Marcus chuckled to himself as he rummaged through the polished wooden drawer beside his canopy bed, pulling out something that felt modest yet still noble in design—a simple white shirt made from soft, finely woven fabric and a pair of black pants that hugged just enough to be tailored without being ostentatious. The material shimmered faintly under the warm glow of the chandelier above, a subtle reminder that even simplicity had its price in this world.
"Let's do this then!"
He exhaled, planting his feet in front of the tall standing mirror beside the bed. His gaze met the reflection—his new face. It was hauntingly close to the one he'd known his whole life: the same sharp jawline, familiar brow, even the mole near his left temple.
He wasn't sure if that made this transition easier… or more disturbing.
"What a coincidence…"
He murmured, cracking a small smile. Was it fate? Laziness on the system's part? Either way, it was unsettling how easy it was to see himself in this stranger's skin.
With a deep breath and a faint nod to his reflection, Marcus turned on his heel and exited the room. The soft thud of the door closing behind him echoed down the quiet hall as he stepped into the corridor with reluctant confidence—ready, or at least willing, to face the life he'd inherited. Ready to become Marcus, truly and fully.
He made his way down the hall, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps, then descended the grand staircase into the sprawling foyer. The polished marble beneath his shoes gleamed like still water. From the left of the mansion's ornate entrance, a faint clatter of plates and soft murmurs drifted through the air—accompanied by the unmistakable aroma of roasted meats and spiced vegetables.
"Well… at least finding the dining room was easy."
He muttered with a smirk, following the inviting smell. He peeked into the dining hall.
The room was grand—no, regal. A long mahogany dining table stretched across the chamber, able to seat ten, maybe twelve comfortably. A gilded tablecloth with embroidered patterns of lilies and arcane sigils clung delicately to its surface.
Ornate crystalware gleamed under the golden light of the chandelier above, while silver utensils were arranged with military precision. An army of maids and butlers, all dressed in fine livery, moved with silent coordination—preparing what could only be described as a feast.
The walls were adorned with elaborately framed dishes and vintage wine bottles displayed like trophies. Most were probably too valuable to ever be used—more display than practicality. A flex of wealth, if there ever was one.
At the far end of the room stood a man.
He wore casual royal attire—a fitted black shirt trimmed with gold thread that traced the hem and cuffs like veins of power, tucked into pristine white trousers. He stood with the ease of someone used to command, posture straight, arms behind his back.
His face was weathered, lined with age, but proud. His slicked-back black hair gave him a stately air, and his piercing dark eyes bore a weight that demanded respect. A thick moustache adorned his face—one of those rare ones that could only be pulled off by men who'd seen battle or blood or both.
Most striking of all, however, was how much he resembled Marcus.
A chill prickled at the back of Marcus's neck. The resemblance was uncanny—like looking at a version of himself decades older, shaped by time and burden.
The man's eyes flicked toward the doorway, catching Marcus mid-peek.
"There you are! I didn't hear the doors open."
His voice rolled across the room like velvet—warm, calm, and most of all… caring. Genuinely so.
"Aren't you going to give your old man a hug?"
Marcus blinked, lifting a single eyebrow—the one not covered by his hair—at the unexpected request. In the game's timeline, all characters were around eighteen years old. So by that logic, he was eighteen too. And in his opinion, that was far past the age of doling out hugs every time he returned from school.
"Uhhh… I'm quite good, thanks for the offer though?"
The man laughed, a deep, amused chuckle that echoed softly through the chamber. He scratched the back of his head, seemingly unbothered by the cold shoulder.
"I see you've grown to the point where you think your old man is nothing but a nuisance, huh?"
He grinned, eyes twinkling beneath furrowed brows.
"Looks like you took after me after all."
He waved off the awkward moment with an ease only a father could muster before his tone shifted—gentle, but nudging.
"But I suggest heading to the backyard greenhouse for a while and talking to your mother. The dinner to celebrate your first day of school isn't done, after all."
As he spoke, magic sparked to life in his hand—a soft golden flare that pulsed like a heartbeat. With a casual motion, he gestured toward the massive doors Marcus had peeked through, and they swung shut with a crisp snap.
Marcus instinctively leaned back, just narrowly avoiding the door grazing his face.
"Guess I just met my new dad…"
He murmured, blinking once at the closed door before turning toward the back of the estate. His voice was half-wry, half-thoughtful—tinged with the weight of surreal reality catching up.
The house hadn't just given him shelter.
It had given him a family.
And whether he was ready for it or not... he was already part of it.