The sun rose in the east, its golden rays streaming through Lucien's window, signaling the start of a new day.

  Lucien stirred, letting out a satisfied yawn. He stretched his arms zily before leaning against the headboard. At some point, he had drifted off, lost in his thoughts.

  "That was a good sleep."

  When was the st time I slept like this?

  Feeling revitalized and refreshed, he jumped out of bed—only to wince as a sudden pain shot through his body. His wounds throbbed, and a lingering stiffness gnawed at him, dull yet persistent.

  I need to do something about this discomfort.

  His body felt foreign, as if he were wearing clothes two sizes too small—tight, restricting, leaving him sluggish and stiff.

  Determined, Lucien dropped into a push-up position—body straight, feet set apart, hands pnted slightly outside his shoulders.

  The moment his weight bore down on his arms, they trembled. His muscles, long unused, protested against the strain. His wiry frame barely supported him as he lowered himself toward the floor.

  A sharp ache jolted through his shoulders, but he gritted his teeth and pushed back up.

  Damn… am I really this weak?

  His breath came faster after just a few repetitions. His body, once agile and strong, now felt fragile—like a brittle shell struggling to hold itself together.

  Still, he refused to stop.

  "..1..2…3….5...6…..10…..15....16...20.....30"

  Lucien colpsed onto the floor, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. The cold surface pressed against his skin, soothing against the heat radiating from his overworked muscles.

  His entire body trembled—arms and legs spasming from exhaustion. Sweat drenched him, soaking his clothes, trickling down his forehead and neck. Each breath felt like he was fighting for the st remnants of oxygen in the world.

  And yet, despite the pain, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

  That felt good.

  "…knock…knock…."

  His attention snapped to the door. He tried to stand, but his body gave out, sending him crashing to the floor.

  Gritting his teeth, he exhaled sharply and spoke from where he y.

  "Who's there…?"

  A soft, feminine voice came from the other side. "Master Lucien, are you okay? I heard a loud noise just now."

  It's… it's—Elise.

  Elise had been the maid who served him when he was twenty. The weight of oppression and tension had finally driven him to flee from the baron's household—that was the st time he saw her.

  Before that, after his mother's passing, Emma, Elise's mother, had cared for him. She had been his nanny, a close friend of his te mother. When he turned twelve, Emma retired, and Elise took over her duties.

  His hand rested over his cold, dry heart, its rhythm quickening. Sentimentality, wistfulness, and nostalgia washed over him, a tide of emotions he hadn't braced for. His mouth parted, as if to speak—yet no words came.

  What a cruel way to fight.

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment, grounding himself. The past felt closer than ever, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it.

  With a slow, steady breath, he finally answered.

  "…Yeah, I'm fine."

  A quiet sigh came from the other side of the door.

  "…About breakfast… would you like it in your room?" Her voice softened toward the end, hesitant.

  His family never approved of his presence at the dining table—at least, their stares made that much clear. Elise had always been sensitive to such things. She spoke in a soothing, careful tone, as if trying to console a fragile child, mindful not to wound him.

  He paused for a moment, then spoke.

  "No, prepare a seat for me at the table today."

  Silence lingered on the other side of the door, as if she was processing his unexpected request.

  Then, a hesitant voice finally broke through. "…Are you sure, Master?"

  "Yeah…" His words hung in the air, fading into the quiet.

  "…Okay."

  Lucien exhaled, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.

  I need to find a way out of here. Staying locked up won't get me anywhere.

  With that, he stood up. Noticing his sweat-soaked, dirt-streaked clothes, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  First, a wash and a change.

  Without another thought, he made his way to the bathroom.***After dressing in a white tunic with blue stripes and khaki-colored trousers, he stepped out of the bathroom, which was adjacent to his room. His quarters were located on the first floor of the household.

  Standing beside the bathroom was a young woman with blonde hair tied in a simple braid, loose strands curling at the ends. Dressed in a modest French maid outfit, she appeared to be in her te teens. Her head was bowed in a curtsy, hiding her facial features.

  Elise spoke softly.

  "Good morning, Master Lucien."

  Lucien was momentarily surprised by her presence but quickly composed himself, keeping his expression neutral. He gave a small nod.

  "Good morning."

  She lifted her face, revealing a soft, round visage with delicate features—a small, slightly upturned nose, naturally rosy lips, and rge, warm brown eyes that carried a quiet gentleness.

  "Everyone is waiting for you at the dining table," she informed him.

  Lucien gave a smooth, natural nod. "Lead the way."

  Elise stepped forward, guiding him toward the dining room.

  I barely remember the yout… My memories of this pce are hazy. It's been so long.

  She led him down the extravagant spiral staircase, its steps draped in a deep red carpet. They entered a long hallway adorned with ornate portraits, mounted weapons, and finely crafted furniture made from beast hides. Finally, they stopped at a room to the left.

  A guard stood at the entrance, cd in sturdy leather armor.

  His gaze lingered on Lucien, sharp and scrutinizing, as if searching for something—or issuing a silent warning. Yet, he offered no greeting. Without a word, he turned on his heel and pushed open the door.

  Zexusgo