Reincarnated As A First Rate Villain: I Don't Know How To Play My Role-Chapter 48

"Mmm... Marie..." Lucien mumbled the name in his sleep, the syllables heavy with drowsiness as they slipped past his lips. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he stirred, eyelids fluttering against the soft glow that tinged the room in hues of pale green. It was a strange, ambient light that seemed to hover within the very walls, pulsing softly—gentle as a lullaby, yet alive with ancient energy.

As his senses slowly returned, Lucien blinked and scanned his surroundings, momentarily disoriented. The fine velvet curtains, the intricate bookshelf of bound tomes and potion jars, the ornate carpet bearing the winged lion insignia of House Velebrandt—yes, this was his room. And standing beside his bed, still in ceremonial attire, was none other than Marie, his maid.

"Young Master Lucien," Marie said gently, dipping her head with graceful composure, "the Grand Duke has ordered me to wake you and help you prepare for the celebration of your birthday."

Lucien’s eyes opened wider in realization. "Ah... right," he murmured, sitting up slowly. "That’s tonight."

His mind groggily shuffled through the pieces. The carriage ride, the greetings, the decorated streets—yes, it all made sense now. The grand celebration of his official birthday was to take place this evening. Somehow, he had completely forgotten amidst his long nap.

He shifted his legs off the bed, back straightening with an audible stretch and a faint sigh escaping him. Just as he began to stand, his eyes caught the noble attire Marie had laid on the nearby bench. Its fine embroidery and the subtle shimmer of mana-thread were impossible to miss. It was elegant—perhaps even excessive for a child his age—but it carried with it the weight of ceremony, status, and tradition.

Before he could admire it further, however, he felt something wet slide down his chin.

"Huh?"

His fingers reflexively touched the corner of his lips and his cheeks, only to feel the undeniable slickness of drying drool.

"Oh... damn."

Lucien’s face flushed. In one swift motion, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then cast a sideways glance at Marie, who was—of course—watching quietly.

She hadn’t said anything. But the soft, barely-there smile curling at the edges of her lips told him all he needed to know.

Lucien turned his face away slightly, ears tinged with a faint pink hue. "You saw that, didn’t you..."

Marie didn’t reply, but her smile deepened with a touch of amusement. She gave a polite half-bow, her voice poised and delicate. "I shall pretend I didn’t, young master."

Lucien sighed in embarrassment, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Just then, a soft boom echoed across the skies.

Lucien’s head jerked toward the large window. A kaleidoscope of color burst across the heavens, the glow briefly illuminating his entire room. Gold and silver blooms unraveled midair, chased by twinkling greens and vibrant reds, shimmering like falling stars.

Lucien approached the window slowly, placing a hand on the clear glass. More fireworks followed, each one exploding with rhythmic precision. They weren’t crude; these weren’t the work of simple alchemists. There was refinement in their shape, control in their spread.

"...So this world has fireworks too," Lucien mused aloud. "I guess if they have floating islands and airships, this shouldn’t surprise me."

The next volley of lights bloomed in the sky like lotus petals unraveling in moonlight.

For a moment, he simply stared, his reflection caught between panes of glass and bursts of firelight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the weight of the situation—the game, the system reset, his rebirth—drifted away. For now, he was a boy again. Just a boy watching fireworks, wondering about the world.

"Forgive the interruption," Marie’s soft voice came again from behind him, "but the Grand Duke, Archduchess, and some distinguished guests await your arrival, young master."

Lucien blinked, snapping back to the present. "Right," he replied, turning away from the window and stretching his arms overhead. "Can’t keep them waiting, can I..."

With a yawn, he took a long breath and rolled his shoulders. His joints popped from his earlier sleep-induced stillness. He walked over to the bed and retrieved the finely prepared noblewear, the fabric cool and smooth under his fingers.

As he examined the intricate design, Marie took a step forward.

"Shall I assist you with your bath, young master?"

Lucien nearly dropped the coat.

He stiffened, blinking once... then twice. His mind scrambled. She had said it so casually, so professionally—but to him, it was like a lightning bolt to the spine.

He turned his head slowly, visibly flustered. "T-That won’t be necessary! I can bathe myself."

Marie tilted her head ever so slightly, her gaze steady but not unkind. "Of course. Then I shall prepare your attire in the meantime."

Lucien nodded too quickly. "Y-Yeah, thanks..."

She turned with a smooth curtsy and stepped back toward the bench, beginning to fold and lay out the garments with methodical grace. Meanwhile, Lucien bolted toward the adjacent door to his private bath, face still tinged with color.

Inside, the sound of running water echoed as he muttered to himself.

"I swear... if I let her do that, I might really become the villain the world fears..."

He splashed cold water over his face.

"...I’ve reincarnated as a supposed abyssian heir. But my greatest threat right now might just be beautiful maids."

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The soft hum of water had long faded, and the gentle mist that lingered in the grand marble bathroom swirled faintly around Lucien’s silhouette. The fatigue that once clung to his bones like wet cloth had all but vanished, washed away by the calming heat of the bath. He moved with slow, deliberate grace, steam still rising from his damp skin as he wiped himself dry with a pristine white towel. A second towel was wrapped securely around his waist.

His breath was steady, but there was a subtle tension in his movements—not from fatigue, but from the creeping nervousness that came with knowing the eyes of an entire mansion, maybe even the Empire itself, would soon fall upon him.

Lucien glanced at the bathroom door. The ornate brass handle glinted faintly under the luminescent crystals that lit the ceiling. With a soft creak, he opened it just a sliver and peeked through.

Outside, maid Marie stood near the edge of his chamber. She was thoroughly inspecting the chosen attire for the evening celebration—a tailored noble coat of midnight blue, laced with silver embroidery that glimmered like stardust, and crisp white trousers adorned with subtle patterns of the Velebrandt sigil. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, examining for imperfections with a devotion that surpassed routine.

Lucien blinked at her fastidiousness. "Marie," he called out softly.

She turned instantly, poised and attentive. "Yes, young master?"

"Could you bring me the clothes?" he asked, still only partially visible behind the door.

Marie nodded without hesitation. She gently folded the garments over one arm and approached the door with light steps, as graceful as a dancer. Lucien opened the door just wide enough to take the neatly bundled clothes, avoiding eye contact out of modesty.

"Thank you," he murmured, shutting the door once again with a muted thud.

Minutes passed.

After dressing, Lucien stepped out of the bathroom fully clothed, the noblewear fitting him like it had been tailored by starlight itself. The deep blue of his coat accentuated the silver sheen of his hair, which had been gently brushed and now rested smoothly around his face. His red and gray heterochromatic eyes shimmered in contrast, a reflection of otherworldly charm. The finely polished black shoes completed the look, clicking gently against the polished floors as he walked.

Lucien paused near the center of his room, tugging lightly at his cuffs, then adjusting the silver cravat at his collar. He smoothed the fabric at his sides for what felt like the third time, as if tidiness might somehow anchor the flutter in his stomach.

He turned to Marie, who had been silently watching him with both admiration and amusement. For a moment, her composure faltered. A blush crept into her cheeks, subtle yet undeniable.

Lucien noticed.

He cleared his throat, then gave a small, uncertain smile. "So... do I look alright?"

Marie blinked at him, startled. "Young master... ’alright’?"

Her voice held the faintest incredulity, as though he had asked if the stars in the sky were merely passable.

"If you merely look ’alright,’ then I fear for the standards of every nobleman in the Empire," she added, half-teasing, half-sincere. "You look absolutely perfect."

Lucien felt the tension in his chest loosen. "That’s a relief," he said with a sheepish chuckle.

Marie gave a slight curtsy. "Are you ready, young master?"

He exhaled deeply. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

With that, the two exited the room together.

The corridor beyond was bathed in soft golden light, its crystal sconces flickering like enchanted lanterns. Every few meters stood intricately carved statues of winged lions, the Velebrandt crest brought to life in stone. The walls bore portraits of ancestors and tapestries woven with stories of ancient victories, their silken threads glinting subtly as the pair passed.