It didn't sound so bad.... right?
RIGHT?!
He straightened his coat and decided to take his first step into the glittering chaos of noble society.
Then tripped over a potted plant and faceplanted into the dessert table.
…
His cheek was covered in what he hoped was whipped cream and not some obscure noble delicacy like "foamed swan egg custard with a hint of existential crisis."
He groaned, sitting up as a mini-cake slid off his shoulder and splattered on the floor like it, too, had given up on life.
Then — a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Caius stiffened immediately, every instinct screaming.
He turned his head slowly, half-expecting a sword, a duel challenge, or a monocled man dramatically gasping, "Scandalous!"
Instead, he was met with the raised brow and amused grin of a young nobleman — blond, polished, and giving off "I-voted-against-that-public-execution" energy.
"Caius?" the man asked, voice both skeptical and familiar. "Have you been drinking again? Or did the dessert table personally offend you?"
Caius blinked, trying to scrub custard out of his eyelashes. "I… uh… tactical fall. Very advanced noble maneuver. You wouldn't understand."
The man snorted. "Right. Tactical. Like that time you tried to dodge your mother's shoe and fell into the fireplace."
Caius froze.
This guy knew Caius. Original Caius.
His brain scrambled like an egg under pressure.
He recognized this guy — Franklin Asterhart.
Childhood friend of the original Caius Everhart, third son of some Count with a name that sounded like it was made by slamming consonants together.
In the novel, Franklin was known for being loyal, a little too fond of wine, and the kind of guy who'd fight someone for insulting his friend's fashion sense.
Caius wiped his face with a napkin that might've been a curtain and forced a laugh. "Guess I'm just making a scene for old time's sake, Frankie."
Franklin tilted his head. "Wow. You haven't called me Frankie in years. You finally hit your head hard enough to get friendly again?"
"Maybe. Maybe I've been struck by the lightning of friendship." Caius offered a thumbs up, dripping frosting from his sleeve. "Or a truck. Hard to tell."
Franklin shook his head with a chuckle, helping him to his feet. "Well, maybe go easy on the booze if you're planning to survive your mother tonight. This is her party, remember?"
Caius froze again. "Her party?"
Franklin raised a brow. "Don't tell me you forgot. This is the annual noble's welcome ball. The one your house throws to 'remind everyone we're still richer than they are.' Or something like that."
Caius looked around, suddenly seeing it all clearly.
The overdone décor.
The fake smiles.
The mildly threatening cheese sculptures.
It was the welcome ball — the one that kicked off Act One in Crimson Oath.
The very scene where the actual main character of the novel made his debut, impressing the crowd and unknowingly starting a political chain reaction that would spiral into an empire-wide disaster.
In the novel, this was where the protagonist — Arden Velgrave — would give a heartfelt speech about justice and unity, completely stealing the spotlight and unknowingly drawing the ire of House Everhart.
And now he, Caius, was standing here, very much not the main character, very much frosted, and completely unprepared for plot.
"Wait…" Caius muttered, eyes darting across the ballroom. "This is that party? The beginning party?"
Franklin gave him a side glance. "...Are you okay? You're talking like a bard on cold medicine."
Caius cleared his throat and smiled way too hard. "Perfectly fine. Just… soaking it in. So many nobles. So many potential lawsuits. Magical ambiance."
"Well, you better not make another scene," Franklin said, patting his shoulder. "Your mom already thinks you've gone soft ever since you tried to outlaw fox hunting because the foxes 'looked too smug.'"
Caius winced. Classic noble Caius.
A man of questionable morality and confusing ethics.
Franklin continued, gesturing toward the center of the ballroom where a small platform had been set up. "Anyway, the main event's about to start. Some commoner scholarship kid from the western territories is being introduced. Apparently, he tested high on the academy entrance exams or whatever."
Caius almost choked on his own breath. "Arden."
"Huh?"
Caius shook his head. "Nothing. I just suddenly remembered I'm very emotionally invested in who this kid turns out to be."
Sure enough, as if summoned by the narrative gods, a young man stepped onto the platform.
Dark hair. Confident but awkward posture.
Eyes that practically screamed, 'I'm going to punch corrupt nobles and get a tragic backstory by chapter three.'
Caius sighed. "Yup. That's our protagonist."
Franklin raised a brow. "What?"
"Nothing!" Caius said quickly. "Just... thinking out loud again."
And now it was all happening.
The ball. The MC's debut. The chain of betrayals, curses, villainess breakdowns, sword fights in libraries — all of it was about to begin.
He was standing at the starting line of an entire political fantasy rollercoaster, and the only thing he had going for him was sarcasm, a working memory of the plot, and a very enthusiastic high-five reflex.
His shoulder was still sticky from custard.
Arden was about to make the speech that would put him on the empire's radar. His family was about to do something horrible before dessert.
Caius looked around at the glittering nobility. Then down at his frosting-covered sleeve.
Then sighed.
"You're watching that kid like he owes you money."
Caius didn't take his eyes off Arden. "He owes me more than money. He owes me narrative stability."
"Sure. That's not ominous at all."
The crowd hushed as a herald cleared his throat, voice magically enhanced to carry through the marble hall.
"Announcing… Master Arden Velgrave, representative of the Western Territories and this year's recipient of the Imperial Merit Scholarship."
Arden stepped forward.
He bowed, gave a humble little smile, and began his speech in that low, sincere tone that made noble ladies sigh and noble men suspicious.
Caius gritted his teeth. "Here it comes…"
"My gratitude to the Empire for this honor. I hope to serve it faithfully, and to be an ally to justice, equality, and peace for all citizens…"
'There it is.'
That's what would ignite everything. Because nobles hated the word equality the way cats hated baths.
Within the next two chapters, half the political council would be whispering about Arden's "dangerous ideals," while the other half would try to adopt him or poison him at dinner.
Meanwhile, Caius stood there knowing exactly where the dominos would fall — because his house? House Everhart? They pushed the first one.