Scene: The Grand Reinhardt Estate Courtyard — Morning, but Make It Dramatic
The sun rose like it was auditioning for a play, casting golden beams over the manicured hedges and aggressively overcompensating fountains of House Reinhardt. Birds chirped — in harmony, because nobles apparently bribe nature.
The estate grounds were too perfect. The grass looked ironed. The pebbled paths were aligned to celestial constellations. Even the butterflies wore metaphorical cravats.
In short? Disgusting levels of affluence.
And me? I, Kael Reinhardt, the walking sarcasm factory, was sipping tea under a parasol that cost more than most villages.
(Inner Me: I've seen battlefields less tense than this breakfast.)
Across the marble breakfast terrace, Belladonna twirled a spoon like it was a weapon of mass disruption. Seraphina sat in icy silence, dissecting a croissant like it had personally insulted her lineage.
Then he arrived.
My brother.
Alaric Reinhardt. Tall, brooding, and allergic to fun. Former war hero. Occasional pain in my noble posterior.
He strode into the courtyard like a general inspecting a battlefield. His coat billowed. His eyes narrowed. His hair? Flawless.
"You're up early," he said, voice like cold steel.
"You're late to family trauma hour," I replied sweetly.
(Inner Me: Maybe if I'm extra sarcastic, he'll leave. Like an exorcism for siblings.)
Belladonna grinned. Seraphina did not.
---
Flashback: Yesterday's Disaster, Now With 17% More Jam
Let's rewind.
Yesterday, I was nearly assassinated by a lemon tart, emotionally threatened by a ten-year-old duke, and almost married off during a misunderstanding involving a spoon duel.
You know. Tuesday things.
Turns out, the noble houses have been acting… off.
Suspicious treaties. Disappearing scone shipments. A secret message hidden in marmalade.
And now, spies.
Apparently, someone had infiltrated our estate pretending to be a gardener.
Which would've worked if they hadn't watered the silk roses.
(Inner Me: Rule One of Reinhardt Spying — Learn what's real. Rule Two — Don't wear sneakers under your robe.)
---
Scene: The Tea Garden — Present Day, 10 Minutes Later
"So," I said, swirling my (safely non-explosive) tea, "any reason our breakfast scones came with a side of espionage?"
Alaric ignored me, as usual.
Instead, he dropped a satchel on the table. It landed with a metallic clunk.
Out spilled: coded letters, a lockpick shaped like a butter knife, and a vial of something that glowed in three different colors depending on your level of guilt.
Belladonna snatched it instantly. "Oooh! Truth serum or soul juice?"
"Classified," said Alaric.
(Inner Me: That means both. Possibly cursed jam.)
Seraphina frowned. "This is House Velmont's cipher style."
Alaric nodded. "We intercepted it near your tower, Kael."
ME?! EXCUSE ME?!
"Someone's spying on me?"
(Inner Me: Probably to study my noble tea-drinking techniques. Or because I'm hot. Definitely one of those.)
"Or," said Alaric, "because you've somehow drawn the attention of half the empire."
"…I mean, valid."
---
Cue Intrusion: Mother Arrives
Our mother, Duchess Aurelia, descended like an opera storm.
"Why is there a debriefing during breakfast?" she asked, in that regal tone that made peasants bow and bureaucrats weep.
Belladonna: "Kael's being spied on."
Me: "I'm the victim!"
Mother: "Then try not to look so suspicious next time."
She snapped her fingers. A maid replaced our tea. Mine now had a cinnamon stick. Fancy.
Alaric stood. "Permission to interrogate the kitchen staff?"
"Granted. But don't scare them. They bruise like soufflés."
---
Scene Change: Interrogation Room — aka The Dessert Pantry
Yes, we have a dessert pantry. No, I'm not proud. Yes, I absolutely stole truffles as a child.
Inside sat the spy. A boy, maybe 16. Shaking. Wearing a gardener's smock over what was very clearly enchanted silk armor.
(Inner Me: Classic rookie mistake. Always match your espionage outfit to your cover job.)
I leaned forward dramatically.
"State your name, rank, and favorite pastry. In that order."
"…K-Keiran… Velmont… raspberry tarts?"
Belladonna gasped like he'd confessed to murder.
"Velmont?" I hissed. "My foam-sword duel nemesis's house?"
"Please don't kill me," he whimpered.
I raised a brow. "I'm wearing velvet. Do I look like I kill people?"
(Inner Me: Not yet. But give me another cup of this disappointment tea.)
---
Plot Twist Reveal™
Turns out, Keiran wasn't a full spy.
More like an intern.
House Velmont sent him to observe me. Why? Because apparently, the nobles think I'm too unpredictable.
Too unpredictable? ME?
Okay, maybe I did survive a duel by headbutting a teacup. And possibly disrupted a treaty with sarcastic poetry.
But still!
Keiran coughed. "My orders were to… observe your behavior. Report on emotional stability. And tea preferences."
(Inner Me: So I am being judged by Big Tea.)
Seraphina glared. "That's espionage."
"Technically… observational nobility profiling."
Belladonna: "Can I keep him?"
Me: "Absolutely not."
---
Scene: The Garden Again — Later That Evening
I stood alone, watching the sun bleed behind the horizon.
The Reinhardt banner fluttered. The estate lights flickered on one by one. And somewhere in the distance, a noble child cried because their swan bath didn't have enough lavender.
Just another day.
(Inner Me: I was reborn for this?)
Alaric approached, handing me a sealed letter. "From House Velmont. Apology. Sort of."
I read the contents. They blamed Keiran. Offered a basket of apology pastries. And invited me to a diplomatic event.
A masquerade.
Because nothing says 'sorry for spying' like dancing with enemies in masks while plotting murder.
Alaric said, "You don't have to go."
I nodded slowly.
"…but I will."
(Inner Me: Because I'm not just a noble heir. I'm Kael. And this chaos? This is my ballroom now.)
---
[Bonus Interaction Segment — Because You, Dear Reader, Deserve It]
Hey. Yes, you.
Still reading this nonsense?
First of all, bless your patience.
Second, let's take inventory:
Nearly assassinated by pastry
Brother returned from war with emotional repression and hotness
Accused of being "emotionally unstable" (rude but fair)
Possibly being wooed by espionage interns
Still not allowed to nap
If you're enjoying this madness, leave a comment below. Or throw metaphorical power stones. Or real ones, if you're a mage. Just don't hit my forehead — I already saved a teacup with it.
---
NEXT TIME, ON "YES, I WAS REBORN…"
Chapter 9: System Update: Now With 17% More Uselessness
I attend a masquerade.
Someone gets stabbed with a dessert fork.
The System finally speaks — and it's passive-aggressive.
Also: I waltz with danger. Literally.
See you next time, dear reader.
Wear a mask. Trust no scone. And remember:
If your grandmother arranges your love life, she probably also has a dungeon.