The heavy oak doors of the grand study burst open without so much as a polite knock, slamming against the plastered walls with a thunderous echo that rattled the crystal decanters on the sideboard. Nikolai Reindhart didn’t even flinch. He simply adjusted his posture in the oversized velvet armchair, keeping his eyes half-closed as he savored the lingering sweetness of a honey-glazed plum. For a man who had spent three decades dodging stray blades in the slums of his past life, a slammed door was about as threatening as a summer breeze. "Nikolai!" The voice that boomed through the chamber belonged to Duke Aldrich Reindhart, the undisputed patriarch of the house and a man whose mere presence usually made the household servants drop their silver trays in sheer terror. Aldrich marched into the room, his midnight-blue velvet cloak billowing behind him like the wings of an angry raven. His silver-streaked hair was combed back with sharp precision, and his piercing gray eyes glared down at his youngest son with a mixture of profound disappointment and cold fury. Nikolai sighed softly, swallowing the bite of fruit before lifting a lazy gaze toward his father. He took a sip of chilled spring water from a silver chalice, deliberately moving at a pace that suggested he had all the eternity in the world. "Good afternoon, Father," Nikolai said, his tone dripping with an infuriating lack of urgency. "I trust the estate's tax reports are keeping you warm at night? Because I must confess, my afternoon nap was keeping me exceptionally warm until quite recently." Duke Aldrich stopped a few paces from the desk, his jaw clenching so hard that a muscle ticked near his cheek. For a long moment, the older man looked as though he might draw his ceremonial sword and settle a score that had been brewing for the better part of two decades. "Silence, you insolent parasite," Aldrich spat, his voice dropping to a dangerous, rumbling register. "For twenty-two years, I have tolerated your indolence. I have paid off your gambling debts, smoothed over your scandalous brawls in the upper districts, and looked the other way while you slept through every morning tutor we hired. I told myself you were simply young. I told myself you would eventually grow into the Reindhart name." Nikolai offered a faint, unbothered smile, leaning his head back against the cushioned leather. Grow into the name? Oh, he had grown into it, all right—into the absolute pinnacle of comfortable aristocracy. Why ruin a good thing by working? "Well, Father, aren't you a visionary?" Nikolai murmured smoothly, twirling his silver spoon between his fingers. "Though, if I might correct you, I never actually gambled. I simply invested heavily in local tavern entertainment and let the house take the losses. It’s called portfolio diversification." "Do not test me, boy!" Aldrich slammed a heavy, gold-ringed fist down onto the mahogany desk, making the porcelain teacups rattle. "Your excuses have run dry. The Emperor himself summoned me to the palace this morning. The royal treasury is groaning under the weight of mismanagement, and the noble houses are whispering that our bloodline is growing soft, decadent, and useless." Nikolai raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "And let me guess: the Emperor suggested that the youngest Reindhart—your notoriously incompetent, utterly charming disappointment of a son—should go out and conquer a neighboring province to restore our honor?" "Worse," Aldrich growled, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "He noted that the Royal Grand Academy of Magic is suffering from a severe shortage of capable instructors in the foundational arts. The faculty is bogged down by academic pedants who cannot inspire a single noble heir to cast a basic spark, let alone master the higher mysteries." Nikolai’s heart skipped a beat, though not out of fear. A sudden, blissful vision of what an academy job entailed flashed through his mind. Lecturing a bunch of snobbish teenagers? Standing in a drafty lecture hall for hours? Dealing with teenage drama, crying aristocrats, and endless paperwork? It sounded like the absolute antithesis of retirement. It sounded like actual, miserable labor. "Ah," Nikolai said, sitting up just an inch. "And naturally, you told His Majesty that I am far too delicate for such strenuous endeavors. You reminded him that my constitution is frail, my magical aptitude is famously nonexistent, and that I am best suited for a quiet life of decorative lounging." "I told him nothing of the sort," Aldrich snapped, his lips curling into a ruthless, triumphant smirk. "In fact, I volunteered your services." The silence in the room grew heavy, suffocatingly thick. Nikolai stared at his father, the silver spoon slipping from his fingers to clatter softly against the porcelain plate. For the first time since waking up in this fantasy world, the sheer tranquility of his retirement plan felt threatened. "You... what?" Nikolai whispered, the lazy charm draining entirely from his voice. "You heard me," Aldrich said, leaning forward, pressing his weight onto the desk. "Tomorrow morning at dawn, you will pack your belongings. You are moving into the faculty quarters at the Royal Grand Academy of Magic. You have been appointed as a full professor of introductory magical theory." "Father, be reasonable," Nikolai protested, his hands flying up in a rare display of genuine panic. "I don't even know how to cast a simple floating light spell without accidentally setting my own cuff on fire! I am a professional loafer! I am uniquely unqualified to teach anyone anything, let alone the future leaders of the continent!" "Silence!" Aldrich barked, cutting him off with a wave of his gloved hand. "This is not a request, Nikolai. This is an edict. The terms are absolute, and there is no room for debate." The Duke straightened his posture, his gray eyes locking onto his son with an unyielding glare that brooked no argument. "You have two choices," Aldrich continued, his voice as cold and hard as iron. "Option one: You report to the Grand Academy tomorrow, stand at the front of the lecture hall, and pretend to be a respectable educator for at least one full academic year. You will restore a shred of dignity to our family name, or at the very least, keep out of my sight." Nikolai swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "And... and option two?" Aldrich’s smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Option two is that I strip you of your noble title immediately. I cut off your monthly allowance, freeze your trust accounts, repossess this entire estate, and throw you out onto the streets of the lower slums with nothing more than the clothes on your back. You can spend the rest of your days begging for copper coins in the exact same dirt from whence our distant ancestors rose." The room went dead silent once more. Nikolai looked from his father’s stern, unyielding face down to the luxurious velvet upholstery of his armchair, then out the window toward the sun-drenched gardens where a flock of white doves was peacefully drifting across the pale blue sky. Lose the money? Lose the servants? Lose the endless supply of imported wine, soft beds, and magnificent marble halls? Be forced to walk through the muddy lower districts and actually work for a living without the backing of a noble house? It was an unthinkable nightmare. It was a fate far worse than death itself. Nikolai closed his eyes and let out a long, pathetic groan, rubbing his temples as a dull headache began to throb behind his eyes. Just yesterday, he had awakened overpowered traits that begged him to change the world. Now, his own family was conspiring to drag him out of his comfortable lifestyle and throw him straight into the lion's den of academia. "You're a monster, Father," Nikolai muttered bitterly, though there was no real fight left in him. "A cruel, heartless monster." "I am a realist," Aldrich replied briskly, turning toward the door with a swish of his heavy cloak. "The carriage departs at six o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. Do not keep the driver waiting, Professor Reindhart." With a sharp click of his boots against the polished marble floor, the Duke strode out of the study, leaving Nikolai alone once more with the lingering aroma of plum and the cold reality of his impending doom. Nikolai slumped back down in his chair, staring up at the intricate plaster molding on the ceiling. "A teacher," he whispered to himself, his voice dripping with profound misery. "They want me to be a teacher. Me! The man who perfected the art of doing absolutely nothing!" He reached out and picked up his silver chalice, draining the remaining water in a single, unceremonious gulp. Beneath the surface of his calm demeanor, however, a strange, persistent warmth began to tingle at the back of his mind—a stubborn echo of those ridiculous awakening traits reminding him that, whether he liked it or not, his effortless journey was about to become infinitely more complicated. "Damn those traits," Nikolai groaned, burying his face in his hands. "If any of my future students ask me a difficult question tomorrow, I'm just going to tell them to take a nap."

Chapter 2: The Edict of the Patriarch