Chapter Seven: The Meeting

The train station was bustling with people—just a glimpse of the dazzlingly prosperous city’s vibrant surface. Merak stood there quietly, already sensing the undercurrents swirling beneath this metropolis.

“Let’s go. The car’s waiting outside,” Fletcher said, placing a hand on Merak’s back and gently urging him forward.

“What about them?” Merak glanced back as he stepped ahead.

Fletcher lowered his hat slightly. “Remember, from now on you are Chris Thomas. Those two have no connection to you, at least not officially. It wouldn’t make sense for them to travel with you, so I’ve arranged for them to stay somewhere safe for the time being.”

“...Understood.” Merak knew he wasn’t yet capable of keeping Nord and Dumps by his side, so he had no choice but to follow Fletcher’s plan.

Outside the station, a bodyguard led them to a sleek black car. Although Lyzein was extremely prosperous, the streets weren’t yet flooded with vehicles; horse-drawn carriages still dominated.

“Get in,” Fletcher opened the rear door for Merak.

Since arriving in Lyzein, Fletcher had become noticeably more attentive. In this city, Merak was Chris, and Fletcher served as the butler. Their displayed social statuses differed greatly; if Fletcher maintained a tone of polite disdain toward Merak, it might invite unnecessary trouble.

Once inside, Fletcher seated himself beside Merak and closed the door behind them. After the bodyguard took the front passenger seat, the car started and pulled away.

“This car is really something. I’ve only seen a few like it in the city center of Zwod, but none nearly as good as this,” Merak said. Before his rebirth, he was more than familiar with such vehicles, but under Fletcher’s gaze—a mixture of expectation and condescension—he feigned genuine fascination, eyes flickering around the interior as his hands instinctively stroked the car’s body.

“Heh,” Fletcher scoffed as expected. “You’ll see many more things here that you’ve never even heard of back home.”

Merak glanced out the window. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Don’t think too far ahead. Mr. Carmine should already be waiting,” Fletcher said.

The driver in the front seat responded with a grunt, “Mr. Carmine, Mrs. Melra, Miss Kellerman, and Miss Julia have been waiting for some time.”

***

“Miss Kellerman and Miss Julia are Mr. Carmine and Mrs. Melra’s eldest and second daughters,” Fletcher explained to Merak.

“I know that from the booklet,” Merak nodded. “Mr. Carmine and Mrs. Melra have three children: Kellerman, Chris, and Julia.”

Fletcher smiled approvingly. “Good. Mr. Carmine should be pleased with you.”

Merak said nothing, his attention drawn instead to a passing line of horse-drawn fire wagons. The first few carriages carried long ladders, while those behind bore enormous water tanks. Pedestrians stepped aside to give them a wide berth.

“That’s the fire brigade. There must be a fire somewhere,” Fletcher said, then to pass the time, began describing some famous landmarks. “There’s a renowned arch bridge spanning the Mena River. Further north, you’ll find Clayton Gardens, People’s Square, the Monse Palace…”

After some time, the car entered a district of mansions.

“This area was the Royal Square centuries ago, later transformed into a noble estate district. We’re close now. When you meet Mr. Carmine, mind your tone and words. Although you’re disguised as Chris, always remember—you are not truly Chris.”

“Understood,” Merak replied.

“Fix your clothes again.” In Fletcher’s mind, no matter how expensive or eye-catching Merak’s attire was, he remained a lowly provincial boy at heart. It wasn’t that Merak’s outfit was untidy or improper, but his usual demeanor felt somewhat awkward.

“Understood.” Merak showed no hesitation. He slowly and deliberately adjusted his collar.

The car rolled into the mansion district, finally stopping before a luxurious residence.

Merak knew this was where the Carmine family lived. The building’s exterior was a perfect blend of classical and contemporary styles, favored by Lyzein’s aristocracy.

Before exiting, Fletcher gave a final reminder. “Even inside the mansion, many do not know your true identity. You understand this— the fewer who know, the better. So once inside, aside from private meetings with the Carmine family and myself, you must always maintain Chris’s persona in front of others.”

“Understood.” Merak’s response was still the brief two words.

***

“All right, Master Chris, time to get out,” Fletcher said, stepping out first and opening the door for Merak.

From inside the car, Merak looked at the ‘luxurious palace’ before him—yet to his eyes, it appeared blurred and murky.

After a moment’s pause, he stepped out. Fletcher led him from the gate through to the spacious living room.

The living room was designed in a classical artistic style—exquisitely crafted, lavish, and comfortable.

Elegant wall decorations, countless collectibles, intricate carpets, dazzling crystal chandeliers, opulent sofas—all spoke of the Thomas family’s nobility. Yet after living here two months, Merak still couldn’t distinguish what rare woods were used in the fine furniture or the artistic value of these objects.

Everything felt utterly alien to him, yet stepping into this place once more with unprecedented resolve, he silently vowed to one day live here in ease and comfort.

“Sir, Madam,” Fletcher bowed slightly to Carmine and Melra.

In the vast living room, on the sofa facing the entrance, sat Carmine in a white shirt and brown vest, and Melra in a high-waisted skirt. On either side sat Kellerman and Julia, both dressed in similarly elegant long skirts.

Fletcher announced, “This is Moster Merak from the slums of Zwod in Joseph County, the stand-in we found for Master Chris.”

After Fletcher’s words, Carmine said nothing. The room filled with a suffocating silence.

Not wishing to offend Carmine, Merak avoided eye contact, bowing humbly like Fletcher. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Carmine.”