Alt Title: An Elegant Dance of Trauma and Trembling Knees
Dear reader,
Have you ever tried to balance social anxiety, mild trauma, and dancing?
Welcome to my Tuesday.
---
The invitation arrived via flaming origami swan.
I wish I was kidding.
It divebombed my breakfast like a herald of doom, igniting half a croissant and prompting Belladonna to shriek, "It's finally evolving!"
Madame Thistle unrolled the ash-marked scroll with a sigh so deep, I briefly wondered if she'd astrally projected to scream in another dimension.
"Formal banquet invitation. House Valorin. This evening. Black-tie required."
She looked at me with all the exhausted pity of a woman who'd raised six magical delinquents and once watched a child explode from a sneeze.
"Try not to catch fire. Or feelings."
---
Fast forward six hours and I'm standing in front of a full-length mirror wearing a ceremonial waistcoat that glittered with embroidered swords, stars, and my will to live draining by the second.
Inner Me: I look like a sentient chandelier.
Belladonna peeked around the corner. "You sparkle. Are you poison-proof yet?"
"No."
"Hmm. Then don't eat anything purple. Or humming."
She vanished in a puff of suspicious mist.
I adjusted my cravat and whispered to my reflection, "You've survived tea duels, potion cookies, and the teacup Olympics. You can survive a dinner party."
Reflection Me: But can you survive dancing?
---
The Valorin estate loomed ahead like a gothic cake made of judgment and expensive stone.
Inside, everything gleamed.
Crystal chandeliers.
Gold-threaded carpets.
Waiters who looked like they could assassinate you with a salad fork.
Seraphina stood by the fountain, cloaked in navy silk and moonlight. Her sword was sheathed but her eyes were very much armed.
"You're late," she said.
"I was polishing my sarcasm."
She nodded. "Useful skill. You'll need it."
---
Dinner was a battlefield of etiquette.
Each bite of food was a gamble — will it be delicious, or an alchemical prank?
Belladonna licked a silver spoon and muttered, "This one tastes like regret and cinnamon."
Across from me sat Duke Eldred Valorin, Seraphina's uncle. His mustache could've held a noble title.
"Kael Reinhardt," he boomed, "Is it true you caught a sacred teacup with your forehead?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And survived?"
"Barely."
He slapped the table and roared, "Ha! You'll do well in this family."
Inner Me: That explains a lot about Seraphina.
Then came the announcement.
"To honor the unity of our noble houses," said a servant, "we now begin the ceremonial waltz."
My spoon clattered.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"I don't dance."
"You do now."
---
Scene: The Grand Ballroom.
Lights dimmed.
Musicians began playing something that sounded elegant, dangerous, and vaguely threatening.
I stood at the edge of the marble floor like a sacrificial goat.
Then Seraphina stepped toward me.
"We dance now," she said, offering her gloved hand.
Inner Me: I don't know where my feet are.
Outer Me: Nods like an idiot and takes her hand.
The moment our hands touched, something clicked. Like magic. Or a mutual agreement to not fall flat.
She guided me gently. One step. Two.
I didn't trip.
Progress.
The nobles watched, whispering behind fans and monocles.
"Is that Kael?"
"He's not bleeding. Impressive."
"I heard he once disarmed a mage with a spoon."
I focused on Seraphina.
She moved like a blade — precise, sharp, beautiful.
"You're not terrible," she said.
"High praise."
"You're still leading with the wrong foot."
"I only have two. One is rebellious."
She smirked.
Then, a shriek.
Belladonna spun onto the dance floor, dragging a bewildered young duke behind her.
"We're crashing the dance with SCIENCE!"
Smoke burst from her sleeves. Confetti rained from the ceiling. The musicians panicked and changed rhythm.
I blinked.
Seraphina didn't stop.
"Adapt," she said.
"This is chaos."
"It's Tuesday."
---
Somehow, we kept dancing.
Around us, nobles twirled, tripped, and occasionally combusted (minorly).
The music surged.
I spun Seraphina — mostly on purpose.
She landed with a whisper of silk and said, "Not bad."
"Tell my system. It still thinks I'm ornamental."
"It's wrong."
My heart did a strange thing.
And for a moment, the room faded.
Just me, her, and the rhythm of survival.
---
Later, I escaped to the balcony for air. My feet throbbed. My dignity limped.
But I'd survived.
Behind me, footsteps.
Seraphina joined me, arms crossed.
"Why did you hesitate when they announced the dance?"
I hesitated again.
Then said, "Because I've always been the odd one out. The extra. The comic relief. I didn't want to ruin your moment."
She looked at me, really looked.
Then said, quietly, "You didn't."
And walked away.
Leaving me with a strange warmth that had nothing to do with the enchanted cider.
---
Next Time, on Kael's Noble Disaster Show:
Guess who wakes up with mysterious magical script on his arm?
Spoiler: It's me.
Bonus spoiler: It glows when I lie.
Fantastic. Now I can't even fake confidence.
Stay tuned for: Chapter 7 — Exploding Roses and the Scent of Scandal.
---
"Kael's DROP — The Harem Rap of Survival"
.....Yo!
They call me Kael, the noblest brat,
Got four fiancées, and none of 'em asked!
Got dropped in diapers with royal flair,
Now I'm drowning in nobles and too much hair.
Born again? Yeah, cool cool cool—
Till you realize nobles duel in schools.
One minute I'm crying, next minute I'm crowned,
Everyone calls me Saint, I just want to sit down.
Tea ceremony? Sounds cute—
Till she walked in like "Imma judge your suit."
Lady Seraphina, glare like steel,
Told me flat out, "I don't do feels."
But I smiled, 'cause I'm a polite mess,
And internally screaming in noble distress.
Sipped my tea like "I got this fate,"
While planning my great escape through the garden gate.
Then came girl two — call her Bella-bang,
Alchemy queen with the chaos slang.
She brewed a potion, called it "mild,"
I drank it.
Now I see sound and I speak in italics, child!
She said, "You passed the test!"
I said, "Which one?"
She said, "You lived."
Me:
Then it's war at a party — Binding Day hell,
Dueling for a teacup? Oh, I fell.
With my face.
Saved the cup like a hero does,
Now nobles cheer while I ice my mug.
Elric crying, Belladonna betting,
Thistle screaming, the table's sweating.
Caught that china midair like fate,
Now the teacup and I are emotionally linked, mate.
They made me waltz in public. Why tho?
Seraphina led and crushed my toe.
We danced like we were mortal foes,
Except I tripped, and accidentally proposed.
The crowd went wild, the nobles cheered,
Meanwhile, I just wanted root beer.
Was it romantic? Kinda, yes.
Would I survive a second round? Hard guess.
Look—
I didn't ask for this.
One day I'm helping a kid cross the street,
Next day I'm stuck in ruffles and cheat-sheet prophecy.
No cheat code.
My system literally ghosted me.
I am the punchline of the multiverse.
Kael! Kael! Saint of sass!
Fails forward with too much class!
Royal mess in velvet threads,
Still dodging grandma's marriage threats.
Magic? Eh. Swords? Maybe.
Betrothed to four? Somebody save me!
But I'll rise, I'll roast, I'll duel, I'll spin—
And I'll sass this world till the credits begin!
> "He was reborn… into... a contractual mess."
"And now... he's got four problems, and magic ain't one."
> "I REGRET NOTHINGGGGGGG!"
yoooooooooooo
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