He froze.
Half a roasted chicken leg still stuffed between his lips, fingers greasy, eyes wide.
Everyone was staring at him.
Laylee. Crystal. Lord Gerald. Even Lady Marianne's fork had stopped halfway to her mouth. The maids standing by the walls looked like they wanted to drop their trays just to gawk properly.
Adam blinked.
"...What?" he mumbled through a mouthful of meat, cheeks puffed out like a fat-cheeked hamster mid-hibernation prep.
He looked down. Back at his plate. Then at the oil dripping down his hand.
Right. Right. Manners. Elegance. Gentle and maidenly. He was in public. A noble house. And he was supposed to be the man of the table.
He cleared his throat. "I lost a little weight."
Silence.
"And I… started taking care of myself."
The table remained frozen for a moment longer.
Then Lady Marianne coughed once—a dignified, cold sound that snapped the air like a whip. Everyone shifted.
"Eat a little more like a maiden, would you?" she said flatly, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. "You'll never find a wife with your mouth full of poultry."
Adam nodded mutely, cheeks burning. He grabbed the napkin at his side, wiped his hands and lips with the kind of forced grace one only used when being watched by six pairs of judging eyes and two dozen ears.
Gods, he thought, this world is so weird.
The breakfast resumed with clinks and quiet chewing. Gerald went back to sipping soup like a ghost. Laylee gracefully sliced her fruit into perfect cubes. Crystal stabbed at her buttered toast like it had insulted her family's honor.
Then, Laylee spoke.
"Mother," she said calmly, "my problem with my flame magic. It's gone."
Adam nearly dropped his fork.
Lady Marianne arched a brow. "Gone?"
"Completely. It's as if the block never existed."
A ripple of tension spread across the table.
Laylee placed her spoon down, her voice steady, but there was a hint of something beneath it—amusement? Pride? "It was solved by our dear brother."
Adam felt every gaze at the table twist toward him again like heat-seeking blades. He opened his mouth in horror, mouthing stop, his eyes practically begging her to shut the hell up.
She tilted her head slightly, mistaking his expression for bashfulness.
"Yes, yes," she nodded. "Don't be shy. You were the one who told me to meditate. To slow down. To be patient. And it worked. For the first time in months, I could channel my flames without pain."
Lady Marianne leaned forward slightly, curiosity sharpening her regal features.
Crystal stared at her plate with the kind of rigid stillness that only came from barely-contained outrage. Her grip on her fork was white-knuckled. She said nothing.
Even the maids had stopped moving.
"...And it worked. For the first time in months, I could channel my flames without pain."
A ripple of tension spread across the table.
Laylee placed her spoon down, her voice steady, but there was a hint of something beneath it—amusement? Pride? "It was solved by our dear brother."
Adam felt every gaze twist toward him again like heat-seeking blades. He opened his mouth in horror, mouthing stop, his eyes practically begging her to shut the hell up.
She tilted her head slightly, misreading his desperation as shyness.
"Yes, yes," she nodded. "Don't be shy. You were the one who told me to meditate. To slow down. To be patient. And it worked. For the first time in months, I could channel my flames without pain."
[Quest Progress Update!]
✅ A Blast To The Past – 50% Completed!
Laylee Blake has acknowledged you publicly.
+20% Quest Progress.
The system chimed softly in his mind, right on cue, as if to mock him further.
Are you serious right now?! he screamed internally.
It wasn't even him saying these things—she was. Just her praising him in front of their family had been enough to push the quest forward. From 30% to 50%... just like that.
He couldn't decide whether to laugh, cry, or pray that Crystal didn't combust at the table from jealousy.
Adam laughed nervously. "Ahaha… I mean… it was nothing—"
"He also changed," Laylee went on, sipping her tea like this was a casual recap of the weather. "He's been training, cleaning his room, not abusing anyone—"
"I said it was nothing—!"
"He even told me he's been having dreams," she finished, as if she hadn't just detonated a status bomb over the family breakfast. "Prophetic ones. Apparently, in one of them… I become a Tier 1 Flame Mage."
Time stopped.
Even Lord Gerald glanced up.
Tier 1.
The unspoken ceiling of power. The peak most dreamt of, but never touched. Beyond that, there was Demi-God and God, but those were for the chosen few—the legends carved into history and temple walls. Tier 1 alone was enough to make a kingdom offer land and titles. A Tier 1 mage could reduce armies to ash. Protect an entire territory singlehandedly.
The Central Human Kingdom had two.
Two.
And that was enough for it to be considered a major power across the continent.
Lady Marianne's lips parted slightly. Her fingers lowered her glass slowly onto the table. She stared at Adam, not like a mother, but like a general examining a weapon whose trigger she hadn't yet discovered.
"Truly?" she asked.
Adam swallowed dryly. "Uh…"
"You've been… acting strangely this past week," she said. "More focused. More composed. More…" her gaze sharpened. "Useful."
Adam squirmed in his chair.
"So. These dreams. What do they say of our family?" Her voice was calm now, but something dangerous hummed beneath the surface. "Of Laylee, we now know. But what of Crystal?"
Crystal's jaw tightened, her eyes flickering briefly toward him.
Adam hesitated.
The truth was—he did know.
He knew where all of them ended up. He'd played the game. Seen their arcs. Laylee would become a Tier 1 powerhouse, Crystal would plateau at Tier 5 unless something drastic changed, Gerald would remain irrelevant, and Lady Marianne would eventually die from internal political sabotage if not preemptively handled.
But if he said all that?
It could change everything.
The butterfly effect could destroy the very foundation of what little future knowledge he had. If Laylee didn't suffer her eventual heartbreak and overcome it? If Crystal didn't face her trial in the academy? If he warned too much—everything could collapse.
"I only had one dream," he said carefully. "Just one. About Laylee. And a bit about myself. Nothing else."
Lady Marianne studied him.
He kept his face blank. Calm. Harmless.
She said nothing for a moment.
Then—laughed.
A sudden, short laugh that rang sharp and cold across the table.
"Well then," she said, leaning back. "It seems the gods have not forsaken House Blake after all."
She looked over her children with a predator's grin.
"Perhaps… we will rise yet. Perhaps, in my lifetime, we'll climb from barony to duchy. Perhaps the Blake name will one day stand equal to the royal houses. A Tier 1 mage… how glorious."
Adam said nothing.
Laylee smiled faintly.
Crystal didn't move.
Lady Marianne raised a hand. "Servants, clear the table."
The maids bowed in perfect synchrony, moving to take the plates away, though some still stole glances at Adam as if he might grow wings at any moment.
Once the table was clear, Lady Marianne stood.
"I have news. Important news."
Her voice was calm, but everyone at the table sat straighter.
"A month from now, the Crown Princess of the Central Human Kingdom will be visiting our estate."
The words hit the air like thunder.
Adam's jaw dropped.
"Wh—what?!"
Laylee sat straighter.
Crystal blinked, momentarily too stunned to sneer.
"Apparently, her highness is going on a tour of the kingdom's vassal territories," Lady Marianne continued. "She seeks promising knights and mages for her direct command squad—her elite unit. The personal force that will serve her when she ascends the throne."
Adam felt a chill crawl down his spine.
No. No no no no.
This was wrong.
In the game, that event didn't trigger until after the academy scouts arrived. The Crown Princess was supposed to appear in the capital—not here.
Why was she showing up now?
This wasn't in the script.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Lady Marianne's smile widened as her children sat in stunned silence.
"One month. You will all prepare. This is your chance to show not just the academy scouts—but the royal court—that House Blake produces excellence."
The air in the room felt thin.
Adam gripped the edge of the table, heart pounding against his ribs.