When graduation came, the ranking boards were displayed publicly. Esteemed households selected first from the top scorers.

She remembered standing there, gloved hands steady while her heart pounded.

Name after name was called.

She waited.

And waited.

Then—

"Chosen: General Soren Markhelov."

Silence had rippled across the hall.

The Black Dragon.

A name that carried weight.

And he had chosen... her.

Not the top etiquette scholar.

Not the most decorated tactician.

Her.

Even now, she didn’t fully understand why but when she arrived at the floating island, she had resolved one thing: she would not disappoint.

She obeyed Sir Mikael’s instructions without deviation. Memorized schedules. Maintained posture. Suppressed unnecessary emotion.

She became efficient, quiet and precise. Like a robot.

Only responding when spoken to.

Only moving when required.

She thought that was perfection.

Until the little furball arrived.

Miss Blanca.

The first time she had seen the tiny leopard beastman, she had nearly forgotten her training. So small. So expressive. So alive.

Miss Blanca did not give orders.

She pouted. She argued in "nyang." She ran away from baths. She glared dramatically. She laughed—well, the feline equivalent of laughing.

Somehow, in caring for her, Agatha rediscovered something she hadn’t realized she’d buried.

Sweat from chasing her around a bathroom.

Worry when she almost scared Miss Blanca to death.

Amusement when she made faces and struggled to pronounce something.

Smiles.

Real smiles.

The kind that weren’t practiced in front of a mirror during etiquette class.

Agatha gently adjusted the curtains once more, ensuring no draft could disturb her young mistress. Then she moved to the door and opened it silently.

She stepped outside and closed it with the softest click.

And nearly died.

Soren was leaning casually against the wall opposite the door. Arms crossed. Watching her.

Her heart jumped straight into her throat.

She stiffened instantly, posture snapping into textbook perfection. "Master."

His golden eyes were calm but observant.

"You took longer than expected," he said mildly.

"My apologies, Master. Miss Blanca was quite... energetic."

There was the faintest curve at the corner of his lips. "Is she asleep now?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Master," Agatha replied, head still bowed.

Silence settled between them.

Soren didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply stood there, gaze unreadable.

Agatha’s heartbeat ticked louder in her ears.

Was she being evaluated?

Had she made a mistake during the bath?

Was the chase too undignified?

"D-Do you want to check on her, Master?" she asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.

Instead of answering, Soren tilted his head slightly. "Do you like serving her?"

The question caught her off guard.

"P-Pardon?" The word slipped out before she could stop it. She immediately looked up—then quickly bowed again, mentally reprimanding herself.

Too informal.

Too reactive.

Too careless.

She had already made enough small mistakes today.

But the question lingered.

’Do you like serving her?’

"...Yes, Master," she said carefully. "I do like to serve her. Even if it has only been a day."

Truthfully, it hadn’t even been half a day.

But the answer felt certain.

Serving Miss Blanca did not feel like obligation.

It felt... alive.

Soren studied her for a long moment.

"From now on," he said calmly, "you’ll be her personal maid. You don’t need to do anything else. Only serve and protect her."

Agatha’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Her head lowered even further. "Yes, Master."

"Good. From now on, you’ll be living on the same floor as her, so pack your belongings tomorrow," Soren said calmly.

Agatha’s head lifted before she could stop herself.

"Master?"

This floor...

This entire level of the mansion was reserved exclusively for the master. Access was restricted. Even senior staff required permission to step onto it. Only those personally acknowledged by him were allowed residence here.

And now—

She was being assigned to stay.

Soren seemed to read her hesitation.

"Don’t worry. Other than you, Mikael also has his own room on this floor," he said evenly.

She bowed deeply. "Understood."

She turned smoothly and began walking down the corridor.

Yet as she walked, a small thought crept in.

If Master Soren had been waiting outside Miss Blanca’s room...

If he had asked whether she was asleep...

If he had remained there even after confirming it...

Was he—

Her speculation ended abruptly when she collided into something solid.

Agatha immediately stepped back, regaining her balance with trained precision.

"I apologize—"

She looked up.

Mikael.

He was staring down at her with his usual composed expression, hands clasped behind his back.

"What brings you here, Mister Kael?" Agatha asked smoothly, the polite smile she had practiced for years appearing effortlessly on her lips.

"I heard from Master that you’re appointed as Miss Blanca’s personal maid," he said.

"Ah, yes." Her smile widened slightly. "I am honored by the responsibility."

His gaze lingered. "And you’ll be staying on this floor as well."

She nodded once. "It seems so."

Silence hung between them.

"You look surprised," Mikael observed.

"This floor is traditionally reserved," she replied calmly. "My reaction was only momentary."

Mikael’s eyes shifted subtly toward the closed door at the end of the corridor—Miss Blanca’s room.

Then back to her.

"Do you understand what it means to stay here?" he asked quietly.

Agatha’s gloved hands tightened imperceptibly.

"It means proximity," she answered. "Protection. Immediate response."

"It also means," he continued, "that Master’s movements are not always for servants to question."

Her gaze sharpened for a fraction of a second.

So he had noticed as well.

"You think I would question Master?" she asked lightly.

"I think you’re curious."

There it was.

Direct.

Agatha held his stare for a moment before lowering her eyes respectfully. "Curiosity is irrelevant. My duty is clear."

Mikael studied her expression.

"You’re different when it comes to her," he said.

"Miss Blanca?" she asked, tone neutral.

"Yes."

Agatha hesitated only slightly. "She is... not like the nobles we were trained to serve."

There was a faint edge beneath her words. Barely detectable. But Mikael still noticed.

"You still hold resentment, I see," he said thoughtfully.

For a split second—just a split second—her composure cracked. Her eyes narrowed. A flash of something cold flickered through them. Then it vanished. Her smile returned, seamless.

"Resentment is inefficient," she simply replied.

"That’s not what I asked."

For a split second, the corridor felt like the training hall back at the academy. Two students facing each other. Measuring and testing each other.

"We graduated from the same institution," Mikael said quietly. "We both know what ’inefficient’ really meant."

She said nothing. Because he wasn’t wrong.

At the academy, emotions were weaknesses. At noble estates, servants were tools. Mistakes were not corrected—they were punished.

Some nobles laughed.

Some ignored.

Some tested limits for sport.

Agatha had learned to swallow everything.

Anger. Humiliation. Disappointment.

Smile.

Bow.

Endure.

But Miss Blanca...

Miss Blanca argued about baths. Pouted dramatically. Called Master out in feline gibberish without fear. She did not treat Agatha as invisible. She saw her.

That alone made her different.

"I don’t resent," Agatha said finally. "I simply... observe."

Mikael’s expression softened just slightly. "And what do you observe?"

"That Miss Blanca is worth protecting."

There was no hesitation in her voice this time.

Mikael watched her for a long moment.

Then he stepped aside.

"You should rest," he said. "Tomorrow will be busy."

She inclined her head. "Of course."

As she brushed past him, her shoulder nearly grazing his sleeve, she kept her expression perfectly composed.

Far down the corridor, Soren finally moved.

He turned the handle quietly.

And slipped into Miss Blanca’s room without a sound.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I don’t know how long I slept, but I found myself somewhere else entirely.

In my dream, I was stretched lazily across a white sun lounger, one leg crossed over the other, a tall glass of iced tea resting on the small table beside me. The ice cubes clinked softly every time I lifted it for a sip. A gentle breeze brushed against my face, carrying the faint scent of salt and summer.

In front of me, the ocean rolled in calm, glittering waves. The sun hung high in the sky, just warm enough to kiss the skin without burning it.

Perfect.

This was the kind of life I deserved.

No deadlines.

No life-threatening accidents.

No mysterious reincarnation drama.

Just me and my iced tea.

I sighed contentedly and adjusted my sunglasses.

Then—

The ground trembled.

It wasn’t violent. Just a small shudder beneath the lounger.

I frowned slightly.

Probably nothing.

Dream earthquakes happen, right?

I shifted and relaxed again.

But then—

It got hotter.

Not the pleasant warmth of sunlight.

No.

This was oppressive. heavy, and suffocating.

I opened my eyes.

Instead of the breezy beachwear I had imagined myself in, I was wrapped in a thick, heavy coat. The kind meant for snowy mountains. The kind that trapped every ounce of heat.

"What the hell?" I muttered.

I looked around.

I was still on the island. Still near the ocean. Still under the sun.

But now I was dressed like I was preparing for a blizzard.

Sweat dripped down my neck.

"Who puts winter coats on a tropical island?!" I shouted to no one in particular.

I tugged at the coat and managed to shrug it off—

Only to find another thick coat underneath.

’...Excuse me?’ I stared down at myself in disbelief.

Layers.

Multiple layers.

I was being cooked alive inside my own dream.

Then I heard a deep, rumbling roar.

I slowly turned my head.

The peaceful volcano that had merely decorated the horizon moments ago was now violently erupting. Smoke billowed into the sky. Lava burst upward like a fountain of fire.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!"

The ground shook harder this time.

The lounger tipped over, sending me scrambling onto the sand.

The air became scorching.

The lava began flowing down the volcano’s side—fast.

Too fast.

"Why is my subconscious so dramatic?!" I screamed as I struggled to tear off the coats.

The layers clung to me stubbornly, as if glued to my skin.

The heat grew unbearable. The sand beneath my feet felt like burning coals. The lava was getting closer.

"I’m going to die in a dream?! Again?!"

Just when the molten river was only meters away, I finally ripped off the last coat and bolted toward the ocean.

I dove.

The water swallowed me whole.

Cool and safe...

For exactly two seconds.

Because now it was freezing.

My teeth chattered. My limbs stiffened.

"Oh come on!"

Even in dreams, I couldn’t catch a break.

"Can’t I just wake up normally for once? Without near-death experiences?!"

I turned around to see a towering wall of water rising in the distance.

A tsunami.

Of course.

Because why not add a natural disaster combo?

Volcano and tsunami. Buy one, get one free.

The massive wave barreled toward me, swallowing the horizon.

I floated there, exhausted.

"Don’t tell me I’m going to die unreasonably again..."

I didn’t even try to swim this time.

I just waited.

The wave crashed down—

And instead of suffocating—

I felt warmth.

The roaring water quieted.

The freezing chill vanished.

The violent shaking stopped.

I slowly opened my eyes to see a heavy weight draped around me.

I blinked.

The "coat" was breathing as it adjusted around me, cocooning me again.

A faint, steady rhythm surrounded me—like distant waves.

Breathing.

Someone’s breathing.

The warmth pressed gently against my back.

I didn’t bother analyzing it. I let out a small sigh and burrowed deeper into the blankets.

The temperature was perfect now.

No volcanoes.

No tsunamis.

No unreasonable deaths.

I drifted off without another disaster waiting in the distance.