CHAPTER 36: 33: OUTFITTING.

Edward had only just finished breakfast when Emilia arrived.

Correction, stormed in.

Behind her trailed three tailors, two servants balancing armfuls of fabrics, and one poor soul hauling what looked suspiciously like an entire wardrobe. Within seconds, his quiet morning had transformed into a battlefield of colour, perfume, and noise.

"Young master," Emilia announced briskly, "The tailors are here, we will proceed to choose outfits for the royal ball"

Edward blinked. "I’m sorry—what?"

Before he could process that, the system chimed.

[ New Objective: Impress at the Ball ]

[ Bonus Reward: Unknown ]

He stared at the glowing panel, struggling with the urge to punch a hole in it.

"You will need to be fitted immediately," Emilia continued, ignoring his visible despair. "The tailors will prepare several options. Your task is simple—choose one and do not ruin it before the event."

"That’s-" he began, then stopped as one of the tailors looped a measuring tape around his neck.

He sighed. "-a very specific instruction."

The measuring began. He was poked, prodded, twirled, and wrapped in swathes of fine fabric faster than he could blink. The tailors spoke in rapid bursts to each other, arguing about shades and cuts.

"Gold would bring warmth to his complexion."

"No, silver! He’s too delicate for gold."

"Velvet, then."

"Velvet creases! He’ll look tragic."

Emilia folded her arms. "We are not dressing him to look tragic."

Edward’s left eye twitched. "I’m still here, you know."

The chaos continued on for a long time. At one point, a tailor tripped over a discarded roll of silk, nearly colliding with Edward, who stood frozen with pins sticking out of his cuffs like some unfortunate pincushion of a noble. Another tailor yanked at his sleeve, muttering something about "line integrity," while a third circled him with a measuring tape like a predator sizing up prey... which genuinely scared Edward a little.

He wasn’t even sure what they were doing anymore. They weren’t measuring him—they were studying him.

"I miss T-shirts," he muttered, just loud enough for the universe to hear his despair.

"What was that?" Emilia asked sharply, not looking up from the stack of fabrics she was judging with the intensity of a battlefield strategist.

Edward straightened instinctively. "Nothing, ma’am."

"Stand still," one of the tailors said, tugging at his collar. "You’re wrinkling the silk."

"It’s on me, how is that—"

"Wrinkling. The. Silk."

Edward pressed his lips together and decided not to test how far noble patience could stretch.

The room buzzed with tension and perfume, the rustle of fabric and the quiet clinking of jewellery boxes filling every inch of air. Someone dropped a pin. Another cursed softly in apology. It was like watching chaos choreographed perfectly to the rhythm of misery.

And just as he began to think this nightmare couldn’t possibly escalate further-

The door opened.

Calen D’Arvis stepped in.

Edward froze mid-fidget, half his shirt undone as a tailor fussed over his collar.

Oh no-

He instinctively covered his body with his arms, eliciting a rebuke from the tailor measuring him.

He wasn’t even dressed properly damnit! Could they have not closed the door!?

Wait I’m a man, does it even matter?-

But he still needed his privacy, whether he was man or not!

Wait isn’t that what the system would want me to think-

"Sir Calen," Emilia greeted, interrupting Edward’s misery. "Perfect timing. We require a second opinion."

Calen’s sharp eyes scanned the chaos, then stopped on Edward. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze—quick, unreadable.

Edward felt his cheeks heat for some reason.

He walked closer, and Edward tried not to look as awkward as he felt.

"The deep blue," Calen said simply. "It suits him best. It brings out his eyes."

Edward blinked, his ears going red now. "O... oh."

The system chimed instantly.

[ Affection (Calen D’Arvis) +1 ]

He wanted to throw something. Maybe his own body out of the window.

Emilia nodded approvingly. "Yes. Deep blue with gold embroidery. Excellent choice."

The tailors rushed to comply, replacing the half-draped fabrics with shimmering blue silk. The chaos resumed, but this time quieter, more focused.

This continued for a long time, long enough to make Edward feel like that his legs were starting to grow roots into the floor.

When they finally stepped back, Edward stood before the mirror, dressed in a fitted navy doublet embroidered with golden ivy patterns. The cream silk beneath glowed faintly in the sunlight, the frilled collar framing his neck. Slim black trousers completed the look, tucked neatly into polished boots.

He barely recognized the reflection.

The person in the mirror was someone else entirely—elegant, poised, radiant. Someone who belonged to this world.

And for a moment, he hated it.

He genuinely did.

The nausea came out of nowhere, grasping at his throat as it clawed its way up his body.

Before he could descend deeper into that hole, Emilia’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Well?"

"It’s..." Edward forced a small smile. "Perfect."

Emilia nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned to bark new orders at the tailors.

Calen lingered behind, watching quietly.

Now that he thought about it.

He had been seeing Calen a lot recently, more than anyone else in this household, even his own father.

He wondered if there was something going on...

He was standing still when Edward glanced at him through the mirror, uncertain. "What?"

Calen met his gaze. "You look like you belong."

Edward’s heart gave a strange little stutter. "That’s... good, I suppose."

"Good," Calen said simply, before turning on his heel and leaving as abruptly as he’d come.

When the door clicked shut, the room fell into silence again—only Edward, his reflection, and the faint hum of the system.

[ Objective Progress: 42% ]

[ Sub-objective Added: Attend the Ball Without Dying of Embarrassment ]

Edward exhaled through his nose, shoulders slumping. "I hate you."

The panel blinked cheerfully.

[ Encouragement: You’ve Got This! ♡ ]

He fists twitched, but he somehow managed to hold back from punching the panel.

He glared. "No, I don’t."