[Albret's POV]
Albret swept across the east hallway with practiced grace, gloved hands behind his back, every button of his tailcoat perfectly aligned. The head male attendant of House Yuval was not a man known for emotion—or tolerance of incompetence.
He barked sharp commands to a group of younger attendants dawdling near the kitchen doorway. "Curtains in the east parlor need replacing! And who left the ledger open by the study?!"
They scattered, of course.
He adjusted his monocle with a sharp breath. Order breeds prosperity. That had always been the Yuval way. Even if certain family members seemed allergic to both.
As he passed by the ornate glass windows lining the second floor corridor, something caught his eye. Down in the courtyard.
Three unfamiliar individuals stood near the front gate.
Runa was speaking to them.
Albret blinked. Visitors? Today?
He tapped his cane against the marble, calling over a nearby attendant. The boy flinched slightly at being singled out.
"Yes, Master Albret?"
"You see those individuals speaking with Miss Runa? I was not informed of any guests."
The attendant craned his neck, squinted, then shook his head. "I—I do not know them, sir."
"Find out who they are. Quickly."
The boy bowed and ran off, boots tapping against the stone with urgency.
Albret remained at the window, hands folded behind his back, his eyes narrowing. Something doesn't feel quite right.
—
[Later – Albret's Office]
The door creaked open and the attendant entered, chest heaving slightly from his sprint.
"Well?" Albret asked without looking up from his paperwork.
"They're instructors, sir. Hired by Miss Runa. For… for Young Master Gram."
The quill in Albret's hand paused mid-stroke.
"…Instructors?" he repeated slowly, as if the word had just turned foreign.
"Yes, sir. Three of them."
Gram. Instructors?
That didn't track. Not with Gram. From what Albret recalled, Gram had sworn never to take another instructor in his life. Something about "wasting time with fools beneath him."
"…What are their professions?" Albret asked, voice low and skeptical.
"One magic, one combat, and one alchemist."
The attendant's voice grew smaller as he listed them. "Their names, sir… Esstrus Hail, Fredrick Prior, and William Devotin."
Albret's pen hit the desk with a quiet clack.
Esstrus. Fredrick. William.
The names weren't unknown—but they weren't reputable, either. Albret's brow furrowed. "That trio?"
The attendant nodded nervously.
Esstrus Hail, the self-proclaimed sorceress prodigy whose teachings left most students confused and mana-burnt.
Fredrick Prior, the infamous one-armed swordsman who spent more time drunk than training his pupils.
And William Devotin—gods help them—the eccentric alchemist who once blew up an entire potion workshop trying to 'transmute flavor.'
Yes, they were known… but not for their effectiveness.
"…Why would Gram of all people hire them?" Albret muttered aloud.
Maybe this was some elaborate ruse. Another stunt. He wouldn't put it past Gram to pay three clowns to loiter about the estate just so he could pretend to be "reforming.'
Albret exhaled and waved the attendant away. "Leave it. This isn't worth our time. Let the young master play his games."
The boy bowed and exited swiftly.
Albret leaned back in his chair, the creak of old leather echoing in the room. Gram. Just what are you plotting now…?
—
[Gram's (Owen) POV]
From the second floor balcony, Owen let out a long, exhausted breath. Below, near the eastern courtyard, Runa was animatedly conversing with the three individuals he'd requested.
They actually came. All three of them.
Honestly, I thought at least one or two of them would ghost me.
Despite their public reputations for being lazy and difficult to work with, Owen knew the truth behind each of them. In Hero's Last Crusade, they had been the keys to unlocking the protagonist's full potential—though none of them would stick around long unless… properly incentivized.
And more importantly, each one had hidden depths that wouldn't become public until much later in the narrative.
Esstrus Hail, descendant of the Supreme Magus himself. A mystic savant with enough raw magical circulation to bend elements like silk. Mysterious. Unstable. Brilliant. And definitely not one to tolerate "idiots."
She was a vision in midnight blue. Her thigh-high slit robe left very little to the imagination, and her enchanted staff shimmered faintly in the morning light. Her ponytail danced with every motion, and her pale lips didn't smile—but they didn't frown either. Calculating.
Fredrick Prior, the one-armed Sword Saint. A man who once cleaved a demon lieutenant in half, despite being outnumbered and injured. He had the aura of a wolf left to rot in peace, only to be disturbed one too many times. Gruff. Unshaven. Wearing a ragged coat and resting one hand lazily on the hilt of his jagged sword.
And then there was William Devotin, the shortest and youngest-looking of the trio. Messy orange hair, mismatched robes, stained gloves, and a belt loaded with enough explosive vials to qualify as a walking hazard sign. Wide eyes and a big smile, like a child who'd just figured out how to melt iron using grape juice.
They're here. All of them.
To any outsider, this looked like a bizarre gathering of mismatched lunatics.
But to Owen… this was his future.
Runa waved up at him from below, her face alight with pride. Owen gave a polite wave back—but inwardly tensed when the three instructors turned their gazes up at him.
Esstrus's eyes glowed faintly. Fredrick looked unimpressed. William waved enthusiastically with both hands.
Owen inhaled through his nose. Right. They won't teach me unless I give them a reason.
Each of them was known for dropping students within three days. Their methods were incomprehensible to most—because they weren't meant for most.
In the novel, the protagonist got them to teach him the only way they would accept…
Bribery.
Time to see if I can buy my way into greatness.