Daniel

It had been a long two days and night. He slept in the lab after working almost thirty six hours straight. He needed to finish this hardware so he could start on the system language. He was running out of time.

He needed a bed for at least a couple of hours but barely made it three steps out of the workshop before he was intercepted.

Two estate maids flanked him like ambushers with decades of polite warfare under their belts. One held a folded bolt of mana-threaded silk. The other was already sizing his shoulders with a floating chalk measure.

“There you are, Young Master Zhou,” one said, smiling brightly. “The fitting hall is ready.”

Daniel blinked. “The what?”

“The Imperial Gala,” the second maid said with practiced sweetness. “Your formal ensemble needs final enchantment and alignment. You have to be ready by this evening.”

“I haven’t even—”

“Exactly why we’ve come to collect you.”

They turned in tandem and began herding him toward the inner hall like he was a guest in his own skin.

By the time he entered the tailoring salon, he’d resigned himself to the process.

The room was all motion and light: floating mirrors, fabric bolts suspended in midair, tailoring tools clicking through mana patterns. Nathan was already on the central platform, arms out like a scarecrow, two seamstresses adjusting his sleeves with surgical intensity.

“Took you long enough,” Nathan said. “Thought you were going to skip out and pretend you forgot.”

“I tried,” Daniel replied flatly. “They found me anyway.”

“Of course they did,” Gavin called from the bench, legs stretched out as he flipped through a court etiquette scroll without reading a word of it. “There’s bloodhounds less tenacious than House Li maids.”

“Charming,” Daniel muttered.

A third maid motioned toward the open platform. “If you would, Young Master.”

He sighed and stepped up. Within seconds, chalk runes and measurement threads were dancing across his arms. His outer robe was whisked away. A new one—dark obsidian silk lined with silver thread—was floated toward him.

“This one is mana-responsive,” the head maid explained. “Shifts with your internal temperature, anchors to the pulse. We’ve also tailored the sleeves to accentuate angular movement. Just enough court presence without signaling aggression.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on NovelBin. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I don’t plan to throw elbows.”

“No, but it helps to look like you could.”

Daniel stood still as the robe was fitted and adjusted. Another maid circled with a spool of sky-thread, occasionally nodding or tutting under her breath.

Nathan chuckled as he watched. “Don’t look so miserable. Half the court would kill to be tailored by Mistress Addy.”

“I’d rather be debugging a feedback loop.”

Gavin looked up. “Isn’t this just a different kind of ritual array?”

Daniel gave him a sidelong look. “One that smells like lavender oil and judgment.”

The maids, of course, continued their work without pause.

“You’re too tense,” one murmured, gently lifting his chin. “Relax your shoulders, Master Zhou. You’ll photograph better that way.”

“I’m not being photographed.”

“Not with with the image captures maybe” she said, “but everyone’s watching. They always are.”

Another chimed in as she smoothed the collar: “Especially tonight. So many Path Icons in attendance. It’s going to be dazzling.”

Nathan raised his eyebrows. “Careful. You’ll scare him.”

“I’m not scared,” Daniel said. “I just don’t like being a spectacle.”

“Too bad,” Gavin said. “Because in front of the Imperial Court, you are one.”

Daniel didn’t reply.

Because he already knew that was true.

Before long, the final rune flared gold at his collarbone, then faded into the fabric.

“That’s it,” one of the maids said, brushing her hands together as if sealing a spell. “Aligned, fitted, and formal.”

Daniel stepped down from the platform. The robes felt… not heavy, exactly. But significant. Mana-threaded silk always carried weight differently—less on the body, more on the breath. Every step felt deliberate. Measured.

“You clean up alright,” Nathan said, mock-appraising. “Almost like you belong here.”

Daniel adjusted the high collar slightly. “That’s the trick, isn’t it?”

Gavin tossed the scroll aside and stood, smoothing out his own formal jacket. “Honestly, they did a good job. You look like you’ve got a bloodline with paperwork.”

Nathan grinned. “Maybe even a tragic backstory.”

“I do,” Daniel said. “It’s just classified.”

That earned a laugh. A real one.

But beneath the ribbing, the tension coiled tight. The gala wasn’t just another party. It was a signal. A declaration. Whoever walked under those floating crystal chandeliers tonight would be seen, ranked, and filed away in a thousand whispered conversations.

And Daniel?

He’d be the unknown. The anomaly. The man married to Vivian Li who had appeared out of nowhere with no spiritual pedigree and no House history anyone could trace with confidence.

A symbol—and a question mark.

The head maid reappeared with a lacquered case. She opened it with care.

Inside: a polished black signet, set with a small band of skyglass and the Li crest in silver foil. The formal seal of a bonded son-in-law, keyed to House recognition protocols.

Daniel stared at it.

“Wear it on the outer wrist,” the maid said. “It will identify you to Imperial security arrays without forcing a name announcement.”

Gavin gave him a look. “Basically—it says you’re one of us. Even if some people hope you’re not.”

Nathan added, “It’s also a polite way of daring anyone to question what House Li considers family.”

Daniel picked it up, fastened the clasp, and rolled his wrist once. The mana flared faintly. Brief. Clean.

There was a knock at the chamber doors.

A page peeked in. “The carriage is ready.”

Nathan stretched. “Time to go play noble.”

Gavin cracked his neck. “Try not to duel anyone during the appetizers.”

Daniel didn’t answer.

He was already bracing for the moment he’d step through those doors and realize—truly—that no one would be looking for him.

They’d be looking for Ethan Zhou.

And tonight, that meant walking into a hall of ghosts, power, and politics wearing someone else’s name... and making it his own.