Chapter 10: On the job

*Kiro's POV*

“Kiro!” My mother’s voice snapped me back to reality.

I turned, and there she was — standing beside a tall, neatly dressed man with silver hair slicked back and a posture so perfect it could’ve been drawn with a ruler. Not to mention his moustache looks really awesome, in a fancy way.

“This is Sir Reginald, the head butler of House Nirvoro,” Mother said. “He’ll be teaching you everything you need to know.”

The man bowed slightly, his movements crisp and precise. “Young master Kiro, it’s an honor. Please follow me. I shall brief you on your duties and expectations within the Duke’s household.”

I straightened my back instinctively. “Yes, sir.”

We walked through the marble halls of the mansion. Servants hurried past us — maids with laundry baskets, guards on rotation, kitchen staff carrying trays. Every one of them moved with quiet discipline.

“The first rule of service,” Reginald began, his tone even and measured, “is discretion. You will see and hear much within these walls, but you will repeat none of it. The second is presence — you must be seen when needed and invisible when not. The third…” He glanced at me. “...is excellence. Nothing less than perfection will suffice for House Nirvoro.”

I swallowed hard. “Understood.”

“Good. Then we’ll start where all mornings begin — the young mistress’s quarters.”

We stopped before a polished wooden door adorned with silver vines carved into its surface. Reginald knocked twice, then stepped aside. “You will be in charge of ensuring her room is spotless. Make her bed once she rises, tidy her writing desk, replace the flowers in her vase daily, and collect any garments for washing.”

“Got it,” I said, peeking inside. The room was… elegant but somehow lonely — books stacked neatly on a small shelf, the curtains slightly parted to let the morning light in, and a vanity filled with unused brushes.

“When she finishes changing,” Reginald continued, “you are to escort her to breakfast in the dining hall. This shall be your morning routine.”

I nodded, trying to keep my nerves in check.

“Beyond that,” he went on, “you will assist in serving her meals, prepare her afternoon tea, fetch her books or embroidery supplies, and ensure she takes her lessons on time. When she wishes to walk in the gardens, you will accompany her. When she practices her etiquette or music, you will stand by in case she requires assistance.”

“That’s… a lot,” I admitted.

“That,” Reginald said with the faintest hint of a smile, “is the life of a butler. You will also be in charged of her correspondence — deliver letters, run errands within the estate, and at special times, accompany her to town under supervision. Your final duty is perhaps the most vital…” He paused, his gaze sharp. “You will protect her. Should danger ever approach, your life will serve as her shield.”

I stiffened. I couldn't respond, not because I was taken aback, but I have a goal much important to achieve.

“That is the duty of a servant bound to nobility,” he said. “You will serve not only with your hands but with your heart — unwavering, faithful unbroken, and loyal heart”

He turned toward me fully. “Do you still accept this path?”

I hesitated, glancing down the hall where the faint giggle of Eudia echoed as her mother brushed her hair.

I clenched my fists. “Yes, Sir Reginald.”

Reginald nodded approvingly. “Then welcome to the service of House Nirvoro. You begin tomorrow — at dawn.” He added. "And do call me just Reginald and I will call you Kiro, after all, we are both servants, honorifics would only suggest hierarchy". He added "I also don't wanna seem too old" he jokingly said.

"Yes, Si- Reginald" I replied, he smiled a like softly.

Reginald glanced at the clock on the wall before turning back to me. “You’ll need your uniform before your first day. Go to the tailor shop in the central district. The shop is called Le Flour. Give them this card and tell them it’s for House Nirvoro — a child’s butler summer uniform. The tailor, Mari, will know what to do.”

He handed me a small, black-embossed card sealed with the Duke’s silver crest. “Be quick about it. Tell her the deadline is tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Reginald.”

The capital was quieter than usual that morning. The sun hung low, casting gold through the mist as I made my way down the cobblestone path from the noble district to the city’s heart. I passed rows of blooming stalls — fruit vendors shouting out their prices, a baker sweeping crumbs from his counter, and guards stationed at every corner.

Each step brought me closer to the livelier part of the city. Music faintly echoed from a distant square, and the air smelled of freshly baked bread mixed with horse dung — an oddly nostalgic scent of busy streets and working hands.

After a short walk, I found it — Le Flour.

The sign above the door had an elegant thread and needle painted across it, the paint slightly chipped with age but still graceful. A small bell chimed as I pushed the door open.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of fabric dye and pressed cotton. Bolts of cloth lined the walls in every color imaginable, and mannequins stood by the windows wearing outfits fit for nobles.

A man probably in his late thirties looked up from the counter. His beard was thick but neatly trimmed and a moustache that was super fancy. What is up with these moustaches? And a tape measure hung around his neck like a medal.

“Morning there, lad,” he said warmly. “See anything you like?”

“I’m looking for Miss Mari. I was told she runs this shop.”

The man smiled faintly. “You’re in the right place, though I’m running things for a bit. My wife caught a cold, she’s resting upstairs. Name’s Vor. What can I help you with?”

I handed him Reginald’s card. “I was sent by Sir Reginald. It’s a special commission. He said I need it tomorrow morning.”

Vor blinked, then groaned. “That old man, still cutting deadlines close, eh?” He shook his head but smiled anyway. “All right then, let’s see what we can do for you. What did he say you needed?”

I straightened my back and repeated carefully, “A kid’s butler summer uniform.”

Vor chuckled. “Kid’s butler, huh? Don’t get many of those. Follow me to the back — we’ll get your measurements.”

The backroom was a maze of fabric rolls, tailor dummies, and spools of thread. Vor motioned to a stool in the center.

“Jacket off, lad. Arms up.”

I did as told. The tape measure hissed as it uncoiled. He started with my shoulders, then chest, then waist. He paused when his fingers brushed my arm and gave a low whistle.

“You’re built well for a boy your age,” he said, raising a brow. “Sword training?”

“Since I could walk,” I replied.

Whistling low "Your calves would put porters to shame" he added. "You must use a rapier?"

"How can you tell?" I asked curiously.

Vor grinned. “Figures. You got a thin frame with defined muscles, but your legs are big, suggesting you use a light weapon and explosive footwork. That could only mean a dagger or a rapier, but judging from your presence, you are confident not weary so a rapier.” I was at awe at his deduction. He finished the rest of the measurements, muttering numbers to himself, and writing it on a notepad he took from his back pocket then walked to the racks of hanging uniforms on the side of the shop.

“Hmm… this one might do,” he said, pulling out a neatly folded outfit. “Exact size as you, but it’ll be a tight fit. You’ll want something with more room to move — servants can’t afford restricted sleeves.”

He rifled through more hangers, then sighed. “Blast. The next size up’s too large. If you can wait till tomorrow, I’ll adjust this one myself and deliver it straight to the Duke’s estate.”

Before I could answer, a small voice called out, “Papa! Let me do it!”

A girl — hopped down from the stairway. Her brown hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and she wore a dress dotted with chalk stains.

Vor rubbed his temples. “Mariella, not now.”

“Please! It’ll be good practice!” she pleaded, clutching a notebook to her chest.

Vor sighed in defeat. “Forgive me, lad. My daughter’s… eager. But she’s a talented tailor in her own right, so there’s little to worry about.”

He gestured to her. “This is Mariella. My daughter she's ten years old.” she's older than me huh? Well technically I am much older than her.

She gave a bright grin. “Nice to meet you! I’ll make your uniform perfect, promise!”

I smiled awkwardly. “Nice to meet you too.”

Before I knew it, she grabbed my hands. “Hold still!”

“Eh—?!”

Vor face-palmed. “Mariella—”

But she was already tracing my hand on a notebook, her tongue sticking out in concentration. “He’ll need gloves too,” she murmured. “A proper butler can’t go around with rough hands.”

I chuckled softly. “You’re really passionate about tailoring, huh?”

She froze mid-trace. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she quickly held her notebook up to hide her face. “I-I’m just doing my job!” she said, peeking at me from behind the pages. “B-but thank you.”

Vor laughed quietly. “You heard her. We’ll take the Duke’s order as priority. Come by tomorrow, lad — it’ll be ready.”

The next morning, I woke before sunrise. The faint light of dawn crept through the curtains as I pushed myself out of bed and stretched. A short jog around the servant’s quarters courtyard, a few push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and pull-ups — just enough to keep my physique, but not to strain me as I have a long day ahead of me.

After coming back, a guard came up to me and handed me a box, it was a package addressed to me, "Don't worry, it has been verified to be safe, it came from the same tailor shop where we got our uniforms" he says with great pride and starts to show-off his uniform.

Afterward, I bathed, then laid out my uniform on the bed.

First, the undershirt — a plain white tank top. “Huh,” I murmured. “They have these here too.” It reminded me of the ones I used to wear during my construction days — meant to absorb sweat so the shirt above stays clean.

Next was the white dress shirt, shin-length socks, and knee-length shorts. Then came a long black ribbon "Not a chance" I chuckled it came with a pendant that looked like the Nirvoro crest. Three pairs of white gloves were neatly folded beside a black blazer.

I buttoned everything neatly and stepped out.

Mother was waiting outside, holding a bag. She eyed me from head to toe and sighed. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I knew this would happen.”

“Huh?”

She pointed at my feet. “Those are sparring shoes! Worn out and dirty.”

“Oh.”

She opened her bag and pulled out polished black dress shoes. “Here. Remember — how you present yourself reflects the Duke’s household and how the servants of the house are treated, so you must always dress sharply and walk with dignity.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

Her eyes narrowed. “And where’s your ribbon?”

I blinked. “This?” I held up the long black fabric.

“Give it here.”

She took it, tied it carefully around my neck, and clipped the pendant crest at the center.

I frowned. “A ribbon’s kind of tacky, isn’t it? Why not a bow tie or a necktie?”

Flick!

“Ow!” I clutched my forehead.

“Those are for adults,” she said sternly. “And for formal occasions. You’ll wear the ribbon until then.”

Then her tone softened. She smiled, smoothed my hair, and kissed my forehead. “Now off you go to the young miss’s room. Do your best, my little gentleman.”

I nodded. “Of course.” and gave her a warm smile, she smiled back and walked away.

As she walked off in the opposite direction, I stood a little taller. My hands tightened slightly — not from nerves, but determination.

Time to serve the young miss of House Nirvoro.

I stand in front of the young mistress’s door, double-checking that my ribbon is tied right and my gloves are spotless. The hallway’s quiet — only the faint ticking of a clock in the distance.

I knock three times.

No answer.

I wait for a few seconds, then sigh. “Excuse me, young miss,” I say, turning the knob, “I’m coming in.”

The room’s dim, curtains still drawn. I can barely see her at first — just a small lump buried under a pile of blankets. I walk to the windows and pull the curtains open. Light spills in, golden and warm.

She groans and yanks the blanket over her head. I almost chuckle. I head over to her bedside and lean over a bit.

“Young miss, it’s morning. You’ll be late for your recital practice.”

The blanket shifts a little, then suddenly — she bolts upright like she just realized the world’s ending. I freeze. She looks panicked, eyes wide.

“I-I have to hurry—!” she mutters, scrambling out of bed, fumbling through her wardrobe.

I turn my back quickly. “I’ll… get your clothes ready,” I say, trying not to sound awkward. I open her closet and look through the neatly arranged dresses — finally spotting the one Reginald told me she’d be wearing today.

“Here,” I say, holding it behind me without looking.

A pause. Then, in a small, shy voice, “Um… could you help me, please?”

I turn slightly. She’s standing there, half-ready, looking completely lost in her own dress. The ribbons are tangled, the buttons don’t line up, and the sash is inside out. I sigh quietly and step closer.

“Alright, hold still,” I say.

Helping her dress turns out to be a full task on its own. There are too many ribbons, too many folds, and so many tiny details that it’s almost like defusing a bomb. I tie the sash properly, fix the collar, align the pleats, and zip up the back carefully. Then I brush away the wrinkles with my hands and step back.

“There,” I say, checking her from head to toe. “No folds, no dust. You’re all set.”

She looks at herself in the mirror, cheeks puffed slightly, but smiles.

“Th-thank you, K-kiro.”

“Of course. Please head down for breakfast, young miss. I’ll tidy up here.”

When she leaves, I turn to the room — what a mess. I start by making the bed, shaking the sheets clean. Then I sweep the floor, stack the books on her desk, and gather the scattered papers.

Finally, I pick up the garments she changed out of — including her underclothes. I pause for a moment.

Heh. In those manga I used to borrow back home, this would’ve been the scene where the guy freaks out and blushes. But honestly? She’s practically the age of my daughter, if I ever had one.

I shake my head and chuckle quietly to myself, folding everything neatly into the laundry basket.

“Work’s work,” I mutter, standing straight again.

I make my way down the grand staircase, the polished railings reflecting the early sunlight that pours through the stained-glass windows. The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling butter hits me halfway down, and my stomach growls before I can stop it.

The kitchen is already alive with noise — knives chopping, pans clattering, and cooks calling out orders. A tall man with a thick moustache and a chef’s hat twice as tall as his head notices me standing by the doorway.

“You the new kid?” he asks, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Yes, sir,” I say, giving a small bow.

“Name’s Elmario,” he says, his tone half-strict, half-friendly. “Head chef of this household. The head butler told me you’ll be handling the young miss’s breakfast today.”

“Me?!” I blink. “But—”

He raises an eyebrow. “You her personal servant, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then that means it’s your job to make sure her mornings start right. A butler isn’t just someone who cleans and serves tea. You’re the first person she’ll see every day — so if she’s grumpy and hungry, that’s on you.”

I nod, feeling the weight of that. “Understood.”

Elmario gestures for me to follow him to one of the smaller kitchen counters. “We’ll keep it light but filling. The young miss likes sweet things, but not too sweet. Something with balance. You’ll learn to read your master’s moods through their appetite.”

He pulls out a few ingredients — eggs, milk, flour, a loaf of bread, and some fruit.

“Today, we’ll make honey-butter toast with scrambled eggs and fresh fruit. Simple, but if you burn it, I’ll make you eat the whole pan.”

“Yes, sir!”

He smirks a little and starts demonstrating. “First, toast the bread lightly — golden, not brown. Spread a thin layer of butter while it’s hot, let it melt, then drizzle just a little honey. The sweetness should come last, not first. That way, it doesn’t stick to the teeth.”

I follow carefully, each movement deliberate. The smell of warm butter and honey fills the air, and my stomach rumbles again — louder this time. Elmario glances at me and lets out a short laugh.

“Didn’t eat yet, huh?”

I scratch my cheek awkwardly. “I woke up early for duties. I… didn’t think about it.”

He folds his arms. “Rule number one: servants eat before their masters wake. You don’t get to eat while standing behind them, drooling over the food. Especially not in front of the Duke’s daughter. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Lunch and dinner, you’ll be fine — we do the cooking then. You’ll eat in the servants’ cafeteria. For now, just suck it up.” He turns back to his pot and adds with a chuckle, “Endure a little and I’ll sneak you an extra helping at lunch. Deal?”

I grin. “Deal.”

“Alright then, get back to your eggs. Gentle heat — they’re supposed to be soft, not rubber. Treat them like clouds, not bricks.”

I nod and focus, whisking the eggs and pouring them carefully into the pan. The butter sizzles, and I stir slowly until they turn creamy and golden. When I plate the toast, eggs, and fruit together, Elmario gives an approving nod.

“Not bad for a first day. Now go on, make it to the dining room before the food cools down. A butler’s dish must arrive warm, not late.”

I pick up the tray carefully, balancing it with both hands.

“Yes, Chef!”

As I walk out, I can’t help but think — if this keeps up, I might actually enjoy being a butler.

By the time I place the tray in front of her, Eudia’s eyes light up — but not with grace or calm like a noble lady’s should. She dives into the food like she hasn’t eaten in days, scooping eggs into her mouth and biting into the toast so fast I almost forget to breathe.

“Careful, you’ll choke,” I warn, sliding her a glass of water.

She grabs it, gulps, and lets out a tiny cough, cheeks puffed. Somehow, it’s adorable… but something feels off. The way she eats — fast, desperate — like she’s racing against something invisible.

Before I can ask, she finishes, wipes her mouth, and bolts from the chair.

“Wait—!”

She’s already halfway out the door. I sigh, grab a napkin, and follow after her.

“Miss Eudia, please don’t run in the halls,” I call out as we pass maids and footmen who stop to bow.

I catch bits of whispers behind me —

“Always so unladylike…”

“No manners at all…”

“Poor Duke, his daughter’s hopeless.”

My jaw tightens. They talk so freely behind her back, yet bow so deeply when she passes. Cowards.

Eudia suddenly slows down, her small shoes tapping softer against the marble floor. She stops by a tall oak door — her recital room. I stop behind her. She takes a shaky breath, pats down her dress, and fixes her hair with trembling hands.

I reach for the handle and open the door wide for her.

Inside, a sharp crack echoes — a ruler slamming against a chalkboard.

“You’re late again!” The instructor’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “A proper lady is never late.”

Eudia bows her head, her hands clutching the sides of her dress tightly. I can almost hear her heartbeat from where I stand. Now I understand why she was so frantic earlier.

“It’s alright,” I whisper. “Just take it slow today. If you do well, I’ll treat you to dessert later.”

She glances back, eyes glistening, and nods softly.

The instructor crosses her arms. “Enough whispering. Sit. Play what we practiced.”

Eudia picks up her violin and starts to play. The first few notes tremble, uneven. Smack! The ruler hits her hand.

My eye twitches.

“Straighten your fingers!” the instructor snaps.

Eudia flinches, continues playing — another wrong note. Smack!

Her hands are red now, and tears start forming. She crouches a little, trying to endure.

“Sit up straight!” Smack!

The ruler lands across her back this time.

I step forward. “That’s enough—”

“Who told you to speak?!” The instructor glares at me. “A servant has no right to interrupt!”

“She said it hurts.”

“She should learn to endure pain! A lady must—”

Crack! I grab the ruler mid-swing before it hits her again. My grip tightens, and the wood shatters like dry twigs.

The instructor’s face twists with outrage. “Insolent child!” She raises her hand to strike me, but I catch her wrist mid-air.

“You dare touch me?! You’re just a servant!”

“And you think you can hit the Duke’s daughter like this?” My voice drops low.

“I am one of the best violinists in Astailis! I have my methods—”

“One of the best,” I cut her off. “Not the best. Maybe that’s the reason why.”

Her face goes red. She grabs a vase off her desk and hurls it at me.

I see where it’s going — not toward me, but straight toward Eudia.

If I dodge, she’ll get hurt.

So I don’t.

Crash!

The vase smashes against my head. Pain explodes behind my eyes. Warm blood runs down my cheek. I wipe it upward, slicking back my hair, and glance at my bloodied glove.

“In accordance with the Kingdom’s laws,” I say through gritted teeth, “you’ve harmed a noble and attempted to murder a child.”

She freezes, realizing what she’s done.

“Guards!” I call. Two rush in almost immediately. “Detain her for harming the young miss.”

They grab her arms. She kicks and screams, “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Eudia hides behind me, trembling.

The instructor stops struggling just long enough to glare at her. “You—this is your fault!”

She lunges, but before she can reach her, I pin her to the ground, twisting her arm behind her back.

“That’s enough,” I say, voice low and cold.

The guards drag her out screaming. I turn to Eudia. She’s crying, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

“K-Kiro… you’re bleeding…”

I kneel a bit, giving her a small smile. “It’s nothing. As long as you’re safe.”

Her eyes soften, reflecting the light as I gently pat her head. The world starts spinning.

“Kiro!”

That’s the last thing I hear before everything fades to black.

When I wake, I’m staring at a white ceiling. My head throbs. My vision’s hazy, but I can smell herbs and medicine.

Two familiar voices rush to me — my mother and the Duchess, both with worry written all over their faces.

“Kiro! Thank the heavens you’re awake,” my mother cries, gripping my hand.

The Duchess sits beside her. “You were out for two days, young man. The healer said a vessel ruptured in your head. If not for the Duke’s emergency elixir, you might’ve…”

She doesn’t finish. I already know.

I smile weakly. “Is the young miss okay?”

“She’s fine,” the Duchess says softly. “She hasn’t left your bedside since you fainted.”

I look around, and sure enough, a small figure is sleeping on the couch nearby, violin case beside her.

My mother crosses her arms. “Don’t you worry about that instructor either. She didn’t leave unscathed.”

The Duchess chuckles. “Took two guards to pull your mother off her.”

“M-Mom—”

“If I’d hit her a few more times, she’d have no hands left to raise another ruler,” my mother huffs.

The Duchess sighs but smiles. “We’ve filed a lawsuit. Parents of other students are already sending in testimonies. That woman won’t see the light of day for a long time.”

I exhale in relief, sinking back into the pillow. My head still aches, but seeing Eudia safe… that’s all that matters.

After that incident, the household was in a bit of chaos. The Duchess had all lessons suspended until a new instructor could be found. Eudia’s schedule opened up for the first time in what felt like forever.

And strangely… she started following me around.

At first, I thought it was just because she was bored. But whether I was polishing silverware, trimming the courtyard hedges, or delivering reports to Reginald — she was there. Humming, watching, sometimes even handing me the wrong tool just so she could feel helpful.

During her breaks, she’d find me in the garden and sit under the shade, swinging her legs and nibbling on cookies while I worked nearby. I’d tell her to rest, but she’d only pout and say, “You’re resting too, right?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

She reminded me so much of Miya. That same innocent stubbornness, that same way of making silence feel alive. Every time she tugged at my sleeve or asked to hold the basket while I carried supplies, I could almost see my sister again — chasing after me with those bright, trusting eyes.

Days passed in a strange calm. The estate returned to its rhythm, though whispers still lingered about the incident. Then one morning, I overheard the guards talking near the kitchen.

Apparently, the instructor’s trial had ended.

Ten years in prison, they said. Ten lashes in public and her teaching license revoked.

But the part that caught my attention — someone tried to defend her. A representative from the Astailis Conservatory, pleading for leniency.

That… didn’t end well.

The court doubled her sentence to thirty years for defying the Duchess’s testimony. Justice, swift and certain.

Still, I didn’t want the gossip around Eudia to continue. So during her naps, when the estate quieted down, I started talking with the servants — those same ones who whispered before. I learned the instructor had been the one spreading false rumors about Eudia’s manners and learning.

“She’s difficult.”

“She’s hopeless.”

“She’ll shame the Duke’s name.”

All lies.

So, I made sure to correct them — with proof. I spoke of her progress, her effort, her diligence. How she still practiced scales in her room every evening, even after everything that happened. They were amazed at her resolve and that they were wrong about her.

At some point I even saw them apologizing to Eudia and praising her for her efforts. I saw her genuinely smile for the first time.

One afternoon, I was praising her again to one of the maids, saying how the young miss had learned more in three days with self-study than she had in weeks under that woman—

And then I felt eyes on me.

I turned.

Eudia was standing in the hallway, peeking from behind the corner. Her cheeks were red, but her eyes—bright as the morning sun—sparkling like waters reflecting light at me.

She didn’t say anything. I just smiled and waved at her and she hid after that.

I'm just glad she's okay now.