Chapter Three: The First Meeting with the Marquis
Emily was standing directly behind me, her silent presence like a shadow clinging to my being, its closeness making my breath heavy. It seemed as if she was waiting for me to take the decisive step, to cross the threshold and enter. But inside me, my mind was seething with turbulent questions: Should I enter now, or should I give myself a moment to breathe before the confrontation? I needed space to think, a brief respite to sort out my conflicting concerns before I found myself face to face with the Marquis. But time didn't acknowledge my need; it was as rigid as a wall that refused to soften, and the event itself was driving me closer to his heart without granting me the respite that soothes the soul.
Barely a single breath passed when the door opened of its own accord, as if the room's will was stronger than my hesitation. In front of the threshold, a man appeared, wearing an outfit that, at first glance, indicated he was a butler. I don't know where this certainty came from; no one introduced himself, and no one told me who he was. Yet the feeling inside me was solid and unshakable: this was the butler. His hair was gray, reminding me of the ashes of a fireplace that had long since been extinguished; his eyes were blue, like an icy lake that no warmth could melt; his skin was pale, resembling a blank page that had yet to be written on.
What made his appearance even more strange was that he was wearing white glasses, as if they were made of spilled light, and in his hand was a small book bound in the same color, with the phoenix emblem drawn on its cover, the symbol that echoes in my blood. He threw the door wide open and leaned towards me with studied lightness, then said in a voice free of falsehood, full of solid respect: "Welcome, young lord. The Marquis is pleased with your arrival."
His voice was free of any affectation, but deep down I felt no warmth. The coldness that settled inside me did not come from the servant, but from within, from the room itself, from unseen depths. I felt as if a bottomless abyss was staring at me, deep, black, endless eyes watching me from within. I didn't know why the old saying came to mind: "If you stare into an abyss, the abyss stares back at you." It was as if this saying was born for this very moment. Those gazes, which I had not yet seen directly, but which were besieging me from somewhere behind the ornate desk, seemed to me the embodiment of the abyss trying to swallow both sight and insight.
I entered the room, and as soon as I stepped foot in, I felt all my previous notions of luxury and opulence crumble. I thought I'd seen lavish rooms before, but this one seemed completely different, transformed into a page that could be rewritten a thousand times. I felt that beauty was no longer just a repetition of familiar formulas, but rather a transforming presence capable of planting amazement in every detail.
My gaze swept across the space like the beam of a scanner operating at full power. My gaze took in the black walls, draped in precious materials, woven in a luxurious style, and woven with admirable precision. I was captivated by every detail, to the point where I imagined the walls of the room exhaled the majesty of a history told only through engravings, fabrics, and sheen.
But the beauty of the room couldn't dispel the weight of those black eyes I felt following me. I tried to look away from them, but in vain. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a dominant voice that emerged from the depths of the room, addressing me directly: "You can come in here, Esther."
The servant quietly walked away, retreating to the back, leaving me alone, facing the room and its weight. I realized then that the man whose eyes I felt staring at me wasn't actually doing so. He was immersed in the papers spread out in front of him on the large desk, so many papers piled up that they seemed like endless columns. He didn't raise his head; he was writing intently, concentrating as if he saw or heard nothing else. This gave me time to contemplate his features without rushing.
The man was undoubtedly in his forties. There were no visible wrinkles on his face, but his blond hair was beginning to show a few gray streaks, a sign of the weight of his years. He wore elegant black clothing, on the chest of which was a finely embroidered phoenix emblem, the family symbol that defined me as it defined him. It wasn't just embroidery, it was a declaration of identity and power, a declaration that this man was the Marquess, Lord of the Phoenix family, the ruler who led this dynasty with all its heritage and power.
In front of this huge desk, which seemed like a magnetic mass preventing me from getting too close, I took hesitant steps. His silence was like an unspoken command, explaining itself without the need for words: Come closer, stop, wait. I did as his silence suggested.
Finally, he stopped writing. He placed his pen neatly beside the papers, an elegant gesture that betrayed long discipline. He raised his head, his blond hair, streaked with gray, looking like a work of art crafted by a skilled artist. But what caught my eye most were his eyes: deep black, like two abysses staring directly at me. I looked into them, or perhaps they drew me into them. Time was lost between us; I no longer knew how many moments had passed as we exchanged this silent stare. I stared, he stared, both of us experiencing the other from behind endless blackness.
His voice finally broke the silence, the voice of a father who was supposed to be a father, but to me it sounded both more and less than that: "I think you know that the academy will open in less than a month. Have you packed all your things?"
Anyone hearing this from the outside might assume his tone was paternalistic, but his eyes betrayed what lay beneath the words. He wasn't asking to be reassured; he was studying me like a skilled player studies a new piece on a chessboard. In his eyes, I was part of a larger picture, nothing more.
I answered as I had prepared myself beforehand: "Of course. I made sure I packed all my things. I'll be ready to go to the academy."
I had anticipated this dialogue; indeed, I had arranged multiple scenarios for this confrontation. The family in this novel—the one I found myself in—defines its status through its occasions, through its power, through what its children achieve in the academy. As for the common people, they see the academies as a gateway to social advancement, a ladder that can transform them from mere mortals to nobility. However, a nobleman born into his class is not allowed to be superfluous; the entire system abhors superfluous things and eliminates them mercilessly. I knew this because I had read the novel before, and I realized that the man in front of me reasoned along the same lines.
The Marquis raised his hand and placed it on the desk, as if he had conjured up a new idea, before saying with a stiff, cold tone, "It's good that you did. You know your brother is starting his second year, right? It's best not to do anything embarrassing. You know the consequences."
His words weren't just a request from a concerned father, but a direct order from a superior to his subordinate. That's how I felt as I listened to him. Yet, I kept repeating the phrase to myself like a mantra: "Relationships are just empty talk... thinking about them is a waste of time."
But his words suggested something more. It seemed to me that this body, which I inherited in this novel, had previously committed heinous acts, or at least acts that made others hate it and harbor negative feelings toward it. I was not only hated, but perhaps branded for sins I hadn't committed myself.
I said to myself, "Nice... the challenges will be no less exciting than I expected. Perhaps the end of the novel isn't the only danger, but rather everything that happens in this place carries the seeds of its own threat."
Meanwhile, Emily withdrew silently, along with the servant who had opened the door for me. They left me alone with the Marquis and the room. But their presence or absence was irrelevant. Everything was concentrated on his words and his black eyes.
I asked myself: What could I gain from this situation? Should I ask for something? Or had the Marquis summoned me here only to shower me with dark encouragement mixed with threats? I stood still, waiting for his order to leave. I knew the laws of this world well: no son, no matter who he was, was allowed to leave the presence of the head of the family of his own accord.
After a few heavy seconds, the Marquis took a deep breath and said, staring at me with his black, emotionless eyes, "There is one more thing you must achieve. You must be at the top of the list. I am not asking for much, but for the Phoenix family, you must be among the top. If you fail, the penalty is banishment from the entire family."
I remained silent. I didn't argue or comment. I was just waiting for his next statement. He didn't give me long before adding with a firm, decisive edge, "You may leave now. I don't want to hear about any trouble you cause. While you're here, the only place you're allowed to go is your room, the garden, or the training ground. That's it. You may leave now."
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My brother, I really thank you for reading my story and thank you for sponsoring this chapter because you were the first comment for me and I will follow up every time you comment on my story. Thank you for being the first hero who helps me get energy because you are always the key that leads me towards being stronger as a writer.
So I want you to continue so that we can continue increasing the strength until we become the strongest among all the books and enter the top, in addition to you, my friends, be my wonderful friends and comment and ask me anything you want
So my question to you and to everyone is (what is your favorite anime?)