little room for protest.
Without waiting for a response, he beckoned Tatsuya forward and began walking deeper into the mansion's grand halls.
Ruza offered no words. Without looking back, she simply bowed her head slightly and disappeared down another corridor, her figure swallowed up by the mansion's vastness.
Tatsuya watched her go, an odd tightness gripping his chest. There was something off about her—something heavy weighing her down—but now wasn't the time to get lost in thoughts he couldn't decipher.
Following Yatsu in silence, they eventually arrived at a set of ornate double doors. Yatsu pushed them open without ceremony, revealing the office inside.
The room was everything one might expect from a man like Yatsu.
In the center stood a grand oval desk of dark polished wood, the surface lined with rich leather inlays so clean and well-maintained that it gleamed under the natural sunlight flooding the space. Behind it, a massive leather chair—more like a throne—sat imposingly, while the opposite side offered a matching chair, though less extravagant.
The scent of old wood, parchment, and something faintly floral filled the air, wrapping around Tatsuya like a warm but stifling blanket.
Along the windows, a wrap-around counter stretched, adorned with small but tasteful decorations: a miniature brass globe tilted at an odd angle, statues of long-forgotten heroes, and picture frames whose faces smiled out from another era.
Golden sconces with candle-shaped lights were spaced evenly along the walls between the massive windows. Their glow was soft and warm even during the day, offering a quiet kind of intimacy to the space.
Tatsuya's eyes briefly caught on the brass desk lamp perched on the edge of the desk, its design unmistakably elegant.
Wait… did they invent the light bulb here?
The thought fluttered through his mind, absurdly out of place, and he quickly shook it off.
Yatsu lowered himself into his chair with the effortless grace of a king accustomed to commanding respect without needing to demand it. He gestured for Tatsuya to take the seat across from him.
Tatsuya sat, careful to adjust himself properly. Even in the soft leather chair, he felt like an intruder.
"Now then," Yatsu said, folding his hands together atop the desk. His golden eyes sharpened. "Let's discuss the matters mentioned in the letter, shall we?"
"Of course," Tatsuya answered, doing his best to sound steady despite the way his heart thrummed against his ribs.
Yatsu's expression remained neutral, though there was a probing quality to his gaze.
"Paul mentioned that you wished to continue your training under my supervision," he said, tapping a finger lightly against the leather desk pad, "due to your… loss of mana. Is that correct?"
"That's correct," Tatsuya answered, trying to mirror Yatsu's calmness, though internally he remained wary of every word. "I would like to continue my training with you—and hopefully find a solution to my 'no mana' problem."
Yatsu nodded, slow and thoughtful.
"Normally," he said, "when someone loses too much mana, their hair begins to turn white. A visible sign of their depletion. But you—"
He trailed off, his gaze drifting to Tatsuya's jet-black hair.
"—you show no such signs."
Tatsuya gave a short, dry laugh. "That's because… I've never used magic in my life before. I come from a place—a society—where magic doesn't exist at all."
He watched Yatsu's face carefully, searching for any hint of suspicion.
But Yatsu only leaned back slightly, resting his chin on one hand. He looked curious. Intrigued. But not hostile.
Maybe he can't smell my scent?
"I am old," Yatsu said suddenly, a faint smirk curling his lips. "I may look young, but I assure you, I am not. And in all my years, in all the corners of this world I've traveled, I've never met someone with a complete absence of mana."
His voice grew heavier.
"Everything—plants, beasts, even the tiniest bug—has mana. It flows through all things, like air, like blood. It's essential. You understand what oxygen is, yes?"
Tatsuya nodded solemnly.
"Then imagine someone living without breathing. That's what you are. You shouldn't exist."
The words fell like stones into the silence between them.
Tatsuya lowered his gaze, staring into the intricate patterns etched into the leather desk pad.
"I hate it," he said quietly. "Not having mana. When I see what others can do… I feel like an alien. Like I don't belong here."
The admission was bitter, torn from the rawest part of him.
Yatsu's eyes softened slightly, but he didn't offer empty sympathy.
"You didn't come here for pity," he said, his voice firm.
"No," Tatsuya agreed. "I came for answers."
A pause.
"Actually," Yatsu said, his lips curling into a small smile, "I might be able to provide you with something. I don't know if it will work… but it's worth a try."
Tatsuya's head snapped up, heart pounding.
"But," Yatsu continued, holding up a finger, "I don't have it with me right now."
"That's no problem," Tatsuya said quickly, trying not to sound too desperate.
"I need to retrieve something," Yatsu said, a cryptic look flashing in his eyes. "But explaining it all now would only confuse you. It's better to wait until I have it."
He waved a hand, dismissing the topic like brushing away a cloud of smoke.
"Until then, you're welcome to stay here as a houseguest. Once I return, we'll see how far we can go."
Tatsuya nodded, relief and anxiety swirling together in his chest.
"May I ask you something?" he said.
"Of course," Yatsu replied with an easy smile.
"Will you be training me in both magic and sword styles?"
Yatsu's expression turned serious again.
"If you are able to manifest mana," he said, "I will personally train you in the magical arts. But if you wish to pursue the sword, I highly recommend joining the Swordsman Corps."
"Swordsman Corps?"
"They are warriors trained in the blade, tasked with protecting villages and the outer lands," Yatsu explained. "Unlike knights, they aren't bound to politics or cities. They fight for the people."
"And… what do they protect the people from?" Tatsuya asked.
A shadow passed over Yatsu's face, and a small, dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"The Demon Cult," he said simply. "And monsters in general."
Tatsuya's blood ran cold.
The Demon Cult… like the one from the history books? Maybe if I join I can learn more about my scent?
If he joined, could he learn more about his scent? About what made him different?
"I have another question," Tatsuya said, his voice firmer now.
Yatsu chuckled lightly. "Ask as many as you like. I have all day."
"Is it possible for me to join the Swordsman Corps?"
"Of course," Yatsu said without hesitation. "I'll contact the master right away."
Tatsuya rose from his seat and bowed deeply. "Thank you."
Yatsu waved him off with a satisfied nod. "A maid will escort you to your room. I look forward to seeing what you will become."
With that, Tatsuya left the office.
The hallway stretched out before him like the endless spine of a grand cathedral. Gilded frames lined the walls, each painting depicting scenes of rolling hills, grand battles, and noble figures frozen in timeless poses.
Tatsuya passed one painting that gave him pause.
A man in the portrait stared back at him, with eyes so familiar that it sent a jolt through his chest.
He looks… like Dad…
The thought ghosted across his mind, leaving a strange, aching hollow in its wake.
He sighed, the sound barely audible in the vast silence, and continued down the hall.
At the end of the corridor, a maid waited for him, hands clasped politely in front of her.
Her eyes brightened the moment she saw him, and she dipped into a respectful bow.
"Master Tatsuya, I will escort you to your room," she said with a gentle smile.
"Oh, hey Itsuki. I am sorry Stefan is being. Pain." He said.
The girl looked confused. But then let out knowing smile.
"Yeah, he really was annoying!"
The was she said that felt out of place for her character. Itsuki didn't seem like some who would talk like that, especially on maid duty.
But maybe she just act this way when Yatsu isn't around.
"I hope he didn't destroy to much of the garden." He slaps his hands together. "Please don't hold it against me."
She didn't respond and turned her head, "follow me."
She is definitely angry!! Panic filled him.
"I'll make it up to you." He said desperately.
The girl didn't respond.
Part 3
The soft tap of the maid's shoes echoed down the polished marble hallway, steady and rhythmic like the ticking of a distant clock.
Tatsuya followed behind her, his own steps quieter, more hesitant.
But even as he moved forward, part of him remained anchored to the conversation he had just left behind.
Each step forward felt heavier, burdened by the weight of everything Yatsu had revealed—and everything he hadn't.
No mana…
The words rang in his mind like a bell, their sharpness refusing to dull with time.
Like someone who doesn't breathe… like someone who shouldn't exist.
The comparison made sense. It explained a lot, actually.
Why he felt out of place. Why he was always one step behind everyone else. Why every spell, every spark of magic, remained forever out of his reach—no matter how much he wished otherwise.
Tatsuya curled his fingers into a loose fist at his side, squeezing hard enough that his knuckles ached.
It's like my body is a mistake.
That thought stung more than he cared to admit. It wasn't just that he couldn't use magic—it was that, by the very nature of this world, by the laws everyone else took for granted, he shouldn't even be here.
A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, cold and cruel:
You're an anomaly. A flaw in the design.
Tatsuya gritted his teeth.
He hated that feeling. That hollow, sinking feeling like no matter what he did, he would always be an outsider. Always be… wrong.
And yet—
He raised his head slightly, watching the back of the maid guiding him.
Yatsu didn't look at me like I was a monster.
He had spoken plainly, almost clinically, about Tatsuya's condition. But there was no disgust in his eyes. No fear.
Just curiosity. Understanding, even.
Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.
A faint warmth bloomed in Tatsuya's chest, fragile and fleeting as a soap bubble.
He held onto it tightly, refusing to let it pop.
Yatsu said he might have something that could help me.
The details were vague—frustratingly so—but it was more than Tatsuya had dared hope for.
Someone was taking him seriously. Someone powerful enough to actually do something about it.
And until then, I'll stay here… as a guest.
A soft breath escaped his lips.
It was almost too much to process all at once. His own room in a noble's mansion. Potential training. A future that wasn't just endless walls closing in on him.
It's not perfect, he thought, his gaze drifting to the golden sconces along the wall, their soft flames dancing like tiny spirits.
But it's a start.
Then there was the Swordsman Corps.
Tatsuya frowned slightly.
The idea of training to become a swordsman carried a strange sense of inevitability. Like a door he had already been walking toward without realizing it.
If he couldn't use magic, then he needed to find strength another way. He couldn't afford to stay weak—not in this world.
And the Demon Cult…
That name sent a shiver down his spine.
He remembered they were mentioned in the old history book and the red hair man accused him of being one.
The a though came in Tatsuya's mind.
Maybe they know something about me. About why I'm different.
Maybe… just maybe, they held the answers he needed. Even if getting close to them would mean walking a road soaked in blood and terror.
He clenched his fists tighter.
Whatever it takes. I'm not going back to being powerless. I refuse.
The maid turned a corner, glancing back at him with a polite, almost mechanical smile.
Tatsuya offered a quick nod, trying to seem composed even as his thoughts churned like a storm inside him.
First step: settle in here. Try to make them like me.
Second step: train. Grow stronger. Prepare.
Third step…
His lips pressed into a thin line.
Find the truth. No matter what it costs.
The corridor stretched ahead, long and endless and bathed in the golden hues of the afternoon sun.
Tatsuya squared his shoulders and took another step forward, the faint echo of his footsteps sounding out like a quiet promise to himself.
I will carve out a place for myself in this world—even if the world itself tries to reject me.