He walked into the small bathroom annex tucked into the corner of his room.
It was barely large enough to stand in.
The sink's mana crystal flickered dimly as he splashed cold water on his face.
The reflection in the cracked mirror wasn't flattering.
He looked like the epitome of depression.
He stared at himself for a long moment.
"…Well," he said, "at least I'm not bald."
One small win.
He dried his face and walked over to the coat rack, grabbing one of the old noble jackets that still bore the Gravemont family crest — a silver wolf, half-faded, etched on the left breast.
It was outdated and out of style, but it gave him a vague air of respectability.
Like a relic pretending to be relevant.
He shrugged it on, cracked his neck, and stepped outside.
The hallway of the Gravemont estate was silent.
Dust was being swept into corners, windows were half-cleaned, and the cracked marble floors gave off faint reflections where someone had clearly spent a full hour polishing a single tile.
The high ceiling still bore scorch marks from some unfortunate mana crystal explosion, and the tapestry of the Gravemont crest hung at a slightly depressing tilt.
But despite the visible decay, the estate was alive with quiet effort.
Maids moved through the hall with practiced grace, cleaning, dusting, repairing what they could.
Some paused as Lucien entered, offering soft smiles.
"Good morning, young master."
"Did you sleep well, Master Lucien?"
"You look better today."
It wasn't much — just kind words from people who could've easily ignored him.
But they all addressed him with a kind of quiet affection.
Not pity.
This was Loyalty.
Lucien smiled back, nodding to each of them as he passed.
They didn't have magic swords or S-rank classes.
But they were doing their best with what little they had.
And in this world, that meant everything.
He continued walking across the hall, hands tucked into the pockets of his slightly too-long noble coat.
"She should be around here…"
The "she" in question was none other than —
"Mornin', little Lord."
Two soft mounds pressed into his back, fitting neatly between his shoulder blades like they had been engineered to be there.
Lucien didn't even flinch.
He just smiled, voice calm. "Laura."
A sultry chuckle followed.
"That's big sister to you."
Laura, the Gravemont family's head maid, had always been something of a force of nature.
Now twenty, she was the same age as Lucien's actual older sister — and in some ways, even more overbearing.
She had been with the household since they were both kids, and had taken it upon herself to act like his guardian, handler, and emotional support system all in one very curvy package.
Lucien could feel the heat from her body, the way she leaned in just a little too close.
"…You done?" he asked.
"Nope," she replied cheerfully.
She lingered another second just to make him uncomfortable — then finally peeled herself off and grabbed his hand.
"C'mon, breakfast's still warm."
Lucien sighed, letting himself be led across the room like a child being taken to school.
Her grip was firm, but warm.
He didn't mind.
…
The dining table was long enough to seat twenty, but today only three seats were set.
One at the head — his, technically — and two to the side.
Plates of warm bread, poached eggs, and spiced meat stew were already waiting.
A half-full kettle of mana-infused tea sat steaming near the edge.
Lucien sat down, and Laura immediately placed a napkin in his lap like he was five.
"You don't have to do all this," he said.
"I do," she replied sweetly. "Otherwise you'd just sulk in your room and live off dried fruit bars and self-loathing."
"Those are nutritious."
"They're sad."
He gave her a look. She raised an eyebrow.
"…Fair," he admitted, and picked up a piece of bread.
Across from him, Laura poured herself some tea and leaned back in her chair.
Her uniform, while technically within regulations, had a few "modifications" that tended to make eye contact difficult for most men.
Lucien had long since trained his focus to be ironclad.
…Mostly.
Laura brought the teacup to her lips, the porcelain clinking gently as she took a sip.
The warmth didn't quite reach her eyes, though.
"You know… it's not your fault."
Her voice was quieter this time. Not teasing. Not playful. Just… real.
Lucien didn't respond right away.
He focused on cutting into his eggs like they were some ancient enemy of the Gravemont name.
Laura pressed on.
"Yesterday — you were completely devastated. You didn't even come out of your room. You didn't eat, you didn't speak to anyone. I know you, Lucien. You've never handled disappointment quietly."
He gave her a sidelong glance, but said nothing.
She sighed, placing her cup down with a soft clink. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse. I just want you to stop pretending. You can talk to me."
Lucien finally exhaled through his nose, like he'd been holding it in.
"I'm fine," he said simply, taking another bite of bread.
"You're not." Her tone sharpened just a little. "And I get it. It's not fair. You were supposed to awaken something amazing. Your bloodline isn't weak. But the world doesn't care about fairness."
She leaned back, looking up at the old stone ceiling.
"These damn academies — they don't even look at anyone below C-rank. You could be a genius, and they'd still toss your application into the trash the moment they saw your results."
Lucien didn't argue. He didn't have to. She was right.
It was a brutal truth in this world: the moment your Awakening rank was revealed, your future was written.
You could take reawakening tests though, but chances of a reawakening were slim to none.
His current rank, D-rank meant garbage. No prestigious school, no backing, no resources.
But still…
Lucien wiped his hands clean and stood up.
He walked over to Laura, who blinked as he gently took her hands into his own.
His expression was calm — but there was something behind it.
Not fake optimism, not delusion.
Just quiet determination wrapped in the mask of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Laura," he said softly. "I'm okay."