Hiroshi scoffed, glancing back at the portrait of the shy-looking kid with glasses. "So I'm seven, huh?
Hiroshi stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he stared down at his hands and legs. "Wait… I'm seven, right? So why the hell am I... this short?!" he blurted out, disbelief written all over his face.
Owen wobbled in his hands, barely containing his excitement. "Pfft—hahaha! You're tiny now?!"
Hiroshi glared down at the slime. "Shut up! And I'm not tiny, I'm just...compact!"
"Compact? hahahaa" Owen cackled, his watery body rippling with each laugh.
Hiroshi's eye twitched. "Keep talking, waterball. I swear I'll find a jar and stuff you in it."
Owen only giggled harder. "Face it, short stack, you're fun-sized now!"
Hiroshi grumbled under his breath, stomping forward. "Damn it… Seven years old and four years old height. I better grow fast or I'm gonna start kicking shins."
Owen paused for a second before speaking up again, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "You know what? This is karma. Absolute, pure karma."
"Karma? For what?" Hiroshi huffed.
"For always calling me short back then!" Owen laughed, almost bouncing out of Hiroshi's grip. "Remember? You wouldn't shut up about how you were, like, one inch taller than me. You even measured it, you jerk!"
Hiroshi's face flushed, and he instinctively squeezed Owen a bit tighter. "That was different! I was taller! By a whole inch!"
"Yeah, and you wouldn't stop rubbing it in my face! Now look at you—reincarnated as a pint-sized gremlin. Poetic justice, my friend!"
Hiroshi groaned, shaking his head. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Oh, trust me, I'm loving every second of it."
Hiroshi rolled his eyes, stomping down the hallway with a new sense of urgency. "Laugh it up, waterball. I'll grow. But you? You're still just a damn blob."
"And you're still short!" Owen shot back, his laugh echoing through the hallway.
As they walked down the long corridor, Hiroshi glanced at the portraits lining the walls—one after another, all with the same stern expressions and regal poses. He squinted at them, muttering under his breath, "Damn, how many people are in this family? They just keep coming..."
Owen bounced slightly on Hiroshi's head. "Wait, there's more? How many are we talking about?"
"Too many," Hiroshi replied dryly, brushing past yet another towering portrait of a man with a beard that looked like it could sweep the floor. "It's like this whole damn place is one big ego trip. Portraits everywhere."
Owen chuckled. "Well, come on then, describe it. I'm blind here, remember?"
Hiroshi rolled his eyes. "What? You want me to give you a full tour of every painting? Hell no. There are like a million of these old geezers plastered all over the place. I don't have the patience."
"Hey! I'm stuck on your head, you know! The least you can do is give me a little insight. I tried calling out to the maid before, but she didn't hear me. Hell, I don't even think she saw me," Owen grumbled.
Hiroshi paused, raising an eyebrow. "You tried talking to her?"
"Yeah, and she just walked right by. Like I didn't even exist. It's either I'm invisible or you're just insane and talking to yourself," Owen replied, half-jokingly.
Hiroshi snorted. "Well, that makes things easier for me. I won't have to explain why I'm walking around with a blob of water on my head." He reached up and plopped Owen on top of his hair.
Owen bounced slightly before settling in. "Hey! What's the big idea?!"
"Better up there than me carrying you around like a purse," Hiroshi said with a smirk. "Just stay put and keep quiet. I don't need anyone thinking I'm crazier than I already look."
Owen grumbled but stayed still, the occasional ripple passing through his body. "Fine, but if you shake your head too much, I'm bouncing right off."
"Noted," Hiroshi muttered as they continued down the hallway. His eyes flicked from one portrait to another, all stiff and serious. "This family must've been allergic to smiling," he muttered.
"You see anything interesting?" Owen asked, his voice muffled by Hiroshi's hair.
"Nope. Just a bunch of people who look like they'd slap you for breathing too loudly," Hiroshi replied. He paused at a larger portrait of a man with stark white hair and piercing green eyes, dressed in a coat lined with furs and metals. "This guy looks important...or maybe just pissed off."
"Who is it?" Owen pressed.
Hiroshi squinted at the engraved plaque beneath the painting. "Lord... something of Dravenhart. Man, these names are a mouthful."
"Dravenhart? Isn't that your new last name?" Owen asked.
"Guess so," Hiroshi replied with a shrug. "And if these portraits are anything to go by, I'm probably stuck with a family of stiff-necked nobles. Fantastic."
Owen chuckled. "Could be worse. At least you got me."
"Yeah, lucky me," Hiroshi muttered sarcastically as he kept walking.
"Hey, where does this hall even go?" Owen asked.
"No idea. But if it leads to food, I'm not complaining," Hiroshi replied, his stomach growling slightly at the thought.
Hiroshi wandered through the endless hallways, feeling more lost with every turn. "Man, this place is like a damn maze," he grumbled, his eyes scanning for anyone who could point him in the right direction. Finally, he spotted a pair of maids dusting off some old portraits. Without hesitation, he walked up to them and tugged on the edge of one of their skirts.
"Hey, where's the—" Before he could finish, the maid straightened up, her eyes wide with surprise. "They have been waiting for you in the dining hall, young master," she said quickly, almost as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times.
Hiroshi blinked. "The dining hall? Where is it?"
The maid looked puzzled for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together before she hesitantly pointed down the hall. "Straight down that way...then down the stairs, young master," she replied, sounding a little unsure.
"Right... thanks," Hiroshi muttered, not waiting for a response as he headed off in the direction she pointed. Owen bounced slightly in his hand, his voice muffled but amused. "Did you just ask for directions? What happened to 'I never get lost'?"
"Shut up, waterball," Hiroshi snapped back, picking up his pace. He headed down a winding staircase, each step creaking under his weight. His hand trailed along the smooth, polished railing, and he couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer size of the place. "This is one hell of a house..."
Finally, after what felt like a long walk, he found himself standing before a massive door flanked by two guards in polished armor. Before he could say a word, one of the guards stepped forward and announced loudly, his voice echoing off the walls, "Young Master Axelius Dravenhart has arrived!"
The heavy doors creaked and groaned as they swung open, revealing a grand dining hall. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals sparkling with light. A long, polished table stretched across the room, lined with towering chairs and pristine silverware. Plates were already set, each one gleaming as if freshly polished.
Hiroshi stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. Owen's muffled voice piped up from his pocket. "Hey! What's it look like? What's going on? Who's there?!"
Hiroshi whispered back, his eyes still scanning the room. "It's...big. Like, stupidly big. Chandeliers, long-ass table, enough food for an army...and there are people here. Nobles, I guess," he muttered.
Owen made a squelching noise, almost like he was trying to sigh. "Damn it, I wanna see. Describe it better!"
"Shut up, you're gonna get me caught," Hiroshi hissed, his eyes landing on several finely dressed people already seated, their gazes locked onto him. Some looked surprised, others indifferent.
"Well... here goes nothing," he mumbled, straightening his back and stepping forward.
Hiroshi's eyes scanned the long dining table, taking in the finely dressed people who were already seated. His gaze paused when he saw Andrius, the red-haired man, sitting calmly near the head of the table. Andrius didn't seem to notice him—or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, Hiroshi wasn't about to wait for someone to guide him to a seat.
He spotted a vacant chair and made his way over, ignoring the whispers and glances from the others. The chair, much to his annoyance, was taller than he expected. He frowned, glancing around for any kind of stool or help, but no one even moved.
"Tsk, no one even bothered to help me," he muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves. With a huff, he grabbed the sides of the chair and climbed up, struggling for a moment before finally settling down on the plush seat. He straightened his back and dusted his hands off like it was nothing.
"Bunch of useless bastards..." he grumbled under his breath.
Now that he was finally seated, Hiroshi's eyes went straight to the spread on the table. His mouth practically watered as he took in the golden-roasted meats, freshly baked bread, steaming vegetables, and various dishes he couldn't even name. There were even fruits piled high in silver bowls, glistening as if they had just been washed.
He leaned forward, sniffing the air and muttering, "Shit... Owen, look at these foods... I'm in heaven."
Just as he reached out for the closest plate, he felt a gaze on him. He paused, looking up to see several eyes fixed his way—some curious, some judgmental, and some just plain confused.
Hiroshi hesitated, his hand hovering above a steaming loaf of bread. "Uh...what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The room remained silent, tension thick in the air. Hiroshi looked back down at the food, then back at the nobles. "Well, I'm not gonna wait for an invitation," he muttered, reaching for the bread anyway.
The person seated at the head of the table—a tall, regal-looking man with sharp eyes and graying hair—finally spoke up.
"Let us eat," he announced, and with that, the entire room moved almost in sync, reaching for dishes and filling their plates with practiced grace.
Hiroshi lunged forward, grabbing whatever he could reach. Roasted meat, golden bread, crispy vegetables—all of it piled up on his plate. His hands moved quickly, tearing into a piece of meat with almost desperate hunger. He barely bothered to chew before reaching for more, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was as if he hadn't eaten in days, and honestly, it felt that way.
A tear almost escaped his eye as he bit into a buttery roll. "Damn... this is real food," he mumbled through mouthfuls, not caring who heard him.
From his pocket, Owen's voice piped up, bouncing slightly with Hiroshi's movements. "Take some out, Hiroshi! Give me too!"
Hiroshi paused, glancing down at the little lump bouncing in his coat. "The hell do you even eat? You're just a waterball!" he whispered back, trying not to draw attention.
"Slime! And I eat just like you, idiot!"
The bearded man, clearly the father, looked at Andrius with a serious, sharp gaze and asked slowly, "Is it true, Andrius? Has young master Axelius truly lost his memories?"
Andrius, standing quietly, gave a calm nod. "Yes, Father. It is true."
As soon as the confirmation came, murmurs spread quickly across the room. A young man, maybe just a year older than Hiroshi, with a smug grin, leaned forward and said, "What happened to the grand ceremony? The rumors say it was a disaster. Is it true, brother?"
Andrius said nothing, keeping his silence.
Voices started growing louder, filled with sneers and cold whispers. Some talked about how Axelius was weak, unfit to carry the family name. One woman, graceful but with an icy tone, wiped her mouth delicately with a cloth and said, "Just as we expected, Axelius was born without mana. How disappointing."
A cold laugh suddenly broke through the murmurs. One man sneered loudly, "I've heard Axelius ran out right after the ceremony. How embarrassing for the family!"
Another voice joined in, low and mocking, "Running away like a coward—no wonder he lost his memories, probably from the shame."
A woman scoffed, "He can't even stand in front of people. What good is a son who can't face his own family?"
Whispers spread quickly around the table, each more cruel than the last. "He's weak. He's useless."
"He'll never carry the family name."