(Location: Ambassador's Garden, Magical Wardrobe Exit)
Let me clarify something: I did not intend to start an international incident today. I simply opened a wardrobe looking for a quiet place to nap. Next thing I know, I'm falling out of a magically linked closet and landing face-first into a tray of imported elven grapes in front of three highly confused foreign ambassadors.
Inner Me: If this ends with me being declared King of Fruit, I'm quitting.
The first voice I heard wasn't even the System's. It was a high-pitched scream in elven.
"By the Forest's Leaf! The saint has descended from the heavens!"
Narrator (also me): Spoiler alert — I am not a saint. I'm a sarcastic disaster with moderately good hair and a cursed affinity for dramatic entrances.
### Wardrobe of Misfortune, Meet Garden of International Diplomacy
The wardrobe had apparently been part of a diplomatic magic gate, used to transfer documents, tea, and occasionally really judgmental birds between nations. No one expected it to deliver a barefoot, half-napping noble student in his undershirt.
A hush fell over the garden. Several ambassadors looked at me like I was a rare species of magical idiot.
Me: "I can explain."
Inner Me: No, I can't.
\[SYSTEM ALERT: NEW QUEST UNLOCKED – "Survive the Embassy Incident Without Starting a War"]
Reward: International immunity from tea-related execution.
Great. Just what I needed.
Ambassador Orlin, a hawk-eyed diplomat from the desert nation of Vargessa, approached me with the expression of someone who just found a raccoon in their wine cellar.
"Are you... the rumored Saint of Sarcasm?"
Me: "I prefer 'Miracle of Mediocrity', but sure."
### Tea, Politics, and One Very Judgy Parrot
Before I could escape back into the closet, the door sealed behind me.
Of course.
So now I was being ushered to a diplomatic table covered in miniature flags, crystal cups, and one very large parrot named Bartholomew, who was apparently fluent in six languages and sarcasm.
Bartholomew: "He looks underdressed and overconfident."
Inner Me: Is that bird allowed to have opinions?
To my surprise, Belladonna appeared five minutes later, having followed my magical trail.
"Kael, you idiot," she hissed, slapping a travel cloak over me. "Do you realize where you are?"
"The magical land of Poor Choices?"
She sighed so hard it altered the wind currents.
Ambassador Solis of the Moonlight Isles gestured for calm. "Well, since you're here, perhaps young Reinhardt can answer a few minor diplomatic queries."
Me: "Can I phone a friend?"
"No."
"Audience poll?"
"Denied."
"What about Bartholomew?"
Bartholomew: "I vote we burn everything and start over."
Inner Me: Finally, a bird I understand.
### Interrogation or Interview? Yes.
The questions began politely.
"What is your opinion on the latest trade negotiations between your empire and the Frostbite Coast?"
Me: "I think it's cool."
Bartholomew squawked. Belladonna gagged on her tea.
"Do you believe the current Emperor should share magical resources with smaller nations?"
Me: "Only if they stop sending exploding teapots in return."
One ambassador choked. Another took notes. Bartholomew screamed, "SCANDAL!"
Inner Me: I need a lawyer. Or a priest. Or both.
### System Perk: Diplomatic Dumb Luck
\[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Unintentional Statesman]
Effect: Your accidental comments will now occasionally sound like profound geopolitical insights.
Inner Me: That's not a perk. That's a trap.
Ambassador Orlin leaned forward.
"So you propose a sarcasm-based foreign policy?"
Me: "Only if it comes with snacks."
They all nodded thoughtfully.
Narrator (me): And that's how I became the unofficial youth ambassador of the Empire. Because of a wardrobe.
### The Grand Toast (and the Magical Wardrobe Act II)
To commemorate the moment, the ambassadors raised their teacups. I raised mine too, only to find Bartholomew had dropped a marshmallow into it.
"To peace, prosperity, and whatever this is," said Solis.
Me: "Cheers. May all our treaties include nap clauses."
The parrot applauded.
Inner Me: I'm either a genius or a walking magical incident.
Suddenly, the wardrobe door **reopened** with a blast of wind.
Seraphina stormed through, sword drawn, followed by a very confused Headmaster Arkwright.
"Kael Reinhardt, you are NOT authorized to engage in cross-national diplomacy while wearing pajamas!"
"Technically, I'm wearing a travel cloak now."
Seraphina stared at me. Then at the table of dignitaries. Then at Bartholomew.
"...Is that bird wearing a monocle?"
"Yes," I replied. "He judges us all equally."
### The Aftermath: Unexpected Honors and Slight Panic
Long story short:
* The incident made headlines in three countries.
* I now hold an honorary title: "Cloaked Emissary of Passive-Aggressive Peace."
* Belladonna kept the marshmallow.
My System pinged.
\[NEW TITLE ACQUIRED: Feathered Diplomat]
\[Reward: Increased respect from sarcastic birds worldwide]
Inner Me: I have peaked. It's all downhill from here.
---
Bonus File Unlocked: "A Beginner's Guide to Closet Diplomacy"
(Filed under: Things They Don't Teach You at Noble Academy)
Written by: Kael Reinhardt, accidental ambassador, full-time sarcasm dispenser
---
Step 1: Enter the Closet. Try Not to Die.
If you've accidentally stumbled into a noble wardrobe during a high-level meeting and now find yourself hiding behind a suspiciously velvet coat... congratulations. You're already doing better than 80% of diplomats in this world.
Just breathe. Unless the coats are enchanted. Then try not to.
Inner Me: Why do noble closets smell like fear, perfume, and generational trauma?
---
Step 2: Eavesdrop Like a Professional (Or Like Me, Who Has No Idea What I'm Doing)
Use the standard techniques:
Put your ear to the crack in the door.
Pretend you're part of the furniture if someone walks in.
Don't sneeze.
Especially if they're discussing trade agreements, magical border tensions, or your marriage status.
Warning: If you hear phrases like "marital alliance" or "Kael Reinhardt will be the perfect bride," it's time to panic professionally.
---
Step 3: The Wardrobe Treatise Clause
Did you know that in some old magical kingdoms, overhearing a treaty without leaving technically binds you to it?
Me: I didn't either. Until five minutes ago.
Apparently, by nodding once (yes, to myself), I may have:
Signed a tea import deal with the Western Isles,
Been elected as a royal cousin's emotional support spouse,
And somehow agreed to sponsor a magical chicken race.
Inner Me: If this is diplomacy, I want out.
---
Step 4: Prepare Your Exit Like a Theatrical Goblin
When it's time to leave:
Don't just step out. Burst forth dramatically.
Quote something deep like, "I have heard your words... and I accept your desserts."
Steal a biscuit from the table and run.
Dignity is optional. Drama is mandatory.
---
Final Tips from the Closet
Never hide in places with sentient coat hangers.
Always carry a plausible excuse for why you were inside the closet. ("It was a teleportation accident" usually works.)
If you leave betrothed to someone again… just add them to the spreadsheet.
---
Inner Me: Is there a version of this academy where I don't end up in furniture-based diplomacy?
Kael's Official Tip: Comment if you've ever wanted to hide in a closet to avoid emotional responsibility. Or noble marriage. Or just life in general.
You're valid. Even if your diplomacy comes with splinters.
### Next Time on: "Yes, I Was Reborn…"
Kael attempts to attend Magical P.E. Class without setting himself on fire.
Spoiler: The teacher breathes lightning.
Spoiler #2: The uniform is flammable.