A Meal and A Slightly Terrified Maid

Time passed faster than I expected.

The heat of the rising sun pressed against my skin, its golden light spilling across the training yard. The air smelled of dew evaporating from the grass, mingling with the faint scent of sweat.

I turned my gaze to Clara, who sat cross-legged in the center of the room, her small frame rigid with concentration. Her eyes were shut tight, her brows furrowed in a delicate crease as she tried to resonate with the elusive mana that flowed through the world. Her hands rested on her knees, fingers twitching occasionally as if grasping at something invisible. She looked like a statue, save for the faint tremble of her eyelids and the occasional rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

I stepped toward her, my boots clicking softly against the stone floor. Her closed eyes twitched at the sound. She was listening.

"Let's take a break. We'll continue after breakfast."

Clara hesitated, her lashes fluttering before she opened her eyes. Then, as if by reflex, she adjusted her posture—kneeling neatly, hands resting on her lap. Her movements were quick, almost instinctive, as if she were bracing herself for something.

"How is your progress?" I asked, though I didn't expect much.

Clara's lips parted, but no words came out at first. Her eyes darted to the floor, and her hands clenched into fists.

"I… I can feel the mana," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I still can't resonate with it. I tried my best. I… I can't…"

Her voice broke, and her shoulders hunched as if she was carrying a weight too heavy for her to bear.

Her eyes trembled, shoulders tense.

I sighed internally. She shouldn't be this upset. No matter how talented someone was, mana resonance couldn't be rushed.

On average, forming the first mana circle took at least a week. The second, a year. The third, three years. The fourth, seven. And beyond that… I wouldn't know.

'MC should be in the third circle right now, and these years won't apply to him because he had a cheat.'

"It's fine." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Stand up and follow me."

Clara stiffened. Her pupils dilated slightly. Her entire body trembled.

Did I say something wrong?

I let out a quiet sigh and turned toward the mansion, letting her process whatever turmoil had gripped her.

---

The dining hall was a grand space, with high ceilings and long, ornate tables that could seat dozens. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished wooden floor. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, a comforting aroma that filled my lungs.

I called for a maid, and within seconds, a young woman—probably in her early twenties—appeared. But the moment her gaze landed on me, her face went pale.

Fear.

Not just caution or nervousness. Pure, visceral fear.

…Nathan's doing, no doubt.

I wasn't naïve. I wasn't a hero who could go around saving every person's life this bastard had ruined. My time in this world was limited, and I had my own survival to worry about.

But if fixing my reputation helped me stay alive? If having my family's support became a shield against the game's protagonist?

Then repairing the damage Nathan left behind was in my best interest.

I took a seat at the long dining table and motioned for Clara to sit beside me.

She hesitated. Just for a second. Then, moving with the grace of someone used to fading into the background, she perched on the edge of the chair—body stiff, fingers gripping the hem of her dress.

Even this is too much for her, huh…?

A moment later, the maid brought out two plates. One held wheat bread, delicate pastries, and soft cheese. The other carried roasted bacon, eggs, and a goblet of dark wine.

There was only one problem.

There was no food for Clara.

I frowned. "Where's her meal?"

"Eek—!" The maid flinched, eyes widening. "W-We haven't prepared one for her, Young Master."

My frown deepened. "What does she usually eat?"

The maid's eyes darted nervously to Clara, then back to me. "I… I don't know, Young Master. She's always quiet and prefers to be alone. She doesn't talk to anyone among the servants."

"And you've never tried to initiate a conversation with her?" I pressed on.

The maid shook her head, her face pale. "We've tried, Young Master, but she always runs away."

I glanced at Clara, who was staring at her feet, her hands clenched in her lap. Her body was trembling slightly, and her feet were turned inward, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.

I felt something unfamiliar in my chest. Annoyance? Pity? Frustration?

Whatever it was, I clicked my tongue and gave the maid a simple order. "Go prepare another meal."

"Y-Yes, Young Master!" She bolted like she had been given a second chance at life.

While waiting, I pushed my plate toward Clara.

She flinched, eyes darting between me and the food.

"Eat this. I'll take what the maid brings."

Her hands clenched on her lap. Her gaze flickered to the corners of the room, as if checking to see if someone would punish her for this.

After several moments, she reached out—hesitant, careful. She pinched a small piece of bread between her fingers and took the tiniest bite.

She chewed slowly. Deliberately. Like she was afraid to eat too fast.

She's… waiting for my food to arrive.

I didn't comment. I simply leaned back and waited for my own food.

---

Twenty minutes later, my plate arrived.

When the maid set it down, her mouth parted slightly—eyes locked on Clara, who was still eating.

Eating.

Without me.

Her disbelief was almost comical. A small smile tugged at my lips.

It felt… strange.

This was the first time someone reacted to me with anything other than disgust or terror.

Clara, however, had barely eaten a third of the food. She picked at the bread in slow, meticulous movements, as if taking too much at once would be a crime.

I let out a slow breath and dug into my meal. The bacon was crisp, the eggs soft, the wine rich but slightly bitter. Compared to Earth's cuisine, it wasn't much, but the quality was undeniable.

"Hic—!"

A soft hiccup broke the silence.

I glanced at Clara, who was now clutching the edge of her dress, struggling to suppress her hiccups.

…Wait.

Is she waiting for my permission to drink water?

A headache brewed behind my eyes. This girl…

I sighed. "Drink."

Only then she finally lifted the cup to her lips.

---

After breakfast, we returned to the training hall.

I told Clara to continue her meditation while I leaned against the wooden railing, watching her.

The unease returned.

Sitting here, doing nothing while my death loomed closer—it gnawed at me.

I needed a plan. A plan that would make me strong enough to fight with game's MC.

Shall I start Strength training?

One hundred pushups, One hundred squats every day? Something like that? No.

"How can I win by flexing my muscles when the protagonist has his sword pointed at my neck?"

This was a world of magic. While physical strength was important, I couldn't fight the protagonist with that alone.

Maybe Cardio? Running? Swimming?

Increasing stamina would be useful, but it's not like I had a system that would magically boost my stamina stats after I ran a certain miles.

I scowled.

'Maybe I should try it, it's better than doing nothing' as I thinking about it, a thought crossed my mind—

Library.

This estate had a library. Nathan rarely visited the library and those memories of his are also almost faded. I should try my luck—maybe I'd find something useful.

As I looked at Clara completely indulged in training, I moved to the direction of Library.