The first thing Adam noticed when he woke wasn't the sunlight gently painting gold across the windows.
It was the smell.
His eyes snapped open. He sat up—and immediately gagged.
"What the hell—?!"
It stank like something had died, crawled back to life, then died again. A mix of rotting eggs, burnt sulfur, and something that reminded him of gym socks left in a dungeon.
His eyes dropped.
Black.
Thick, bubbling black bile coated his skin, gleaming slickly in the pale morning light. It clung to his chest, pooled in the dips of his collarbone, streaked down his thighs like living tar.
"WHAT THE FU—!"
Knock knock knock.
"Young master?!" came the sharp voice of his butler through the door. "What happened?!"
"N-Nothing!" Adam yelped, flinging the covers off with a wet squelch. "Just a squirrel! I saw a squirrel in my room!"
A pause. A long one.
Then, the sound of a deep, bone-weary sigh.
"If you scream like that again over woodland pests, young master, I will enter. Whether you are decent or not. Do you understand?"
Adam cleared his throat, coughing awkwardly. "Y-Yes. Apologies."
Only when her footsteps retreated did he leap out of bed like it had caught fire. His feet landed in a cold puddle of bile with a loud squelch, and he shuddered.
"Oh gods—ugh—"
The bath took nearly half an hour. He drained the water twice. Used up an entire bar of soap. Even had to scrub under his fingernails with a comb.
But eventually, it came off.
And in its place, a notification.
[System Notification]✅ Physique +10 fully assimilated.Stat sheet updated.
Adam leaned against the sink, still dripping, as he whispered:
"Status."
[Status - Absolute Choice System Interface]
Base Stats
• Strength: 25
• Physique: 35
• Speed: 25
• Endurance: 25
• Wisdom: 20
• Charm: 20
Extra Stats
• Mana: 500
• Aura: — Locked
• Trait: — Locked
Magic Affinity
• School of Magic: Color Magic
◦ Colors Unlocked: Red, Yellow
• Mana Gates Opened: 5 / 100
Active Sub-Skills
None
Passive Sub-Skills
None
"Thirty-five, huh…" he muttered, staring at the number under Physique.
It was his highest stat now. Five points above the others. He tapped the rim of the mirror in thought.
"Wonder what happens at forty."
He stepped back from the sink, towel slung around his hips. As he passed the full-length mirror, he paused. Then slowly, took three steps backward and stared.
The boy in the reflection… looked familiar, but only just.
Gone was the soft-bellied, acne-covered mess. In his place stood a slender, fair-skinned young man with collarbones like sculpted ivory and soft, moonlit thighs that practically shimmered. His face had become sharper—still cute, but not childishly so. His jawline was just beginning to emerge. And his lips? Full. Naturally tinted. Kissable, he thought with a blush.
He hopped once.
Light.
No wheeze. No creak of the knees. Just air.
Then he jumped.
Both fists raised, landing in a clumsy victory pose. "Let's fucking gooo—!"
A grin split his face.
This was it.
This was what progress felt like.
A knock.
"Young master. Breakfast is ready. I suggest you arrive before Lady Marianne notices your absence and assumes you've been assassinated."
Adam chuckled. "Coming!"
He dressed quickly, throwing on a half-dress, half-tunic of pale blue silk. A month ago, it barely squeezed past his shoulders. Now, it clung just right, hugging his waist without strangling it.
When he opened the door, his butler was waiting—arms crossed, expression flat.
Then she stared.
"…Who the hell are you?"
He blinked. "It's me. Adam."
She narrowed her eyes. "No. No, you're… you're too fair. Too symmetrical. Too—"
"Clean?" Adam offered.
"Exactly."
"I bathed."
She reached out, poked his cheek with a gloved finger. Then recoiled.
"Soft."
"Yes."
"Smooth."
"Indeed."
"You're not sweating through your collar."
"That was one time and I had a fever."
They stared at each other.
The butler sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Well. I suppose it's true what they say. Boys bloom quickly when they decide they no longer want to resemble a stuffed goose."
Adam laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She turned on her heel. "Come. If Lady Marianne sees you like this without a proper hair brushing, she'll call it divine fraud and have me whipped in the gardens."
Adam followed with a quiet grin.
He liked her.
A lot.
Not because she coddled him. But because even when the world saw a 'piggy noble'—even when his own sisters wrote him off—she always knocked before entering. Always left him a towel. Always called him young master.
And today, when she saw him looking like someone else entirely…
She still called him that.
He'd repay her one day. With more than just soap and sweat.
He adjusted the hem of his robe, feeling the shift in his body, the slight confidence in his walk.
Yeah.
Things were different now.
+
Dining Hall
The dining hall of House Blake was less a place to eat and more a place to intimidate. Vaulted ceilings stretched high above, adorned with hunting banners of past generations. Twin crystal chandeliers hung like twin moons, their glittering arms scattering soft light across the long, glossy oak table that could seat thirty with space to spare.
There were five people in the room.
Four of them sat waiting.
One chair remained empty.
At the head, Lady Marianne Blake—the iron-spined matriarch of the Blake House—sat draped in a robe of burgundy velvet, one leg crossed over the other, a polished silver ring tapping rhythmically against her goblet. Her golden hair was braided into a tight crown braid, and her eyes were sharp as razors. She was elegance sharpened into a weapon.
Two chairs down from her, Lord Gerald Blake sat with his spine stiff and his eyes downcast. Thin, reedy, fragile-looking—he was the kind of man whose presence always felt apologetic. The rouge beneath his eyes was freshly powdered, and his hands were folded delicately atop a silk napkin, unmoving. He hadn't spoken in weeks, and no one expected him to.
To Marianne's left, Crystal Blake fidgeted with the silverware. Her silver twin-tails bounced with each twitch of her head as she cut into a soft-boiled egg like it had personally insulted her. Her sapphire-blue robes shimmered with faint residual frost mana, and her brows twitched every time the cutlery didn't behave.
Across from her, serene and poised as always, sat Laylee Blake—the heir, the prodigy, the firstborn daughter of House Blake. A robe of flame-kissed gold draped her shoulders, and a faint curl of red aura still clung to her wrist from morning practice. She sipped delicately at her rosewater tea, eyes calm, expression unreadable.
They were waiting.
Lady Marianne had called for a full-table gathering, something rare enough to make the air itself feel heavier.
The topic: "An important family matter."
Then—
BANG.
The twin doors at the far end of the hall flung open like someone had kicked them in.
In stepped Adam Blake.
And the room changed.
He didn't walk so much as float, the light of the morning sun trailing behind him like a ribbon. He wore a soft sky-blue half-robe cinched at the waist, showing off the curve of his now-slimmed frame. His skin looked freshly polished by moonlight, his cheeks flushed faintly with health, and his steps made not a single sound on the marble.
He stopped at his usual chair.
Paused.
And then, without ceremony or comment—sat down and devoured the roasted boar centerpiece.
With a skewer.
Like a starving noble's son who'd just crawled out of exile.
No greeting. No pleasantries. Just him, sauce on his lips, gleefully stuffing sweet-roasted meat into his now slightly heart-shaped face, his lashes batting unconsciously as he chewed.
The room froze.
Crystal's knife halted mid-slice.
Laylee blinked.
Lord Gerald blinked.
Even Lady Marianne's wine glass stopped mid-swirl.
He wasn't just thinner. He wasn't just prettier.
He sparkled.
Literally. The sunlight hitting his skin made it look like he'd bathed in powdered pearls.
A single, collective thought seemed to pass through the room like a breeze through tall grass:
"Who the hell is this boy?"