Click.
The door creaked open with a suddenness that made my heart skip a beat. I instinctively turned, body stiff, expecting some noble brat or guard to barge in.
Instead, I saw her.
She came running lightly, no footsteps, no sound, like a ghost gliding over the polished floor.
Her face was pale, like untouched snow.
Eyes blue, calm as a still lake in winter.
Long white hair framed her face like silk under moonlight.
And though her expression remained blank, there was… the faintest flicker of concern in her eyes.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" she asked, her voice soft and nearly weightless, like wind passing through a frozen forest.
My brain froze.
No way.
That was, Celine.
The Celine.
The one who eventually joins the MC's party.
An insanely powerful assasin with ice affinity. Calm, deadly, loyal. One of the most beloved heroines in the story.
And she was standing right in front of me, worried about me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "N-No, there's nothing wrong."
She tilted her head slightly. "Very well, my lord."
God… her voice. I could hear it all day.
Focus.
I cleared my throat and asked, "What day is it?"
She blinked once, lips parting slowly. "Today is the 17th day of Thalor, year 948, my lord."
I froze.
Year 948?
That meant… I still had two whole years before the main plot began. Before the MC appeared. Before the wars, the betrayals, the rise of Leofred, and the chaos that devours half the continent.
Two years to prepare.
Two years to change everything.
A smirk tugged at my lips. "Good. Thank you, Celine."
Her eyes widened, just slightly. Like she wasn't used to hearing that from me.
Right.
The original Adam was… well, a bastard.
Entitled, cruel, arrogant. A spoiled pig with no shred of decency.
No wonder everyone hated him.
No wonder he died like a joke.
"Never mind," I said quickly, catching myself. "Just… go. I have things to do."
She bowed gracefully. "As you wish, my lord."
Then she turned and left, quiet as snowfall.
As the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a long breath.
That was close.
She was probably confused. Adam never said please or thank you, he just barked orders and bullied everyone below him.
But that could wait.
First thing's first…
I glanced down at the oversized blob I now called my body.
"Time to make a plan," I muttered. "Step one: kill the fat."
I opened the wardrobe.
And immediately wanted to slam it shut again.
Silks.
Frills.
Gold-threaded coats with enough embroidery to blind a man.
Even the sleepwear looked like it cost more than my old apartment's rent.
"How the hell am I supposed to run in these?" I muttered, holding up a coat that weighed more than some small children. "Who exercises wearing a damn curtain?"
There wasn't a single piece of clothing in here that didn't scream, "I'm rich and I don't sweat."
I groaned and stepped out of the room, intending to maybe sneak off and figure something out myself.
But I'd barely opened the door when I saw her.
Celine.
Already standing there like a silent shadow, hands neatly folded, eyes as unreadable as ever.
Right.
This is a noble's mansion.
They probably have staff stationed at every hallway just in case I trip over my ego.
"Good morning, Master Adam," she said. "Is there something you require?"
I hesitated. "Uh… yes. Actually. Do we… happen to have clothes for, uh, running?"
She blinked. And for a second, just a second, I saw her composure crack.
It was faint, but definitely there. A twitch in her brow. A tiny shift in her posture.
"Forgive me, my lord," she said slowly, "but may I ask… running? For what purpose?"
I cleared my throat. "Exercise. I want to run. You know, sweat, breathe hard, maybe not die of heart failure before I'm thirty."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise.
But then, as always, she regained her expressionless calm.
"…Very well, my lord. I will find something suitable for such… activities."
She bowed and walked off, still composed, still elegant, but I swore I caught her glance back at me once.
The original Adam would never say something like that.
In fact, I'm pretty sure the only running he ever did was when he chased a servant to yell at them.
I sighed and leaned against the doorway.
"Step one," I muttered. "Look less like a noble pig. Step two… stay alive long enough to make step three."
Celine returned faster than I expected, almost as if she'd sprinted the entire way.
She came to a halt, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling as she struggled to control her breath.
"This… here, my lord," she said, extending the neatly folded clothes with both hands.
"Damn, that was fast," I muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Take a moment. Catch your breath."
She blinked. "I… I'm fine, my lord."
"You sure? Do you need water or something?"
She looked genuinely surprised by the offer. "No, my lord. I am well."
"Sit down, at least," I insisted, gesturing toward the cushioned bench nearby. "Breathe. No use collapsing after a clothing run."
Hesitantly, she obeyed, sitting down and folding her hands on her lap like she wasn't quite sure what to do with the gesture of kindness.
I gave her a brief nod. "Thanks. Really. For the clothes."
Her expression remained calm, but… I swear there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes.
I turned back into the room, closing the door behind me and slipping into the outfit she'd brought.
It was simple. Breathable. Not exactly stylish, but way better than running in a royal tapestry.
As I pulled on the pants, I caught a glimpse of myself in the tall mirror.
And froze.
"…Huh."
My gaze dropped lower.
Then lower.
"…Well, I'll be damned."
I looked at myself again.
"At least some part of me got an upgrade," I muttered, a crooked smile pulling at my lips. "This body's a mess, but not entirely hopeless."
But the rest?
I stepped back from the mirror.
God.
The belly.
The rolls.
The slouch.
Every time I looked at that reflection, a tiny part of me wanted to punch the glass.
Not from self-hate, no, I could handle that.
But from sheer frustration that I had to start this far back on the power scale.
"Alright," I growled under my breath. "Time to kill this pig body. Let's do this."