The next morning, dawn woke Charles with a ray of light sneaking through a crack in the wall.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Ugh, this crap again…" Charles muttered, sitting up with a creak of the wooden bed.
He stood, stretching, and followed the same routine as the day before.
First, he hit the bath, where he washed up and changed clothes, then headed to work.
Charles joined the group of servants scrubbing the clan's hallways, armed with buckets of murky water and rags reeking of stale soap.
Without hesitation, he activated the system's Auto-Cleaning Mode, letting his hands move on their own while he just kept pace.
It was weird but efficient, and the floor gleamed under the torches when he was done.
The other servants shot him sidelong glances, muttering things Charles chose to ignore.
Hours blurred by in a haze of rags and buckets, with the supervisor—a grizzled older servant in a white tunic with gray hair—barking orders from the end of the hall.
"Faster, you useless lot!" he snapped, pacing back and forth.
Charles tuned him out, focused on letting the system do the work.
But when the man announced break time, something shifted.
"Break!" the supervisor shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "To the dining hall, everyone!"
The servants dropped their buckets and rags, heading toward the exit in a group.
Charles, still with his hands moving on autopilot, deactivated the mode and sighed, relieved for a moment to breathe.
'Good… time to train,' he thought as the supervisor approached, eyes narrowed and face sour.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, Rian?" the man growled, planting himself in front of Charles with arms crossed. His voice was low but heavy with authority. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You vanish after breaks, skipping the second work shift. I've reported it to the higher-ups, so brace yourself—you're gonna pay for this."
Charles felt a surge of anger, tinged with exhaustion.
'Seriously? This now?' he thought, glaring at the man with annoyance. He let out a long sigh, trying to stay calm.
"Don't you know I've got a fight in six days?" Charles said, crossing his arms. "I don't have time to scrub floors all day."
The supervisor let out a dry laugh, like Charles had told a bad joke.
"A fight? With who, when you're just a servant?" he said, mocking. "Don't make me laugh, kid. You're a nobody. What fight could you possibly have?"
Charles clenched his fists, heat creeping up his neck.
"I've got a duel in the arena," he said, voice tight. "In six days. Two matches. If you don't believe me, ask Lira."
The man blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his expression hardened again.
"An arena duel? You?" he said, laughing again. "Don't talk nonsense, Rian. You've got no powers. If you did, you wouldn't be here cleaning with us. You'd be training with the arena folks, like the people who actually matter."
Nearby servants, about to head to the dining hall, paused, turning to eavesdrop.
Some whispered to each other, their faces a mix of curiosity or mockery.
Charles felt their stares like pinpricks but kept his eyes locked on the supervisor.
"I'm going to talk to Lira," Charles said firmly. "She'll confirm it."
The supervisor raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smirk spreading.
"You're gonna do what?" he asked, like he couldn't believe his ears. "Say that again, kid."
"I'm going to talk to Lira," Charles repeated, not backing down. "She knows about my duel. And I don't have time for your games."
The man stepped closer, face red with rage.
"Listen, you little punk," he growled. "You've already got a punishment lined up from a superior. You're headed to the isolation cells, no discussion. You think you can dodge the rules because you claim you've got some fake duel? Don't make me laugh!"
Charles clicked his tongue, frustrated.
"I don't have time for cells or your nonsense," he said, stepping back. "I've got to prep for the arena. Take your issues up with someone else."
The supervisor stared like he wanted to deck him.
"You're refusing a direct order?" he asked, voice shaking with fury. "That's a serious offense, Rian! You'll regret this!"
Charles sighed, done with the argument.
"I'll deal with it later," he said, turning to leave. "System, guide me to Lira's room," he muttered under his breath.
A blue arrow appeared, pointing to a side hallway.
But before he could take a step, he sensed movement behind him. The supervisor reached out, trying to grab his shoulder.
On pure instinct, Charles spun, dodging the grip with an agility even he didn't expect.
The supervisor, caught off balance, stumbled and fell to his knees with a grunt.
The watching servants gasped in shock.
Some girls giggled, covering their mouths, while others muttered things like:
"What's wrong with Rian?"
"Has he lost it?"
The supervisor scrambled up, face red with embarrassment and rage.
"Do you realize what you're doing, you brat?" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger. "This isn't over! You'll rot in the cells for this!"
Charles looked at him, exhausted.
"I said I'll deal with the consequences later," he said, voice calm but firm. "Right now, I'm not wasting more time scrubbing floors."
He turned, ignoring the supervisor's continued yelling, demanding he stop.
"See ya," Charles muttered, following the blue arrow.
The surrounding servants couldn't believe it.
Their murmurs grew louder as Charles walked away, catching fragments:
"They're gonna punish him hard for this," a girl remarked.
"Does he not know the trouble he's in?" a boy said to his friend.
"Wait, does he actually have an arena duel?" a confused servant girl asked.