As he was lost in these daydreams, a pair of maids entered the chamber. They bowed respectfully before their master.
"Lord," one of the maids said softly, "the baths are ready. Everything's set for you to freshen up and prepare."
Nero snapped back to reality and gave the maids a nod of thanks, keeping his voice silent. He'd stick to the plan he'd made with Klein. Though he wasn't the old Nero anymore, he'd hold onto some of that former severity and dark edge.
That said, he felt a twinge of unease inside. He'd inherited only the original Nero's memories and skills—everything else was still the old him. For a modern, average guy, having maids attend to him was a secret, unspoken fantasy.
'Are they going to wash me too?'
He'd only seen stuff like this in shows or movies, but now it was about to be his reality.
He felt the urge to flash an excited, sleazy grin. Still, he knew how crucial it was to carry himself with the dignity and calm his rank demanded.
'Old Nero, that dirty dog, definitely didn't hold back.'
Certain scenes from the original Nero's memories kept haunting the poor office worker turned new Nero. It was like watching steamy videos—and living them.
'Whatever, I'll have plenty of chances to indulge later. Let's skip it for today.'
Nero wasn't some inexperienced kid. He could keep himself in check…
The maids sprang into action, escorting their master to the baths—a private, serene space filled with the scent of essential oils and flower petals floating on the water's surface. Nero undressed slowly. From the outside, it looked graceful, but inside, it was his way of taming his inner horndog.
No point in risking waking up a certain little troublemaker.
He could feel the maids' attentive gazes, but he didn't let it show. His face stayed stone-cold, his body relaxed.
The bath went off without a hitch. Despite the maids' expert hands, Nero kept himself under impeccable control.
He knew the anonymous dude-bro community would roast him for it, but he had the excuse of bigger fish to fry before kicking back.
'What's more important than this, you moron!'
He could almost hear his little buddy raging.
'I'll quench your thirst later, you filthy creep, I promise.'
Once the bath was done, the maids brought him back to his chamber, wrapping him in a pure, elegant white silk robe. They brushed his silver hair with care, adding a touch of finesse to his look.
Nero's gaze landed on his reflection in the mirror.
A proud, graceful man stared back at him.
He couldn't hold back a small smile. The dull, forgettable office worker was gone. Now he was Nero Vaelheim—a figure of dark charm and brooding charisma.
"You've done well, ladies," Nero said at last. "Go tell Klein to join me and escort me."
The maids, slightly taken aback, bowed respectfully and left quietly, carrying with them the quiet thrill of earning a rare compliment from their master.
Alone again, Nero sank back into his thoughts.
'Let's go over the plan one last time.'
The meeting he was about to lead was critical for what came next…
"Master."
A voice pulled him back.
It was Klein, already there.
Nero took a shallow breath and straightened up, his face settling into its usual calm mask. His mind was sharp and focused now.
The master of shadows was about to become a guiding light, ready to live a life full of adventure and twists.
He stood before the bowing Klein.
"Let's go."
***
In a grim, imposing hall, a large U-shaped table sat beneath a gleaming obsidian chandelier at its center. Seats lined both sides evenly.
Most were taken.
Though the occupants varied in gender and appearance, they all bore a unifying symbol: a pristine white jacket and pleated pants with a black belt.
The hall's doors swung open, drawing every eye in the room.
Someone stepped in.
It was a lanky man with wavy brown hair. He wore the same symbolic uniform, customized with a deep neckline and flared lapels on his coat.
He sauntered in with a laid-back vibe, yawning nonstop as he approached the table.
"Oh, it's just you," a woman said, her tone dripping with boredom.
Ebony skin, emerald-green eyes, and short blonde hair—she wore a variation of the uniform that covered the lower half of her face. Unlike the others, her jacket had a zipper, its sleeves fully encasing her arms and ending in black gloves.
"Too bad," a gruff old man chimed in. "Here I was hoping you'd die in your sleep so I could finally take the spot I deserve."
His weathered skin sagged, draped in the symbolic uniform topped with a hat and a short-sleeved jacket with a black fur collar.
"Not cool, guys," the newcomer shot back, his voice as chill as ever, plopping into a seat. "I'm just the right hand, you know. Shouldn't you be gunning for the left hand first?" After another yawn, he added, "Looks like the master's not here yet."
"You should be glad you beat him here," another man said. "I wouldn't bet on your hide if you showed up late."
Legs crossed, this guy was freakishly tall and skinny. Long black hair, pale skin, and a wide white headband with black trim hiding his right eye.
"You'd know, right, Jiji?" he said, turning to the guy across from him with a smirk.
That one was a big, muscular dude—not as tall as the last guy—with spiky light-green hair and bright eyes. His uniform stood out with a high-collared white jacket, black inner lining, and rolled-up sleeves.
"Call me that again," he growled, his face hard, "and I'll rip that damn thing you call a mouth right off."
The headband guy's grin stretched wide.
That's when a creak echoed through the room.
All eyes swung to the door as it opened slowly, revealing a young boy in a pristine uniform.
He stood tall, his small frame at odds with the gravity radiating from him.
He scanned the room, taking in every face. Then, in a clear, steady voice, he announced, "The master has arrived."
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing closer. The door opened wider, and a man of striking presence stepped in.
Average height, silver hair swept back with a stray lock falling over his face, and eyes with blood-red pupils that burned with a fierce yet calm intensity.
Unlike the others, he didn't wear the symbolic uniform. Instead, he donned a pure white silk tunic and black leather sandals.
At the sight of him, every member stood.
This was none other than Nero, with Klein at his side.
Nero reached the table, standing before the head seat, Klein beside him.
The others bowed in reverence, bodies turned toward him, heads lowered, right hands pressed to their chests.
Nero sat.
With a smooth, elegant motion, he propped his head up with a disturbingly polite air.
"What are you waiting for? Sit," he said, sounding mildly bored.
They obeyed, each settling back into their seats.
"Did I keep you waiting long?" Nero asked.
"Of course not, Master," the ebony-skinned woman replied. "It's our duty to always be on time for your call."
"Though one of us didn't mind showing up late," the headband guy added, shooting a wicked smirk at the laid-back man.
Nero turned to the guy in question.
"Did I interrupt your nap, Gray?" he asked.
Gray, who'd stopped slumping on the table, glanced at his master with that same chill vibe.
"Love my snooze time, but you're the top priority, my lord," he replied, his tone lazy but his eyes showing a flicker of seriousness.
Nero gave a faint, warm smile at Gray's answer, leaving the group briefly puzzled.
"Alright, no more delays. Let's start the meeting."
With that, his fingers brushed the rough edge of the table. The wooden surface faded, replaced by a glowing screen.
"Who understands what this means?" Nero asked.