Hiroshi was still poking and prodding the slime, a grin plastered on his face, when a sudden knock startled him. He instinctively shoved Owen under the sheets, covering him up just as the door creaked open.
A woman dressed in a maid's uniform stepped inside, bowing slightly before speaking. "Young Master, it is time to get ready. Breakfast will be served shortly, and your bath is prepared."
Hiroshi blinked, still catching his breath from the sudden surprise. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a minute. Now get out."
The maid's eyes widened, clearly shocked by his tone. Her mouth opened slightly as if she wanted to say something, but Hiroshi's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing? I said I'll be there in a minute, so leave!"
The maid snapped her mouth shut, bowed hurriedly, and rushed out, closing the door with a soft click.
As soon as she was gone, Owen wobbled his way out from under the sheets, his surface shimmering slightly. "Hey, calm your nerves. You're not in your territory, you know?"
Hiroshi snorted, climbing down from the oversized bed with a bit of effort. He landed on the floor with a light thud, stretching his limbs. "Well, judging from my situation, I am in my territory."
Owen bounced in place, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"
Hiroshi smirked, brushing off his clothes and stretching his stiff muscles. "Think about it, genius. This room is huge, I got maids waking me up for breakfast, and I'm apparently some kind of young master. This has gotta be my place."
Owen wobbled, almost as if tilting his non-existent head. "But...you don't even know who you are here."
Hiroshi paused, the grin slipping off his face for just a second. "Aside from my name, Yeah...that's the part I need to figure out."
Hiroshi stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still damp and a towel slung around his neck. His eyes landed on the bed, where a set of clothes was neatly laid out—probably put there by the maid while he was bathing. His frown deepened as he stared at the outfit. It looked a bit too...extravagant for his taste.
Meanwhile, Owen was bouncing up and down on the bed, his jelly-like body rippling with each bounce. "Why so quiet? Hiroshi? Hey! Did you fucking leave me here?!"
Hiroshi rolled his eyes, running a hand through his wet hair. "It's quiet because I'm thinking, idiot."
Owen paused mid-bounce, wobbling slightly as if he was trying to process the information. "Wait...you can think? Since when did you have a brain? I thought you just ran on pure stubbornness."
Hiroshi's eye twitched, his hands slowly clenching into fists. "Oh, you wanna test that theory, huh?"
Owen wobbled mockingly. "What, you gonna out-think me? I don't know, man. Brains don't seem to be your strong suit."
A wicked grin spread across Hiroshi's face. "Oh, I don't need brains for this."
Before Owen could react, Hiroshi grabbed him with one swift motion. "Hey! What are you—!?"
With a firm grip, Hiroshi hurled the slime straight at the wall. Owen splattered with a squishy thwack, sticking there for a second before slowly peeling off and plopping to the floor.
"You... you maniac! I think I lost part of my... whatever I have!" Owen shouted, his body wobbling angrily as he reformed himself.
Hiroshi just laughed, grabbing the clothes off the bed. "Maybe next time you won't run your mouth, huh?"
Owen grumbled, bouncing slightly. "Yeah, yeah. You throw like a little girl anyway."
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow. "You want another round?"
Owen immediately bounced back. "I'm good."
Hiroshi stepped out of his room, fully dressed in the strange yet elegant clothes that had been laid out for him. The fabric was smooth and surprisingly light, a mix of medieval design with a touch of advanced craftsmanship—like someone had merged royal robes with tactical gear. The sleeves were layered with thin, almost metallic threads that shimmered when he moved, and the boots looked like they were made for comfort and speed.
In his hands, Owen wobbled slightly, contained like a little jelly orb. "Hey, you sure this is normal around here?" Hiroshi asked, eyeing his outfit as they walked.
"Hell if I know. I'm a slime, not a fashion expert," Owen grumbled, bouncing slightly with each of Hiroshi's steps.
The hallway stretched out before them, grand and well-lit with lights that seemed to hover just below the ceiling, casting a warm glow across the polished marble floor. Hiroshi's eyes flickered to the walls—portraits lined the entire length, each one grander than the last. Men and women, all dressed similarly, stood proudly with beasts of all shapes and sizes at their sides—wolves, lions, even massive birds with wings made of shimmering light.
Then Hiroshi stopped. His eyes locked onto a particular portrait. He stepped closer, squinting. "What the hell… is that me?"
The painting showed a young boy, probably around seven or eight, with long black hair tied neatly at the back, glasses perched on his nose, and a stiff-looking suit that screamed noble upbringing. It was medieval in design but had a strange touch of futuristic stitching along the seams. His posture was upright, almost painfully straight, and his eyes were downcast as if he were avoiding someone's gaze. Below the portrait, engraved in silver, were the words: Axelius Dravenhart, Young Master of the House of Dravenhart.
Owen wobbled in Hiroshi's hands. "Hey, what do you look like anyway? You've been yapping about how great you are, but I still haven't seen it."
Hiroshi smirked, lifting Owen up to his eye level. "Well, let me educate you, slimeball. I'm cute as hell—black hair that just screams elegance, Yellow eyes that practically shine, and a jawline that could cut through steel. I'm practically a walking masterpiece."
Owen jiggled for a second before shuddering dramatically. "Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick... and I don't even have a stomach."
Hiroshi's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening slightly. "Oh, want to fly again, huh, fucker?"
"Nope! I'm good!" Owen squeaked, bouncing nervously. "Also, stop cussing with that child mouth of yours. You gotta pretend you're... Wait...what's your name again?"
Hiroshi paused, glancing back at the portrait and reading the engraved name slowly. "Axelius Dravenhart... So that's who I'm supposed to be."