The whole capital had transformed overnight. Banners hung from every building. Musicians played on street corners. The smell of food wafted up from a hundred different cooking fires.

Tournament day.

Well, the first day of the tournament month, technically. It was going to be a whole month of fighting. Three events. Culling rounds, then another event Theodore had no idea about, and finally the actual tournament, which was a classic bracket-style one-on-one fights. It was going to be a long month.

And loud.

And full of noble gatherings and balls and the like…

Of which he'd had plenty of already in the past few weeks.

Theodore's chill time had come to an end. The sewers were done, and the refrigerators were mass-produced, so his job was done there as well. They'd just yet to hit the market, which they would sooner than later. Aside from that, he'd just been spending time with his family and Freya.

Recently, though, he'd been forcing Freya into getting a hobby.

Surprisingly, she agreed.

Thus, currently, Freya was taking a shot at pottery of all things. Theodore still remembered the last time she'd fired the clay, it'd ended up in flames somehow. It was... something to watch, and it was frankly hilarious how she could literally fight with fire but not do this kind of work.

"Ugh, I hate this." Freya said, wiping her hands on her apron, which was now more clay than fabric. "It's so... messy."

"You're the one making it messy," Theodore pointed out, sitting on a bench nearby, watching her as he played with mana manipulation, several dozen spheres of mana surrounding him. "You don't have to force it. Just guide it."

"I'm guiding, it's not listening." She glared at the lump of clay on the wheel. Then she glared at the spheres. "And why're you showing off?"

"I'm not showing off."

"You're showing off."

Theodore splintered his brain into multiple streams with a deadpan, and several hundred spheres appeared around him. "This is showing off."

"Ugh." She reached for the clay again, her fingers sinking into it with a squelch that made her scowl. "Now you're just rubbing it in."

He laughed, and the spheres disappeared. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Nuh-uh, sorry won't do."

"You're not thinking of-"

She grabbed a fist full of clay and threw it in his general direction. He dodged easily.

"Freya," he warned.

"Stop showing off."

"I'm not, I was just-"

She hurled another handful, and he caught it in a shield of mana.

"Seriously?"

"You're the one throwing things at me," Theodore said, letting the clay fall to the ground. "Why don't you focus on your pottery instead of trying to murder me with arts and crafts?"

She looked down at the clay, which was rapidly turning into a misshapen lump. "It's stupid."

"It's an art. It takes practice. You can't expect to be perfect on your first try."

She made a face, then sighed. "Fine. I'll—"

The clay he'd been holding up secretly with magic dropped down on Freya's head. Theodore bolted. He heard her scream behind him, and then the sounds of pursuit.

Theodore leapt over a fence, ducked under a tree branch, and kept running, laughing the whole time. Freya was right behind him, covered in clay and shouting threats. They ran, people jumping out of their way or watching them with amusement. Finally, Theodore reached the edge of the estate grounds and scowled at the pond.

He turned. Freya glared daggers at him.

"I couldn't resist," he said lamely.

"You're dead," she declared.

He [Blinked] away.

***

Theodore was planning on playing his part in the tournament, winning some rounds, making an impression, but all in all he had no intention of trying to win at all. There was nothing worth that level of attention. His goal was to show enough to cement himself in the political landscape properly.

"Lord Theodore?" Jack said, and Theodore blinked, his attention returning back to the current situation. "You seem lost in thought."

Theodore smiled. "Well, I am. Regardless, I think this will work very well, don't you think?"

"Yes, indeed," Jack said with a smile, looking closely at the soil in his hand. "The medicine is working as expected."

"I hope so, we've spent a lot of time on this." And they indeed had. It had been one of Theodore's goals for quite some time to recover the contaminated soil, and finally, they had succeeded. "Now we just need to hand this solution over to our farmers."

"Of course," Jack said.

With that done, Theodore's tasks were mostly completed there in Holden for the day. The rest would be handled by someone else, or at least that was the hope. He had his own life to live, and the tournament was coming up in a couple of days. He would be busy with that, as would almost everyone else in the capital. It was a time of celebration and joy, not work. What Theodore Prime was doing back in the capital currently was nothing short of work, though.

***

"—and that's why I told Father that your innovations with the sewage systems are just fascinating. Who else would think to make ice underground? So creative." Lady Marisse's laugh tinkled like breaking glass.

Twelve.

Twelve gatherings in two weeks. Same gilded ballroom (different palace, sure, but who could tell anymore?), same conversations, same subtle-but-not-really magical dick measuring contests, and kill him, same flirting.

The refreshment table was nice though. Had those little cakes with the berries on top.

If only the ladies let him go.

Theodore maintained his polite smile, the same one he'd been wearing for—gods, twenty minutes now? Twenty-three, actually. He'd been counting the chandelier crystals to stay sane. Four hundred and thirty-six total.

Having kept up with Lady Marisse with his mind splintered, Theodore knew what to say. Thank [Parallel Processing]. At least some part of him didn't have to suffer through this godawful gathering. Thread one was assigned expression management. Thread two was counting chandelier crystals. Thread three was calculating the optimal escape trajectory through the cluster of silk-wrapped barracudas currently circling him. [Parallel Processing] was really pulling its weight tonight.

Back to Lady Marisse, though, Theodore said whatever his brain supplied to him.

"How thoughtful of you to say," he replied, taking a careful step backward only to find Lady Vivienne had somehow materialized there.

Damn. She was good. Or her mother had trained her well. Probably both.

"Prince Theodore," she purred, pressing close enough that he could smell her overwhelming perfume. Lavender and... was that vanilla? No, it was jasmine. And approximately three times the recommended amount.

"Lady Vivienne, a pleasure," Theodore nodded.

"I was just telling my sister about your brilliant mind. Surely a man of your... practical talents must get lonely with all that important work?"

Thread four: trying not to visibly cringe. That one was taking most of his processing power.

Lady Marisse's younger sister tried her rehearsed line: "My tutor says men who work with their hands are so much more virile than those stuffy academy mages."

Oh gods. Someone had definitely scripted that for her. The poor girl looked like she wanted to die even as she said it. He could relate.

"Indeed," Theodore said, watching Lady Vivienne's friend circle around to cut off his escape route to the dessert table. They moved like hunting wolves. Had they practiced this? They'd definitely practiced this.

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Also, if he angled left in about thirty seconds, there'd be a gap when the servant came through with drinks. Maybe forty seconds. The servant was moving slowly tonight. Probably been told to by someone's mother to give the ladies more time.

"We were hoping," Vivienne continued, her hand somehow on his arm now, "you might demonstrate that fascinating mana control we've heard so much about. Father says you can do the most amazing things with those spheres."

The way she said 'spheres' made Theodore want to bathe in holy water. Then set the holy water on fire. Then throw himself into it.

Freya, save me.

Lady Marisse leaned in from the other side. "Oh, but you must be exhausted from all your important work. Why don't we find somewhere more comfortable? My family has a private balcony room reserved. You could relax and show us your magical talents without all these prying eyes."

Private room. Right. Because that wouldn't immediately result in either a marriage trap or a scandal that would conveniently require a marriage to resolve. These weren't even subtle attempts. Did they think he was completely brain-dead?

Actually, don't answer that. They probably did. The "sewer prince" who'd been unawakened until recently—surely he'd be desperate for female attention, falling over himself for the first pretty face that smiled at him. His prior reputation as a womanizer definitely didn't help his case.

They clearly thought they had him. A socially awkward prince, surrounded by beautiful women showing interest? He'd surely stumble over himself to impress them. Marisse's hand was already moving toward his arm, Vivienne positioning to guide him toward the door.

He needed an exit strategy.

Theodore let his eyes widen slightly. Made his voice crack just a bit. "Oh, I... private room? I wouldn't want to impose…" He pulled at his collar nervously. "I'm not really... that is, I don't usually..."

The ladies exchanged glances. The fish was hooked. He could practically see them calculating dowry amounts.

"Don't be shy," Lady Marisse's younger sister said, clearly forgetting her next scripted line and improvising badly. "We don't bite. Much."

Someone definitely needed to fire her etiquette tutor.

Thread five engaged: social maneuvering mode.

"How wonderful. But first—"

He stepped backward, using Vivienne as a pivot point. She either had to let go or be spun around awkwardly. She let go. In the same movement, he caught Marisse's reaching hand and raised it to his lips for a formal kiss that redirected her forward momentum right past him.

"—I promised the Duchess of Westmark I'd examine her daughter's spells. The poor little girl is disabled, quite tragic."

He sidestepped the youngest, using a decorative pillar as a natural barrier. She'd have to go around, buying him seconds.

"But Lady Marisse," he continued, already moving, "your father's interest in the sewerage systems—do tell him the reports will be ready next week. The filtration efficiency has increased by thirty percent."

Marisse blinked, trying to process the conversational whiplash from seduction to sewage statistics.

"Lady Vivienne, your family's marble quarries would be perfect for the new pipeline contracts. Have your brother send a proposal. We're looking at a forty-year contract, quite lucrative"

"I... what?" Vivienne's carefully practiced smile faltered.

"And Lady..." he paused at the youngest, "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Your mother is...?"

"L-Lady Pemberton," she stammered.

"Ah yes, the grain futures. Do tell her the refrigeration units will revolutionize food storage. Investment opportunities available next month. First investors get preferential rates."

He'd turned their romantic ambush into a business meeting. Their faces showed the mental whiplash. This wasn't in whatever script their mothers had given them.

"But the private room—" Marisse tried one more time.

"Would be inappropriate without a proper chaperone," Theodore said with perfect courtesy that somehow made her look like the forward one, which she was, quite shamelessly so. "Your reputation, my lady. We must think of your honor. What would people say?"

The servant with drinks finally arrived—forty-three seconds, he'd been close—and Theodore smoothly grabbed a glass while using the tray as a moving barrier.

"Ladies," he said with a perfect court bow. "Such a pleasure. Do enjoy the rest of the gathering."

And he was gone, leaving three very confused young women in his wake.

***

General POV

The three of them stood there, watching Prince Theodore somehow vanish into a crowd that should have been too thin to hide in.

"What just happened?" Lady Pemberton's daughter—Elise—asked. "Mother said he'd be easy. She said he'd be desperate and awkward and—"

"Shut up," Vivienne hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "He's playing hard to get."

"Playing hard to get? He just turned my seduction into a quarterly report discussion. About sewerage!" Marisse's voice pitched higher.

"He's probably intimidated by proper ladies," Vivienne insisted. "All that time with commoners and pipes. He doesn't know how to handle real women."

"He seemed to handle us just fine. Did you see that footwork? My dancing master can't even move like that," Elise muttered.

"Maybe he prefers men? That would explain why he didn't react to any of our signals," Marisse suggested, desperately trying to salvage her pride.

Vivienne snorted. "Our signals? Elise told him he was virile. My grandmother could have picked up on that signal."

"Mother wrote that line!" Elise protested.

"Your mother is an idiot," Marisse said flatly.

"We have the same mother!"

"Exactly!"

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Around them, the gathering continued, other nobles laughing and mingling, completely unaware of their humiliation.

"He knew exactly what we were doing," Elise said quietly. "He was three steps ahead the entire time."

"No," Vivienne said firmly. "He's just... socially inept. We came on too strong for someone so sheltered. Next time—"

"Sheltered? Have you forgotten how he used to be? Next time? Did you not hear him? He just gave us business propositions. He turned us into merchant discussions. We might as well be trying to seduce a calculator."

"Maybe that's it," Vivienne said, brightening slightly. "He only thinks in terms of business and infrastructure. We need to approach him differently. Talk about... I don't know, pipes or something."

"I am not seducing a man by discussing pipes," Marisse said.

"Well, what we just tried certainly didn't work!"

***

Theodore POV

Safe. Finally safe. Theodore had found refuge behind a large decorative plant near the refreshment table. Good height, excellent leaf coverage, and most importantly, a clear line of sight to the exit.

Mother was watching him from across the room. Her expression now included a tiny smirk. She'd seen the whole thing. Great. She'd probably want to discuss his "excellent handling of marriage prospects" later. Maybe give him tips on how to be even more diplomatically evasive.

Kill him now.

Gods, he hated politics. Hated the games, the doublespeak, the marriage ambushes disguised as conversation. Give him a broken sewage line any day. At least pipes were honest about being full of shit.

He grabbed one of those little cakes with berries on top. His first of the evening, thanks to the noble lady blockade. Made it taste even better, honestly.

Victory cake.

Theodore took another bite of cake and began his mental tally of suffering.

Twelve.

Twelve gatherings in two weeks.

Theodore had counted like some kind of desperate prisoner marking days on a wall. And this one—this one was shaping up to be just as mind-numbing as the rest.

The refreshment table was nice though. Had those little cakes with the berries on top. Silver lining and all that.

Theodore grabbed another one, his fourth—or was it fifth?—and watched the room while trying to look like he wasn't hiding behind a decorative plant. Which he absolutely was, he could probably slip out the servants' door if he timed it right between—

Nope. Mother had realized what he was planning. She gave him The Look from across the room. The stay-put-and-be-social-or-else look.

Great.

He popped the cake in his mouth and went back to his default time-killing activity: making tiny mana spheres orbit around his fingers. Just something to do with his hands while he waited for enough time to pass that he could claim he'd "mingled" and escape to his workshop. The sewers wouldn't design themselves. Well, they wouldn't improve themselves. The designing was done, but there were always improvements, optimizations, little tweaks that could—

"Theodore? Is that really you?"

Oh no. He knew that voice. That particular brand of condescending surprise that somehow managed to sound both shocked and smugly unsurprised at the same time. Theodore turned, already arranging his face into what he hoped was a pleasant expression.

Prince Damon of Zenonis stood there, looking exactly as Theodore remembered from those diplomatic visits years ago. Tall, golden-haired, wearing robes that probably cost more than a district's monthly infrastructure budget. Still had that same expression too—the one that said he was doing you a massive favor just by acknowledging your existence.

"Damon," Theodore said, because what else was there to say? Hi, remember when you spent three hours at that dinner party telling everyone about how I was a cautionary tale about weak bloodlines? Good times.

"Last I heard, you were still unawakened. But here you are! Attending gatherings like a real noble!"

Apparently managing to not drool on himself was an achievement worth noting. Theodore kept the pleasant expression plastered on his face.

"Things change," he said, keeping it simple. No point in elaborating. Damon wouldn't care about the actual answer anyway. He was already looking past Theodore, making sure other people were watching this interaction.

Of course they were. Prince Damon gracing the infamous "Wastrel Prince" with conversation? That was gossip material right there.

Damon's eyes fell on the little spheres still orbiting Theodore's fingers.

His smile widened.

"Oh, how... quaint," he said, loud enough for the growing cluster of nearby nobles to hear. "You've learned to make light spheres. I remember when I first learned that—I was six, I believe?"

Someone tittered. Of course they did. Theodore let the spheres dissolve, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Should have stuck with the plant.

The plant wouldn't have judged him.

"Still," Damon continued, turning slightly to address the gathered audience while pretending he was still talking to Theodore, "it's wonderful that you're trying. Really, it's inspiring. Even those with limited potential can contribute something, can't they? I heard you've been playing with pipes?"

"Sewers, actually," Theodore said flatly.

"Sewers!" Damon laughed like Theodore had told the best joke. "How wonderfully practical. Someone has to think about these things, I suppose. The mundane necessities."

Right. Because revolutionary sanitation infrastructure that would prevent disease and improve quality of life for hundreds of thousands was "mundane." But sure, Damon's ability to make sparkly butterflies out of mana was the real contribution to society.

Just had to endure a few more minutes of this, then he could claim urgent business elsewhere. Maybe there actually was urgent business.

"Which focus crystal are you using?" Damon asked suddenly, gesturing at where Theodore's spheres had been. "The Beginner's Embrace? Don't be embarrassed—everyone needs help at first."

"I'm not using any tools."

"Of course, of course." Damon's tone suggested he was humoring a child. "'Natural talent,' yes?"

More chuckles from the peanut gallery. Great. Theodore was becoming the evening's entertainment. At least the cakes had been good.

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