Marcus pushed open the door to his room. His mouth burned like he'd swallowed fire.

Iris had been so excited about trying "human extremes," as she called it, and picked the spiciest noodles the vendor had.

He could still see her violet eyes sparkling with amusement.

"It's just a little heat," she had said, while he sweated profusely and reached for yet another cup of cooling tea.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle on the desk.Damien was sprawled on the bed, one leg dangling off the edge, completely at ease.

He held a novel in one hand. Cookies crumbled in the other.

Marcus paused in the doorway, surprised but not unhappy. Damien looked up from the book, his eyes lighting up with that familiar mischievous glint.

"Well, well," Damien said, his mouth half-full of cookie. He swallowed quickly and sat up a bit. "Look who finally made it back. Guess you survived the confessions, huh?"

He grabbed a cookie from the pile and tossed it toward Marcus.

Marcus caught it mid-air. He took a small bite and the sweetness cut the spice a bit.

"Hey, sidekick supreme," Marcus replied. He grinned through the burn. "Or should I say room invader? What, you decide to set up camp here?"

Damien chuckled. "Camp? Nah, more like a strategic outpost. I've been gathering intel in my head, waiting for the report.

How'd the whole confession marathon go? Did any of them summon lightning or just give you the cold shoulder?"

Marcus crossed the room in a few strides and sank into the armchair by the desk. He fanned his face with one hand, still feeling the heat.

"Man, it was hard as nails," he said. "Stressful doesn't even cover it. And well... spicy, in more ways than one."

Damien's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Spicy? Come on, don't leave me hanging." He looked genuinely curious now, the humor pausing for a beat. "What, did Mom pull out some adventurer trick and spice up the talk literally?"

Marcus shook his head, chuckling despite himself. He reached for the water pitcher on the desk and poured himself a generous glass,

"No, nothing like that," he said, taking a long swig before continuing.

"It was Iris. After the heavy talk, she wanted to 'experience human cuisine extremes.' Dragged me to this sketchy noodle stand in the market district."

He set the glass down with a clink, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

"One bite, and I thought my mouth was hosting a fire magic demonstration. She just sat there, eating like it was mild soup, saying it 'tickled her palate.'

"Tickled! I was DYING." shouted Marcus as if expressing his pain.

Damien burst out laughing.

He slapped his knee. "An ancient elf and killer noodles? That's peak isekai nonsense."

"Yeah, laugh it up," Marcus said.

Damien wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling.

"Alright, alright. But enough about the food torture. Spill on the actual confessions. Start with Mom—did she freak when you dropped the 'I'm from another world' bomb?"

Marcus leaned back. He munched the cookie. "Your mom was gold. Took it like dungeon loot."

He mimicked Vivienne's shrug. "'Seen weirder,' she said. Mentioned gnomes in a trench coat once."

Damien snorted, nearly choking on a crumb.

"The trench coat gnomes? She's been telling that one since I was a kid. Classic Mom. And the whole alien soul thing? Did she buy it, or think you were pranking her?"

"Didn't even blink," Marcus replied, his tone admiring. "Said adventurers see weirder stuff every Tuesday. Made me feel like my story was boring in comparison."

Damien nodded, a fond smile on his face.

"That's her. Tough as nails but with a heart. Now, what about Catarina? Bet the duchess had you sweating more than those noodles."

Marcus chuckled. "She already knew half of it. Said I wasn't the lazy original Marcus."

He raised his hands. "Too competent, apparently. She laughed when I confessed."

Damien grinned. "Power move. She's always three steps ahead. Like a chess master."

"Exactly," Marcus agreed. He stole another cookie from Damien's pile. "Gave me conditions, though. Full honesty forever."

"Fair," Damien said. He guarded the remaining cookies. "Hey, those are mine. And Seraphina?"

Marcus's face sobered. "Tougher. She got angry at first. Felt like a plot pawn."

He sighed. "But she asked for time. Not a hard no."

Damien whistled. "Ice queen melting slowly. Progress, man."

"Yeah," Marcus said. He rubbed his neck. "Now Iris. That was... deep."

Damien leaned in. "The lifespan bomb? How'd she take it?"

Marcus nodded. "Took her a bit of time to accept it. She'll watch me age and die."

He paused. His voice softened. "But we talked. Decided the time we have is worth it."

Damien patted his shoulder. "Poetic. You're turning into a romance lead."

Marcus shoved him lightly. "Shut up. You're the rival who's now my wingman."

Damien laughed. "Best plot twist. Me helping you build a harem."

They both chuckled. The room filled with easy banter. Like old friends from Earth.

"Now, about next steps," Marcus started. "We need to—"

A sharp knock cut him off mid-sentence. It echoed through the small room.

They both jerked their heads toward the door.

"Expecting company?" Damien asked. His voice came out a whisper.

"Not me." Marcus replied.

"Maybe your harem decided on a group check-in?"

Marcus rolled his eyes, though a small part of him wondered. "Who is it?"

A muffled voice replied from the other side. "The housekeeper, Lord Marcus." It was polite, but firm. "May I come in?"

"Sure," Marcus called. "Enter."

The door creaked open. She wore a simple uniform.

She held a sealed envelope. Wax gleamed under the candlelight. "This arrived for you."

Marcus stood. He took it from her. "From who?"

"The Viscount," she said. Her tone was neutral. "Your father, my lord."

Marcus's heart skipped. He nodded. "Thank you. That'll be all."

She curtsied slightly.Then she turned and left, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft click.

Damien whistled low. "The big man himself. Open it."

Marcus sat back down. His fingers trembled a bit. He broke the seal.

The parchment unfolded. Elegant script filled the page. He read silently.

The words were precise, almost beautiful. But something about them set his nerves on edge. He read silently at first, eyes scanning quickly.

Damien scooted closer. "Come on, read it out loud. What's the damage?"

Marcus cleared his throat and read aloud. "Dear Marcus, certain family matters require your presence at the Aldridge Estate."

He paused, glancing at Damien. Damien's brow furrowed already.

Marcus continued. "Please return promptly. Do not delay this important discussion. Your father, Viscount Aldridge."

Damien frowned. "Sounds standard. Noble stuff."

Marcus shook his head. He pointed at phrases. "Look closer. 'Require your presence'—that's not a request. It's mandatory, like an order."

"And 'promptly'?" Damien asked. He squinted. "Yeah, that's pushy."

Marcus nodded. " 'Do not delay.' That's a threat. Come now or else."

Damien leaned back. "Full hostile undertone. Like a veiled dagger."

"Exactly," Marcus said. His voice dropped. "Polite words, but screaming anger."

Damien stood. He paced the small room. "What'd you do to piss him off?"

Marcus racked his brain. "No idea. Rumors about the women?"

"Possible," Damien said. He stopped. "Nobles gossip like fishwives."

"Or the prophecy," Marcus whispered. He felt a chill run down his spine. "If somehow word leaked about that..."

Damien stopped pacing. His face paled in the candlelight. "Oh shit. You're toast if that's it. Disowned at best. Executed at worst?"

"Worse than that," Marcus said. Cold sweat prickled his skin. "He could lock me away, call it 'family discipline.' Nobles have power."

They stared at each other. Fear mirrored in their eyes. No humor now.

"This is bad," Damien muttered. "Really bad."

Marcus nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. I'm screwed. And this is my first actual summon from him."

Damien blinked, surprised. "Wait, first ever? You've never met the guy?"

Marcus leaned forward. "Not since I... arrived. The original Marcus avoided him like the plague. But me? No face-to-face."

Damien rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Weird as hell. And the novel? It barely mentioned your parents at all."

"Side characters at best," Marcus agreed.

Damien sighed. "So we got nothing. No backstory."

"Zip," Marcus said. He folded the letter. "Complete unknown territory."

They brainstormed causes. Women. Politics. Estate issues. Nothing stuck.

Marcus groaned. "This is useless. We can't guess our way out."

"True," Damien said. He yawned. "It's late anyway."

Marcus glanced at the window. Moon high. "I'll leave at dawn."

Damien nodded. "Those 'polite' words scream hurry."

"Right," Marcus said. "Don't want to 'delay.'"

Damien grabbed his novel. He stood. "Good luck, buddy."

Marcus managed a weak smile. "Will do. Thanks. I need all the luck. Good night."

"Night," Damien said. He slipped out.

The room fell silent. Marcus locked the door. He blew out the candle.

Darkness enveloped him. He changed into nightclothes. Slipped under covers.

The bed was soft. But sleep dodged him. Thoughts raced.

The Viscount's face from memories. Stern. Cold eyes. Always judging.

What waited at the estate? Yelling? Punishment? Worse?

Marcus turned over. He punched the pillow. Anxiety gnawed.

But he was a life coach. Handled tough talks. Fixed broken people.

Faced death once. Transmigrated. Built a harem by accident.

One dad? Piece of cake. He could coach him too.

Yeah. Turn the confrontation into a session. Coach the Viscount if needed.

Confidence flickered like the vanished candle. Anxiety eased, just a bit.

Sleep crept in slowly. Dreams swirled—spice, threats, and a stern figure waiting.

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A/N:

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait, needed it for editing and well plotting the new one.

But I am back with the new volume and hope you guys enjoy it.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.