Charles sat cross-legged on Lira's bed, arms behind his head.
On the bed, neatly folded, was a black tunic he hadn't seen before.
Lira, standing by her paper-strewn desk, grabbed it and thrust it toward him with a quick motion.
"Here," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Put it on."
Charles frowned, confused, eyeing the tunic like it was some alien artifact.
"Why're you giving me one of your tunics?" he asked, scratching his neck. "Not that black doesn't suit me, but… isn't that a bit weird?"
Lira rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated.
"Are you an idiot or what?" she said, crossing her arms. "It's not my tunic. A servant dropped it off while you were fighting. This is yours, the one you'll wear from now on. Or you think you're gonna keep strutting around in that filthy old rag you've got on?"
Charles blinked, taking the tunic carefully. He held it up, noting it was solid black, lacking the blue trim of Lira's.
The fabric was soft, way finer than the servant's white tunic he wore, and it smelled new, like it had just come off a store shelf.
"Whoa…" he murmured, impressed. "This is a serious upgrade."
He glanced at Lira, who was now slouched in her chair by the desk, flipping through papers with a tired look.
"So, this means I'm officially not a servant anymore?"
Lira didn't even look up.
"Duh," she said dryly. "You won the duel, convinced the superior. You're a fighter now, so put on that tunic before you leave. The one you're wearing goes straight to the trash."
Charles laughed, eyeing his old white tunic, stained and torn.
"Can't blame you; this thing's basically a dishrag," he said, standing.
He remembered how servants bathed together in the courtyard, men and women alike, and figured changing in front of Lira wasn't a big deal.
Plus, they were step-siblings, so it wasn't weird.
Without overthinking it, he stripped off the old tunic, letting it drop to the floor, and slipped on the new one.
The fabric felt cool against his skin, fitting like it was tailored for him.
Lira glanced up for a second, frowning.
"And the boots," she said, pointing to a pair of shiny black boots by the bed. "Ditch those grimy white monstrosities and put on the new ones. You're not walking around as a fighter in servant boots."
Charles looked at his white boots, worn and caked with dust.
He grabbed the new ones, noticing they were sturdy black leather, far sleeker and tougher.
"Check these out!" he said, turning them in his hands. "These won't get trashed so easily."
Inside the boots, he found a pair of new black socks.
He kicked off the old boots, slipped on the socks, then the new boots, which fit like a glove. He flexed his toes, grinning.
"This is the life," he said.
Lira grunted, not looking at him.
"Don't get too excited…" she said, still sorting papers. "Now that you're a fighter, things'll get trickier. Don't think it'll all be as easy as beating a Custodian."
Charles shrugged, plopping back onto the bed.
"We'll see," he said confidently. Then he looked at Lira, who seemed drained. "Hey, thanks for all this."
Lira finally looked up, one eyebrow raised.
"Thanks?" she said sarcastically. "Don't make me laugh, Rian. I'm just doing my job. By the way, you hungry?"
Charles's stomach roared at the word "hungry."
With everything—the duel, training, work—he hadn't realized how starving he was.
"Hell yeah!" he said, eyes lighting up. "Oh, and now that I'm not a servant, that stupid dining hall rule's gone, right? I can eat whenever I want?"
Lira nodded, standing from her chair.
"Yeah, no more restrictions," she said. "But hold on a sec."
She walked to a corner of the room, where Charles hadn't noticed a small fridge.
She opened it and started pulling out stuff: a plastic container with sliced onions and peppers, another with carrots, and a tray of pre-cut chicken.
Charles gaped as she set it all on a small table with an electric stovetop.
"Pasta or rice?" Lira asked, not looking at him, as she plugged in the stove.
Charles blinked, still processing that Lira was about to cook in her room.
"For real? You've got a kitchen here?" he said, incredulous. "Oh, and pasta."
Lira didn't reply, just grabbed a pack of spaghetti from a drawer and set a pot of water to boil.
Charles leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, still stunned.
'Who the hell runs this place?' he thought, wondering why the clan lacked so much modern tech.
Lira pulled a banana from a basket, peeled it, and started slicing it.
Then she heated a pan with oil and tossed in the banana slices to fry.
The sweet smell filled the room, making Charles's stomach growl louder.
"Hey, Lira…" he said, sitting up again. "Now that I'm a fighter, my room's gonna change, right? Or am I still stuck in that moldy closet?"
Lira, flipping the bananas with a spatula, paused and clicked her tongue.
"Oh, right…" she said, like she'd forgotten. "You'll sleep in the fighters' area now. You need to move your stuff ASAP."
Charles frowned, confused.
"Move my stuff? I don't have anything there," he said, laughing. "And I don't even know where that area is. How'm I supposed to find it?"
Lira sighed, clearly annoyed at having to spell it out.
"One of my servants will guide you," she said, not looking at him, as she added the chicken to the pan with the bananas.
The sizzling filled the room, and the smell was so good Charles almost forgot the conversation.
"Just make sure you move fast. I don't want you slacking off in my room."
Charles groaned, leaning back.
"Yeah, yeah, got it," he said mockingly.
Then he watched Lira, who was cooking with a focus he hadn't expected from her.
"Hey, lemon or grape?" she asked suddenly, opening the fridge again.
Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Huh? Lemon, I guess," he said, unsure what she meant.
But then he heard a familiar sound:
PSSSS!
Lira popped open a bottle of lemon soda, and Charles's jaw dropped.
"No way… you've got soda here?" he exclaimed, sitting up fast. "This is too much!"
Lira didn't flinch. She poured the soda into a large glass and handed it to him.
"Here," she said dryly. "And don't make a mess on my bed."
Charles took the glass, sniffing the citrusy aroma, and took a long gulp.
The fizz tickled his throat, and the tart flavor was so refreshing he couldn't help but let out a loud burp.
"Damn, this is awesome!" he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the glass, still half-full, and held it toward Lira. "Hey, pour me more, yeah?"
Lira stared, one eyebrow raised, her face screaming disbelief.
"Seriously?" she said, pointing at the glass. "You haven't even finished what I gave you. What's wrong with you?"
Charles laughed, taking another sip.
"It's just so damn good," he said, grinning. "Come on, don't be stingy. Hook me up."
Lira sighed, turning back to the pan where the chicken and bananas were golden.
"You're a pain in the ass, Rian…" she muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice.
Charles leaned back, holding the glass like a trophy.