Chapter 6: Frustration

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Dark senses were a chaotic blur, sounds were muffled, his vision lost in an endless void, and his body... completely unresponsive.

No matter how fiercely he willed it, his fingers refused to twitch, his legs felt like they were miles away, and even the simple act of breathing felt distant, as though he were watching himself struggle from some far-off place.

Yet even in that dark prison, one thing remained painfully clear, voices.

Two of them.

Whispering.

Talking.

Probably Gossiping.

Annoyance flared within him.

'Why won't they just shut up?' he thought in frustration.

The two women, whoever they were, still continued talking, their words threading through the thick fog in his mind, although they were unclear, yet certain words managed to pierce through his ears.

"...Master... didn't command him…"

"...Butler… said he didn't know…"

"...Frame... make you take the blame…"

Master?

Butler?

Frame?

'What are they even talking about?'

'Is this some sort of twisted joke?'

'Am I in some weird drama reenactment?'

But the tone of their voices wasn't playful.

It was laced with worry, with anxiety.

But it didn't change the fact that they were irritating.

Every word they spoke he hated it, being forced to listen, unable to move, unable to even glare at them, unable to silence them.

His world had always been one of action.

He commanded his body, and it obeyed without question.

He made a decision, and the world bent to his will.

But now… he was a prisoner in his own flesh.

No.

No, this can't be real.

'When did the modern world start having butlers and masters?'

'Who even used such titles anymore?'

Maybe in those pretentious upper circles, the kind he avoided unless he was on a job.

But these two didn't even speak like anyone he knew.

Their speech was too formal, too precise, like something out of a historical drama.

Had he been kidnapped and thrown into some crazy roleplay scenario?

Or was this some cruel trick his mind was playing on him while he was half-dead?

But the longer they spoke, the less it felt like a performance.

"...I don't know if he will recover… not like this."

"...I was told to stay and keep watch…"

Every word was a drip of cold water on his patience, freezing his thoughts in place.

'Stop talking.'

'Shut up.'

'I need to think.'

'I need to—!'

But his thoughts were spiraling.

He tried to force his arms to move.

Nothing.

He tried to flex his fingers.

Nothing.

Even his eyes refused to open, as if glued shut by something.

Panic and fury warred in his chest, but neither could overpower the cold reality.

He was trapped.

Trapped in this frozen darkness.

And these two chattering idiots were making it worse.

'If I could just… if I could just move—! If I could just speak—!'

Their words washed over him again, meaningless noise that only fanned the flames of his frustration.

They didn't know he was listening.

They didn't know that each syllable was a fresh strike on his nerves.

"...I just hope nothing worse happens…"

'Worse?'

'Oh, you have no idea what's worse.'

'If I could stand... if I could just stand, I'd throw you both out of this room.'

'Maybe threaten you, maybe silence you, maybe... no, focus.'

'That's just the anger talking.'

'Think.'

'Think, you idiot.'

But it was hard to think when all he could hear were their constant voices.

Noble.

Master.

Butler.

'What does any of this mean?'

'Where am I?'

They were distracting him, their gossip tearing at his concentration.

He needed to focus.

He needed to get his bearings.

He needed to wake up.

To stand.

To figure out where he was, who had brought him here, and why they were using titles like they had walked out of a medieval novel.

But first, he needed them to stop.

'I swear, the moment I can move, I will make you regret every useless word you've been spouting that is adding more questions to the ones that is already in my head.'

'No. Control. Control yourself. Anger is a weapon, but only if you wield it. Don't let it wield you.'

'Fine. The first step is clear. I have to wake up. I have to shut them up. And then… then I need answers.'

Master.

Butler.

Noble.

Those words repeated in his mind, a confusing riddle.

But one way or another, he would get his answers.

He just needed to break free of this paralysis.

And then those two talkative nuisances would either tell him everything they knew… or they would wish they hadn't opened their mouths at all.