Oliver sighed, defeated. "…I'm making progress. I made it walk before it died."

Seraphine added another line to her notes. "Failure with partial success. Better than expected."

Isolde facepalmed. "Spirits help me…"

And right when she opened her mouth to lecture him again—

The door banged open.

Ariana stumbled in, holding two paper packets and a bag of skewers.

"Guys! Guys! I brought food—!!"

Oliver spun around like he just saw salvation descend from the heavens. "Ariana! You're an angel!"

Isolde's stern expression cracked.

Ariana grinned proudly. "There's a new fried bun stall near the west plaza. People were lining up like crazy, so I bought some. And grilled meat skewers! And sweet dumplings!"

Oliver's stomach growled loud enough that even Seraphine blinked.

Isolde sighed, rubbing her forehead again. "…Fine. Training break."

Oliver nearly collapsed on the floor in relief. "Bless you."

Ariana blinked. "Uh… was the training that bad?"

Seraphine answered before either of them could speak. "Master Oliver has displayed consistent failure patterns. Emotional support and nutrition may increase performance by approximately 0.4 percent."

Ariana laughed awkwardly. "I'll… pretend that was a compliment."

Isolde waved them all closer. "Come on. Let's eat before everything gets cold."

Oliver practically shoved a skewer into his mouth. "If food tastes this good, I don't mind failing for the rest of my life."

Isolde flicked him again. "You will continue training after this."

"...I regret speaking."

Ariana giggled.

Seraphine observed the group eating with a tiny, curious smile forming — the kind that wasn't in her original programming at all.

The room warmed up with chatter, teasing, and the sound of shared food, shared failures, and shared laughter — the kind of small, comfortable chaos that felt like home.

*****

Days slipped by in a blur of training, rune practice, and Isolde's merciless fist bonking Oliver into enlightenment.

Now, in his room, more than a dozen tiny wooden dolls walked around in chaotic circles like drunken ants, each with a faint glowing rune on its chest.

Was it perfect?

No.

Was it magic?

Also no.

But it worked… mostly.

He still couldn't make one doll do two tasks without it malfunctioning and walking into a wall, but Isolde had declared:

"Fine. You've passed the bare minimum for not embarrassing me."

High praise. Probably.

But today wasn't about runes.

Today was the day.

A messenger arrived yesterday:

The otherworlders were here.

The Velanthris expedition begins tomorrow.

And tonight was a semi-formal meet-and-greet banquet for all participants — nobles, heroes, adventurers, commanders.

Which meant—

Oliver needed a disguise.

And unfortunately, that meant the girls had full creative freedom.

Which was why Oliver was currently sitting stiffly on a chair while three women circled him like predatory stylists.

****

"Sit still." Isolde grabbed his chin.

"I am sitting still," Oliver muttered.

"You're blinking too loudly."

"How does someone blink loudly!?"

Isolde ignored him, aggressively applying powder to his cheek.

Meanwhile, Ariana sat on the bed, a pile of bought accessories around her, chin resting on her palm.

"Hmm… maybe a noble look? No, no… something rougher. Adventurer noble hybrid? Or mysterious rogue? Or slightly emo?"

Oliver stared. "What does slightly emo even mean!?"

Ariana: "Black. A lot of black."

Seraphine, standing perfectly straight with a comb in her hand, tilted her head.

"Observation: Master's face symmetry is above national male average. Slight enhancement may cause excessive attention."

Oliver blinked. "Thank— I think?"

"Recommendation: reduce attractiveness by 12 percent."

"I… beg your pardon?"

Without hesitation Seraphine pushed his hair down over his forehead.

"Disguise applied."

Ariana burst into laughter. "HAHA– he looks like a depressed bard!"

Isolde snorted. "No, he looks like a widowed librarian."

Oliver groaned. "Can you three not enjoy this so much!?"

*****

Makeup Test #1

Ariana placed a dark cape around his shoulders.

Isolde slicked his hair back.

Seraphine adjusted his collar.

All three stepped back.

"…He looks like a tax collector." Ariana said flatly.

Isolde: "Yeah. The boring kind."

Seraphine: "Unfavorable. Nobles may avoid him."

Oliver threw up his hands. "Good! Then I don't have to talk to anyone."

"No."

All three answered at the same time.

****

Makeup Test #2:

Isolde loosened his shirt.

Ariana tied his hair back.

Seraphine applied a smudge on his cheek.

Oliver looked at the mirror…

"…Why do I look like I seduce married women in alleys!?"

Ariana wheezed. "Because it suits you too well!"

Isolde: "It does. Suspiciously well."

***

Makeup Test #3

Seraphine put glasses on him.

Isolde braided part of his hair.

Ariana added a long coat that brushed the floor.

He looked at the mirror again.

"…I look like a magician who hasn't slept since the last century."

Seraphine: "Accurate."

****

Makeup Test #4

Isolde finally pushed the others aside.

"Enough. Let me handle it."

She tied his hair loosely, added subtle shadows under his eyes, changed his jawline contour slightly, and tweaked his clothes — dark blues and greys, muted but elegant.

Ariana and Seraphine stepped back.

Ariana blinked. "…Wait. He looks… good?"

Seraphine scanned him. "Identity recognition drop: 89.4 percent. Acceptable."

Isolde dusted her hands smugly. "Told you. A disguise is not about changing the face. It's about changing the aura."

Oliver stared at his reflection.

"…I actually look like a different person. A cool person."

"You're welcome," Isolde said.

Ariana stretched. "Well… the heroes won't see this coming."

Seraphine nodded. "Master will blend seamlessly."

Oliver took a breath.

"Alright… let's see how tonight goes."

***

By the time the sun dipped behind the palace walls, the four of them finally staggered out of the inn — Oliver still poking at his stiff collar, trying to get used to the disguise the girls spent hours perfecting on him.

His dark hair had been slicked back in a completely different style, subtle illusions charmed into place by Isolde.

Ariana had refined his facial structure with contouring magic ("I learned it from a beauty class elective in the academy!"), and Seraphine held up a mirror, tilting her head in analytical evaluation.

"You look… extremely passable, Master," Seraphine declared.

"That sounds like an insult," Oliver muttered.

"It is accuracy."

Isolde laughed and hooked her arm through his. "Stop complaining. No one will recognize you with that face. Even I would doubt you if I didn't watch the process."

"Yeah, but did you really have to glue fake eyelashes on me?" Oliver asked.

Ariana pretended not to hear.

"You look elegant," she said with a straight face.

"Elegant? I look like I'm applying for a modeling agency."

"That's the point," Isolde said proudly.

After suffering an hour of makeup, outfit tests, hair adjustments, and Seraphine giving unhelpful analytical comments like 'cheek symmetry 3.1 percent improved', Oliver had given up completely and accepted his fate.

They finally reached the gates of Princess Elisha's palace, a separate, magnificent estate just a short walk from the main royal palace.

Golden lanterns lit the entrance. Uniformed guards stood at attention the moment they approached.

One of them stepped forward and bowed.

"Welcome, honored guests. Her Highness is expecting you."

Isolde lifted an eyebrow. "Look at that. Royal treatment."

"Feels weird," Oliver muttered.

"Better get used to it," Ariana chirped. "We're VIPs today."

They were escorted inside.

Elisha was waiting in the receiving hall — wearing a flowing blue evening dress, hair tied elegantly, looking every bit the princess of a great house. She brightened immediately when she saw them.

"You're here!" she said, walking toward them with an excited smile. "And you all look absolutely stunning. Oliver, especially—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her eyes narrowed.

"…Who are you?"

Oliver froze.

The girls burst out laughing.

"It's me, Princess," Oliver deadpanned, lifting a hand in greeting.

Elisha blinked several times.

"…That's Oliver?"

Isolde smirked. "We disguised him so well even his mother wouldn't recognize him."

Elisha circled him once, squinting. "He looks… strangely charming like this."

"Strangely?" Oliver muttered.

Seraphine tilted her head. "Master's attractiveness ratio has increased by 12.7 percent."

"Stop calculating that!"

Ariana giggled. "It's true though! You look handsome tonight."

Oliver surrendered.

"Alright, fine. Let's just go before I lose my mind."

Elisha clapped her hands.

"Then let's depart. The king's banquet awaits."

She led them out through the back gate, where a royal carriage trimmed in silver and sapphire waited.

Tonight's banquet was at the main royal palace.

As Elisha's personal guests — and soon-to-be members of the legendary expedition — they would be entering as part of her entourage.

Oliver gulped slightly as he stepped into the carriage.

"This is… really happening."

Isolde nudged him with her shoulder.

"Relax. You'll be fine. They won't recognize you."

Ariana smiled gently. "Besides, you're not alone."

Seraphine placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Threat level of current social engagement: medium. Probability of hostility: low. I will eliminate anyone who approaches with harmful intent."

"Don't say it like that!"

Elisha laughed brightly as she reached for the carriage door.

"Let's go, Oliver. Let's make an entrance worthy of a princess's party."

And the carriage rolled out toward the palace gates, lanterns glinting off the polished wheels as the night breeze carried the sound of distant music.

Tonight—the banquet with heroes, nobles, and dangerous politics—was about to begin.

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