Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
The morning sun had barely crested the rooftops of Sixth Street when Subaru Natsuki stood before the gleaming facade of Victoria Housekeeping Co., his reflection staring back at him from the polished glass doors.
The guilt had started as a small thing. A twinge when Belle brought home groceries. A flicker when Wise paid for dinner. But it had grown, day by day, meal by meal, until it sat in his chest like a stone he couldn't swallow. He'd been staying at Random Play for a while now, sleeping in their spare room, eating their food, using their hot water, and not paying a single Denny in return.
He needed to contribute. To earn his keep. To be something other than a burden.
And if there was one thing Natsuki Subaru knew how to do—one skill he'd beaten into his bones through countless loops of scrubbing floors and polishing silverware under the watchful eyes of Ram and Rem—it was being a butler.
He pushed through the doors.
The interior was immaculate. Marble floors gleamed under soft, warm lighting. Dark wood furnishings stood in precise, elegant arrangements. The air smelled of something floral and clean, like camellias after rain. Everything about the space whispered perfection.
Behind a curved reception desk sat a young woman with mint-green hair tied into two loose ponytails. Her purple eyes went wide the moment she saw him, and she immediately straightened in her chair, hands fluttering nervously over the desk surface.
"W-Welcome to Victoria Housekeeping Co.!" she stammered, her voice pitched high with anxiety. "H-How may I help you today? I'm Corin Wickes, and I—oh! I should have said that first! I'm so sorry!"
Subaru blinked. Then, without missing a beat, he stepped forward with theatrical flair, right leg planted ahead, left hand on his hip, right arm raised with index finger pointing triumphantly at the ceiling.
"My name is Natsuki Subaru! I'm here to apply for a part-time position! And I am—" He paused for dramatic effect. "—broke beyond compare! Nice to meet you!"
Corin stared at him, mouth slightly open, hands frozen mid-flutter.
"I... um..." She looked around as if hoping someone would appear to rescue her. "Th-That's... that's a very... energetic introduction! I think! I'm sorry, I'm not sure what the proper response is—!"
"Corin."
The voice came from the hallway behind the desk. Deep. Measured. Each syllable placed with the precision of a chess piece.
Von Lycaon stepped into the light.
He was tall—impossibly tall, towering over Subaru by nearly a full head. White hair with black-tipped ears rose from his head, and a matching white tail swayed behind him with controlled elegance. His right eye was covered by a black patch, but his left eye—crimson, intelligent, unblinking—fixed on Subaru with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Cybernetic legs gleamed beneath the hem of his pressed black slacks, each step a soft whir of advanced machinery.
He was dressed impeccably. White collared shirt, black vest, red cravat perfectly knotted at his throat. Black gloves with silver and golden screw buttons covered his hands. Every inch of him radiated controlled authority.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Lycaon's crimson eye studied Subaru with an unreadable expression. It was not a casual glance, nor the dismissive once-over that a busy professional might give an unexpected visitor. It was an assessment. Layered. Deliberate. The kind of look that catalogued posture, movement, the way a person held themselves in the space between words.
And then his gaze settled on Subaru's eyes.
A flicker of something passed through the wolf Thieren's expression. Not surprise. Not concern. Recognition, perhaps. Or interest.
Those eyes, Lycaon noted silently. Fierce. Far too fierce for someone his age.
They were the eyes of a person who had seen things that should break a person. Who had endured things that had broken a person, repeatedly, until breaking became routine and surviving became reflex. There was exhaustion in them, yes—deep and old and worn like a familiar coat—but beneath it, something sharper. A will that refused to extinguish. A fire that had been drowned a hundred times and still found a way to reignite.
Lycaon had met soldiers with eyes like that. Survivors of Hollow disasters. Veterans of conflicts that were never officially recorded. People who had walked through hell and emerged with something essential still intact.
Few of them were this young.
Those eyes could make a lesser person's will falter, he thought. They carry too much. Too much pain. Too much loss. Too much knowing. Looking into them is like looking into an abyss that has learned to stare back.
But Lycaon did not falter.
He had walked through his own abysses. Lost his own legs. Rebuilt himself from the ground up with steel and discipline and an unwavering commitment to excellence. He had faced down ethereals and corrupt clients and the quiet horrors that lurked in the spaces between Hollows. He was not a man easily unsettled.
Still. Those eyes were remarkable.
Interesting, he thought. This one has stories he will never tell. Wounds that have healed wrong, if they've healed at all. And yet he stands here, applying for a part-time position as a butler, as if he belongs among fine New Eridu and pressed linens.
Perhaps he did. Perhaps service was its own form of survival. A way to impose order on chaos. To create something clean in a world that had shown him nothing but filth.
Lycaon inclined his head slightly.
"I heard your introduction from my office," he said, his low baritone carrying easily through the quiet lobby. "An... unusual approach. But not unwelcome." He paused, his crimson eye still fixed on Subaru's. "I am Von Lycaon. I manage the day-to-day operations of Victoria Housekeeping. You said you wish to apply for a position?"
Subaru lowered his arm, suddenly very aware of how loud he'd been. "Yes, sir. Part-time. I have experience."
Lycaon's ear twitched. "Experience? In housekeeping?"
"Butlering, specifically." Subaru met his gaze without flinching—those fierce, exhausted, unbreakable eyes meeting Lycaon's calm, assessing one. "I worked at a... an estate. Large property. Lots of floors to scrub, silver to polish, schedules to manage. I learned from the best."
Lycaon studied him for a moment longer. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the building's climate control and Corin's nervous fidgeting behind the desk.
Then Lycaon nodded once, sharp and decisive.
"Very well. Follow me."
He turned and walked down the hallway, his cybernetic legs making soft, rhythmic sounds against the marble. Subaru scrambled to follow, shooting Corin an apologetic look as he passed. She gave him a shaky thumbs-up, her face still flushed with nervous confusion.
Behind them, Lycaon's tail swayed once—a slow, thoughtful motion.
Those eyes, he thought again. I will be watching to see what they've learned. And what they're still trying to forget.
The practical examination room was a study in controlled chaos.
Lycaon had transformed what appeared to be a standard training facility into a gauntlet of domestic challenges. On one table sat a full silver tea service, tarnished and unpolished. On another, a stack of wrinkled linens that needed pressing. A third station held a complex arrangement of flowers—some fresh, some wilting, all in need of arrangement. The floor bore deliberate scuff marks from what looked like heavy boots. And in the corner, a grandfather clock sat silent, its hands frozen at the wrong time.
"One hour," Lycaon said, producing a pocket watch from his vest. He clicked it open, checked the time, and snapped it shut with a decisive motion. "Complete all tasks to Victoria Housekeeping standards. I will observe. Begin."
Subaru moved to the silver first, muscle memory taking over. His hands found the polish and cloth without thought, and he began working in the precise circular motions that Rem had beaten into him—sometimes literally—during those early loops at Roswaal Manor or at the Miload Manor. Small circles. Consistent pressure. Don't rush, but don't dawdle.
And then, unbidden, another voice surfaced in his memory. High. Sharp. Absolutely dripping with condescension.
"My, my. Barusu thinks he can polish silver. How ambitious. I suppose even an insect dreams of flying, though we both know how that ends—splattered against a window, twitching pitifully."
Subaru's eye twitched.
He could see her perfectly in his mind's eye. Ram, standing with one hand on her hip, her pink hair immaculate, her red eyes half-lidded with disdain. That perpetual smirk that made him want to throw something at her head. The way she could make a simple observation sound like she was scraping him off her shoe.
"Your grip is wrong, Barusu. You'll leave fingerprints. Not that anyone would notice among all your other failures, but Ram is one above those."
"Above," Subaru muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip exactly the way she'd always demanded. "You couldn't even cook. Only those 'steamed potatoes' "
"Be grateful that ram have graced you with her cooking. It's freshly steamed."
"What do you look so proud about it." He muttered
Then he could imagine ram doing her usual smug action and words of choice. "Ha"
The phantom Ram in his head sniffed. "A noble sacrifice. Rem exists to serve Nee-sama's needs. It is the natural order of things. Unlike you, Barusu, who exists to test the limits of my patience."
He moved to the next piece, his motions becoming sharper, more aggressive—exactly the kind of sloppy work she would have mocked. He forced himself to slow down, to breathe, to maintain the precise circular motions.
"Oh? Barusu is capable of learning. How remarkable. Next he'll discover that floors require sweeping, not just standing about with that vacant expression he wears so proudly."
The invisible vein on his forehead throbbed.
Because the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that she was useless. Completely, utterly useless without her sister. Ram couldn't cook. Couldn't clean properly. Couldn't manage basic household tasks without Rem hovering nearby to fix her mistakes. Her entire identity was built on being the "perfect" elder sister while Rem did all the actual work. And yet she never, ever stopped acting like she was the goddess of domestic perfection.
It drove him insane.
"I can feel you thinking disrespectful thoughts, Barusu. Your tiny brain is practically smoking from the effort. Perhaps you should rest before you hurt yourself."
"I'll show you tiny brain," he growled, attacking a particularly stubborn tarnish spot with renewed vigor.
Behind him, Lycaon's crimson eye tracked his every movement. If the wolf Thieren noticed Subaru muttering to himself while polishing silver with the intensity of a man fighting an invisible war, he gave no indication.
The silver gleamed under Subaru's hands. He set each piece down in perfect alignment, handles all facing the same direction, spacing exactly equal.
"Adequate. For Barusu. Which is to say, barely passing. Ram is generous to award even that much praise."
He imagined her standing beside Lycaon, arms crossed, that insufferable smirk firmly in place. She would watch him struggle through every task and then claim credit for his success because her "guidance" had shaped him. She would critique his flower arrangement with devastating precision while offering no actual helpful advice. She would point out every water spot, every wrinkle, every microscopic flaw—
And if he actually failed, if he genuinely couldn't complete a task, she would appear beside him in an instant. Not to mock. Not to gloat. But to silently, efficiently, fix whatever he'd broken. Her hands moving with the skill she always pretended to have. Her voice, for once, stripped of venom.
"Move, Barusu. You're in the way."
And he would move. Because that was their dynamic. Bickering and insults and constant irritation—but underneath it, a quiet understanding. She would never say she cared. He would never ask. But when things went wrong, when he was truly in over his head, Ram was there. Not kind. Never kind. But present. Reliable in her own abrasive way.
He moved to the linens, the iron already heating, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. No wrinkles. No creases where there shouldn't be. Fold. Press. Fold again.
"My, Barusu can press linens. What will he accomplish next? Breathing without instruction? Nee-sama is overwhelmed with pride."
"Shut up, Nee-sama," he breathed.
The flowers came next. He'd never been good at this part—but he'd watched enough. Tall stems in the center. Shorter blooms around the edges. Remove anything wilting or brown.
"That arrangement looks like a toddler's attempt at art. Emilia-sama would weep if she saw this. Actually, she would probably smile and say it was 'lovely' because she is too kind, but inside she would be weeping. Ram can tell."
"At least I'm trying," he muttered, adjusting a rose that had gone slightly askew.
"Trying is what Barusu does instead of succeeding. It's his defining characteristic."
He scrubbed the floor harder than necessary, erasing every scuff mark with aggressive precision.
"My, such effort. One might almost mistake Barusu for competent. Almost. The key word being 'almost,' of course."
"Shut up, Nee-sama," he repeated, and finished the floor.
The grandfather clock chimed as he adjusted its hands to the correct time.
Lycaon consulted his pocket watch. "Fifty-three minutes."
Subaru wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His tracksuit—orange and black, worn from weeks of use—felt suddenly inadequate in this space of pristine elegance. "Is that... good?"
Lycaon's tail swayed once, slowly. "Adequate. You will proceed to the second examination."
As Subaru followed the wolf Thieren out of the room, he caught himself glancing back at the now-spotless floor, the gleaming silver, the pressed linens.
In his mind, Ram stood in the center of it all, surveying his work with those half-lidded red eyes.
"Barely even acceptable. Should you be grateful Barusu, that I Ram have graced you with her high praise."
And despite everything—the irritation, the phantom vein still throbbing in his forehead, the years of accumulated frustration—Subaru felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Yeah. Acceptable.
He'd take it.
The second test was different.
Lycaon led him to a larger training room, one designed to simulate various client environments. A sitting area with plush chairs occupied one corner. A formal dining setup dominated another. Near the back, a small play area had been arranged—soft mats, a few toys, a child-sized table with coloring supplies.
"Victoria Housekeeping serves a diverse clientele," Lycaon said, his low baritone carrying easily through the space. "Elderly retirees. Busy professionals. Families with young children. Each requires a different approach, a different temperament. Your previous test demonstrated basic competence. This test will demonstrate adaptability."
Subaru straightened his vest. "What's the scenario?"
"Multiple scenarios. Members of Victoria Housekeeping will roleplay various client types. You will interact with each as if you were their assigned attendant for the day. Your goal is to meet their needs while maintaining the standards of this company." Lycaon's crimson eye fixed on him. "I will observe. Begin when ready."
He stepped back into an observation alcove, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass.
Subaru took a breath. Okay. Multiple clients. Different needs. He could do this. He'd handled worse. He'd handled Ram's cooking experiments and Rem's morning moods and Roswaal's cryptic nonsense. A few roleplay scenarios were nothing.
The door opened.
A woman entered—or rather, floated in.
She was tall, elegant, with greenish-gray hair that seemed to shimmer under the training room lights. Her maid uniform was immaculate, every detail perfect, from the white stockings to the black leather heels that hovered inches above the floor. Two small Bangboo drifted beside her: one brown-haired, one blonde, both watching Subaru with unblinking mechanical eyes.
She didn't walk. She levitated, her movements smooth and ethereal, as if gravity was merely a suggestion she'd chosen to ignore.
"Good afternoon," she said, her voice gentle and poised, carrying an otherworldly sweetness. "I am Alexandrina Sebastiane. You may call me Rina." She smiled, and something about it made the hair on Subaru's neck prickle. It was warm. It was kind. It also felt like being examined by something that saw more than it should.
"Subaru Natsuki," he said, bowing slightly. "It's an honor."
"The honor is mine~" She drifted to the sitting area and lowered herself onto a chair—though "lowered" was generous; she hovered just above the cushion, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap. Anastella and Drusilla positioned themselves on either side of her like tiny sentinels.
"For this scenario," Rina continued, her smile never wavering, "I am a client of considerable means. I have specific preferences regarding my tea service. I will not tell you what they are. You must discern them through observation and gentle inquiry." Her eyes glittered. "Shall we begin?"
Subaru's mind shifted into a familiar gear. This was Roswaal Manor territory. Reading between lines. Anticipating needs that were never spoken aloud. Surviving the quiet disapproval of people who could destroy you with a glance.
He moved to the tea service station and began preparing a pot. His movements were precise—warming the pot, measuring the leaves, heating the water to the correct temperature. All the while, he watched Rina from the corner of his eye.
She sat perfectly still. Her hands remained folded. Her expression was serene. But her gaze flickered once, briefly, to the sugar bowl on the cart.
One sugar, he noted. Not two. Not none. One.
He poured the tea, added a single cube of sugar, and presented the cup with the handle positioned for her right hand.
Rina accepted it. She brought it to her lips, took a delicate sip, and her smile deepened—just slightly, just enough.
"Acceptable," she said, and the word carried the weight of a benediction. "You noticed the sugar."
"You looked at it."
"I did. Most would have asked. Asking is polite. But a truly excellent attendant knows that clients do not always wish to articulate their desires. Sometimes they wish to be understood without speaking." She set the cup down. "You understand."
"Had good teachers."
Her head tilted, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. "Yes. I believe you did." She rose—floated—from the chair, her Bangboo drifting after her. "I will inform Lycaon that you passed this portion. Good luck with the others~"
She glided out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of camellias and the unsettling feeling of having been seen through completely.
Subaru exhaled.
One down.
The door opened again.
This time, Lycaon himself entered.
He had removed his black gloves and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the powerful forearms beneath. His cybernetic legs gleamed as he walked, each step deliberate. His expression was unreadable—professional, controlled, giving nothing away.
"For this scenario," he said, taking a seat in the formal dining area, "I am a client with exacting standards. I have invited an important business associate to dinner. Everything must be perfect. The table setting. The wine service. The timing of each course. You will serve me a three-course meal. I will find fault with everything you do. Your task is to correct each fault without becoming flustered, defensive, or inefficient."
Subaru nodded. "Understood."
The next twenty minutes were grueling.
Lycaon found fault with the angle of the fork. The temperature of the soup. The way Subaru poured the wine—too fast, too slow, wrong wrist angle. He sent the first course back twice. He questioned the freshness of the bread. He pointed out a water spot on a glass that Subaru couldn't even see.
Each time, Subaru adjusted. Corrected. Apologized without groveling. Fixed the issue and moved on without letting frustration show.
By the time the imaginary third course was cleared, sweat was beading on his forehead. His jaw ached from maintaining a pleasant expression. But he was still standing. Still functioning. Still meeting every criticism with calm professionalism.
Lycaon set down his napkin and stood.
"You did not break," he observed.
"Was I supposed to?"
"Many do. The pressure of constant correction, especially when the faults are fabricated or exaggerated, often causes applicants to become defensive or to rush their work in an attempt to compensate. You did neither." His tail swayed once, slowly. "You have experience with difficult employers."
Subaru thought of Roswaal's knowing smiles. Of Ram's razor tongue. Of the endless loops where one wrong move meant starting over.
"Something like that."
Lycaon studied him for a moment longer. Then he nodded and walked toward the observation alcove.
"Two scenario remains."
The door opened a third time.
Corin Wickes stepped through—and Subaru's entire demeanor shifted.
She was small. Barely over four and a half feet tall, with mint-green hair tied into two wavy ponytails and wide purple eyes that looked perpetually on the verge of tears. Her maid uniform was frilly and black-and-white, with armored elements that seemed almost comical on her petite frame. She clutched a stuffed rabbit to her chest like a lifeline.
Her eyes darted around the room, found Subaru, and immediately welled up.
"I—I'm sorry!" she blurted. "I'm supposed to be a lost child for this scenario, but I'm already messing it up! I came in too fast! Or too slow! I don't know! I'm so sorry!"
Subaru's expression softened.
He'd seen her earlier, at the reception desk—nervous, apologetic, flinching at her own shadow. But now, with her clutching that stuffed rabbit and her voice trembling, she didn't look like a maid. She looked like a frightened kid.
And Subaru had never been able to ignore a frightened kid.
He crossed the room in three quick strides, then stopped. Not too close. Not looming. He crouched down—not all the way, just enough to bring his eyes closer to her level, to make himself smaller, less intimidating.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping to something gentle, something he usually reserved for the village children back in Arlam. "It's okay. You're doing great."
Corin blinked at him, her purple eyes still shimmering. "I—I am?"
"Totally. You're a lost kid, right? That's the scenario?" He smiled, warm and easy. "Well, I found you. So now we just hang out until your grown-up comes back. Sound good?"
"I... I guess?" She hugged the rabbit tighter. "But I'm supposed to be scared and crying and hard to calm down. Lycaon said to make it realistic. And I'm not doing a good job because I'm too nervous about messing up the scenario and—"
"Hey, hey." Subaru held up his hands, palms out. "Slow down. You're doing fine. Really. But if you want to make it realistic..." He glanced around the room, spotted the small play area with the toys and coloring supplies, and his smile widened. "How about this? Let's sit over there. I bet there's some good stuff to play with."
Corin's eyes followed his gesture. "The... the play area?"
"Yeah. Lost kids get bored, right? And scared. So we find something fun to do while we wait. Takes your mind off being lost." He stood slowly, still keeping his posture relaxed, unthreatening. "Come on. I'll even let you pick what we do first."
She hesitated. Her fingers worked at the rabbit's ears. Then, slowly, she nodded.
They walked to the play area together. Subaru lowered himself onto one of the soft mats, crossing his legs, making himself as approachable as possible. Corin sat across from him, still clutching the rabbit, her shoulders hunched.
"You like coloring?" Subaru asked, nodding toward the supplies.
"I... yes. I like coloring."
"Me too. I'm not very good at it, though. Always go outside the lines." He picked up a coloring book and flipped through it. "Oh, hey, look. This one has rabbits."
Corin's eyes lit up—just for a moment, just a flicker. "Rabbits?"
"Yeah. See?" He turned the book toward her. The page showed a simple outline of a rabbit in a garden, surrounded by carrots and flowers.
Corin leaned forward, her grip on her stuffed rabbit loosening slightly. "That's... that's really cute."
"Right? Here." He handed her the book and a box of crayons. "You do this one. I'll find another."
She took them hesitantly, then set the stuffed rabbit in her lap and selected a pink crayon. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as she began filling in the rabbit's ears.
Subaru watched her for a moment, then picked up another coloring book and a blue crayon. He started scribbling—deliberately messy, deliberately going outside the lines—on a picture of a dog.
Corin glanced over. "You're... you're going outside the lines."
"Told you I wasn't good at this."
"You're supposed to stay inside the lines."
"That's what everyone says. But you know what I think?" He held up his messy dog. "I think art is about having fun. Not about being perfect. So if going outside the lines is more fun, then that's what I do."
Corin stared at him. Then, slowly, the tiniest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"That's... that's a nice way to think about it."
"Yeah?" Subaru grinned. "Well, you can try it if you want. Or stay inside the lines. Either way, your rabbit's already looking better than my dog."
She looked down at her coloring page. The rabbit's ears were perfectly pink, neatly contained within the black outlines. She hesitated. Then, with a quick glance at Subaru, she picked up a green crayon and drew a single blade of grass that extended just slightly beyond the line.
Subaru's grin widened. "Nice."
Corin's cheeks flushed, but she was smiling now—a real smile, small and shy but genuine.
They colored together in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Subaru asked her about the rabbit's name (it didn't have one yet, she was still deciding), about her favorite colors (mint green, like her hair, and strawberry pink), about whether she liked carrots (she did, especially in mochi form).
She relaxed by degrees. Her shoulders dropped. Her voice steadied. She stopped apologizing for every other word.
When Lycaon's voice finally came from the observation alcove—"The scenario is complete"—Corin actually looked disappointed.
"Oh," she said, setting down her crayon. "It's over."
"For now." Subaru stood and offered her his hand. She took it, her small fingers wrapping around his, and he helped her up gently. "But hey, if we're going to be coworkers, maybe we can color again sometime. I need someone to teach me how to stay inside the lines."
Corin's purple eyes widened. "You... you want me to teach you?"
"Sure. You're way better at it than me."
She clutched her stuffed rabbit to her chest, but she was beaming now—a bright, genuine smile that transformed her whole face. "I—I'd like that! I'd really like that, Mr. Natsuki!"
"Just Subaru is fine."
"Subaru." She tested the name carefully, like it was something precious. "Okay. I'll... I'll remember."
She hurried toward the door, then paused and looked back. "Thank you. For being nice to me. Most people don't... I mean, they're not mean, but they don't really..." She struggled for words. "They don't color with me."
Subaru's expression softened. "Anytime, Corin."
She smiled once more and slipped out.
Lycaon emerged from the observation alcove, his crimson eye thoughtful.
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"Corin was not instructed to bond with you. The scenario was simply to calm a distressed child. You went beyond the parameters." His tail swayed slowly. "Children often find you approachable?"
Subaru rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess? Back home, the village kids would follow me around. I don't really do anything special. I just... treat them like people."
"Hm." Lycaon's ear twitched. "That, in itself, is special. Many adults forget how to do that." He paused. "You will proceed to the final portion of this examination. Ellen is waiting."
Subaru nodded, still thinking about Corin's smile, about the way she'd lit up when he asked her to teach him coloring.
One scenario remained.
The last test was different again.
Lycaon led him to a smaller room designed to look like a client's parlor. Plush chairs. A low table. Soft lighting. And, seated in one of the chairs, a young woman with black hair streaked with pinkish-red highlights.
Ellen Joe.
She was slumped in the chair like she'd been poured into it, her red eyes half-lidded with obvious boredom. A lollipop stick protruded from the corner of her mouth. Behind her, a long shark tail draped over the armrest, motionless except for an occasional lazy twitch. Her maid uniform was modified—black with white frills, spiky accessories at her collar and wrists, silver clips in her hair. She looked like someone who'd been forced to attend a tea party against her will.
"Ellen will play the role of a difficult client," Lycaon said.
Ellen's eyes drifted to Subaru, then away, utterly uninterested. "Hmm. So this is the new guy."
"You will handle whatever scenario she presents," Lycaon continued. "I will observe from the next room. Begin."
He stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.
Silence.
Ellen didn't move. Didn't speak. Just sat there, slowly working her lollipop from one side of her mouth to the other, her shark tail giving another lazy twitch.
Subaru stood at attention, waiting.
Nothing.
"Um," he said finally. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"
"Don't want anything." Her voice was flat, drained of energy. "Just wanna sleep."
"Okay. That's... that's fine. I can just stand here. Quietly. Not bothering you."
Her red eyes flicked toward him, appraising. "You're weird."
"I get that a lot."
"Hm."
More silence. Subaru remained at attention, hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect. The minutes stretched. Ellen's eyes began to drift closed, her breathing slowing.
Then, without warning, she shifted. Her foot knocked against the low table, and the decorative vase perched on its edge wobbled—then tipped.
Subaru moved.
He crossed the distance in two steps, hand shooting out to catch the vase before it could shatter against the floor. Water sloshed over his fingers, cold and startling, but the ceramic remained intact.
Ellen's eyes were open again, watching him with slightly more interest.
"Fast," she said.
"Reflexes." He set the vase back on the table, carefully centering it. "Sorry about the water."
"Don't care about the water." She pulled the lollipop from her mouth and pointed it at him. "Do it again."
"Do what—"
Her tail swept sideways and knocked a cushion off the chair. Subaru caught it before it hit the ground. Then a book from the side table. Caught. Then Ellen herself leaned too far back, her chair tilting precariously—
He was there, hand on the chair back, steadying her before she could fall.
Ellen stared up at him. Her expression was still flat, bored, but something flickered in those tired red eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or curiosity.
"You're not bad," she said.
"Thanks. I think."
She righted herself and slumped back into her previous position, lollipop returning to her mouth. "You can stop now. Test's over."
"Did I pass?"
"Don't know. Don't care. Lycaon decides." She closed her eyes. "Wake me when it's time to go home."
Subaru stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, slowly, he resumed his position at attention, hands behind his back, waiting.
When Lycaon returned ten minutes later, Ellen was asleep, and Subaru hadn't moved.
The wolf Thieren observed the scene—the steady chair, the intact vase, the undisturbed room, the applicant still standing at perfect attention despite the "client" being completely unconscious. His tail gave a single, measured sway.
"Impressive. You maintained composure and prevented property damage while allowing the client to rest undisturbed. That demonstrates both reflexes and judgment." He turned toward the door. "Come. There is one final test."
The final test began with a question.
"Have you been to a Hollow before, Natsuki Subaru?"
They were standing in Lycaon's office now—a pristine space of dark wood and organized documents. Through the window, the Ballet Twins towers rose in the distance, two silent monoliths against the afternoon sky.
Subaru's jaw tightened. "Yes."
"Combat experience?"
"Some." He thought of the things he'd faced since arriving in this world. Ethereals. Hollow raiders. Situations where running wasn't an option. "Enough."
Lycaon studied him with that unblinking crimson eye. "Victoria Housekeeping provides services beyond domestic maintenance. Security. Item acquisition. Hollow navigation. Our clients expect protection in all environments. If you cannot operate within a Hollow, your utility to this company is limited."
Subaru met his gaze. "I can handle myself."
"We shall see." Lycaon turned to the window, his silhouette sharp against the light. "The Ballet Twins towers are currently engulfed by a Hollow. Unstable. Unpredictable. Victoria Housekeeping maintains a regular patrol schedule to monitor ether activity and ensure no civilians wander into danger. Your final test is to complete one patrol circuit. Ellen will accompany you as an observer."
Subaru blinked. "Ellen? The girl who fell asleep during my client test?"
"Ellen is one of our most capable combat operatives." Lycaon's tone carried a hint of dry amusement. "Her sleeping habits notwithstanding."
From somewhere behind them, a voice drawled: "I heard that."
Ellen stood in the doorway, arms crossed, shark tail swaying with obvious irritation. She'd woken up at some point and followed them. Her expression was pure displeasure.
"You want me to babysit the new guy. In a Hollow."
"I want you to observe and report," Lycaon corrected smoothly. "His performance will determine whether he receives an offer of employment."
Ellen's red eyes slid to Subaru, then away. "Fine. Whatever. But if he dies, I'm not filling out the paperwork."
"That will not be necessary."
Subaru raised his hand. "Uh. Quick question. When you say 'patrol,' what exactly are we patrolling for?"
Lycaon's expression didn't change. "Ethereals. Hollow raiders. Ether corruption spikes. Anything that should not be present in an abandoned building complex. The Ballet Twins have been a point of concern for some time." He paused. "Do you have a weapon?"
Subaru's hand went to his hip. The Guiltywhip was coiled there, hidden beneath his tracksuit jacket. He'd taken to carrying it everywhere since arriving in this world. "I have something."
"Good. You leave in one hour."
Subaru spent that hour in the Victoria Housekeeping locker room, staring at himself in the mirror.
The tracksuit wasn't going to cut it.
He'd known that the moment he walked through those gleaming doors. This was a place of precision, of elegance, of standards. And while his orange and black jacket had become something like a second skin, it didn't belong here.
He'd come prepared.
From his bag, he pulled out the outfit he'd acquired two days ago, after deciding to apply. It wasn't exact—the materials were different, the cut slightly modernized—but the spirit was the same. Black slacks. White button-down shirt. A gray vest that fitted snug across his chest. And, hanging from a loop at the waist, a simple black tie that he'd learned to knot one-handed during those long mornings in Roswaal's mansion.
He dressed slowly, carefully, each piece settling into place like a memory.
When he looked in the mirror again, a different person looked back.
Not the boy in the tracksuit. Not the broken thing that had crawled through nightmares and failures and deaths he could never explain. This was someone who had served. Someone who had learned discipline at the hands of maids who demanded perfection. Someone who, for a few precious loops, had been useful.
He straightened his collar. Adjusted his cuffs. Tucked the Guiltywhip into a specially modified loop at his belt where it would be accessible but discreet.
"Okay," he said to his reflection. "One patrol. Don't die. Don't embarrass yourself. Don't—"
"Are you talking to yourself?"
Ellen's voice came from the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, lollipop back in her mouth, watching him with those half-lidded red eyes. Her shark tail gave a single, dismissive flick.
"Maybe," Subaru admitted.
"Weird."
"You said that already."
"Means it's still true." She pushed off the doorframe. "Come on. Hollow won't patrol itself."
The Ballet Twins Hollow was everything Subaru had come to expect from these corrupted spaces.
The air was thick with ether, a faint violet haze that made everything look slightly wrong. The towers themselves—two massive structures that had once been the pride of New Eridu—now leaned into each other like tired dancers, their windows dark, their walls crawling with crystalline growths that pulsed with faint, sickly light.
Subaru followed Ellen through the entrance, his Guiltywhip uncoiled and ready in his hand. The leather felt warm against his palm, familiar. Grounding.
"Stay close," Ellen said without looking back. "Don't touch anything glowy. Don't wander off. Don't—" She yawned. "—do anything stupid."
"Got it. No glowing. No wandering. No stupid."
"At least you listen."
The patrol route wound through the lower levels of the north tower. Abandoned offices. Crumbled hallways. Rooms frozen in the moment the Hollow had consumed them. Subaru's eyes swept every corner, every shadow, his body tensed for the telltale shimmer of an ethereal manifesting.
Ellen, by contrast, moved like she was taking a casual stroll. Her hands were in her pockets. Her tail swayed lazily. She looked, for all the world, like a teenager who'd been forced to run an errand she didn't care about.
But Subaru noticed things.
The way her red eyes tracked movement at the edges of the light. The way her weight shifted, always balanced, always ready. The way her fingers curled slightly whenever a sound echoed from deeper in the tower. She was alert. She just didn't want anyone to know it.
"How long have you worked here?" Subaru asked, keeping his voice low.
"Dunno. A while."
"You like it?"
"Pays for stuff."
"That's not really an answer."
Ellen glanced back at him, her expression flat. "It's the only answer you're getting."
They continued in silence. Subaru's eyes caught something—a flicker of violet light in a side corridor. He tensed, whip ready, but Ellen didn't even slow down.
"Just ether residue," she said. "Not an ethereal. You'll learn the difference."
"Will I?"
"If Lycaon hires you." She sucked on her lollipop. "Which he probably will. He doesn't do third tests for people he's going to reject."
Subaru processed that. "So... I'm basically already hired?"
"Don't get excited. Still have to finish the patrol." She stopped suddenly, her tail going rigid. "Quiet."
Subaru froze.
Ellen's head tilted, her red eyes narrowing. She was listening to something he couldn't hear, her shark Thieren senses picking up vibrations in the ether that human ears couldn't detect.
Then he heard it too.
Footsteps. Not ethereal—too rhythmic, too purposeful. Human footsteps. Multiple sets. Coming from the floor above.
Ellen's hand came out of her pocket. Her fingers flexed. "Hollow raiders," she said, her voice dropping to something cold and professional. "Three. Maybe four. Armed."
"What do we do?"
"We?" She glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "This is your test. What do you do?"
Subaru's mind raced. Combat wasn't his strength. He'd survived this long through tricks, desperation, and the willingness to take hits that should have killed him. But this wasn't about fighting. This was about being a butler. About serving. About protecting the client's interests.
"We report it," he said. "Lycaon said the patrol was to monitor activity. Not engage. We observe, document, and return with information."
Ellen stared at him for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth twitched—the closest thing to approval she'd shown all day.
"Not bad." She turned back toward the entrance. "Come on. We'll take the east stairwell. Quieter."
They moved.
Subaru kept his whip ready, his footsteps light, his breathing controlled. The raiders' voices faded behind them as they descended, Ellen leading with the quiet confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times. They reached the ground floor without incident, slipped out through a side exit, and emerged into the fading afternoon light.
Ellen pulled out her phone and typed a quick message. "Sending the report to Lycaon. Four raiders, north tower, floor seven. Armed but disorganized. Probably scavengers."
"So... I passed?"
She pocketed her phone and pulled out a fresh lollipop, unwrapping it with practiced ease. "Yeah. You passed."
Subaru let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Okay. Okay, good. That's... that's good."
Ellen studied him for a moment, her red eyes unreadable. Then she turned and started walking back toward the Victoria Housekeeping office.
"One thing," she said over her shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"You didn't try to be a hero. Most people would do. Try to prove themselves. Get people killed." She didn't look back. "You didn't. That's something."
Subaru watched her go, her shark tail swaying with each step. Then he followed.
Lycaon was waiting in his office when they returned.
Ellen gave her report in the same flat, low-energy tone she used for everything—but her details were precise. Number of raiders. Location. Observed equipment. Likely threat level. Subaru stood at attention beside her, still in his borrowed butler's attire, the Guiltywhip coiled at his hip.
When she finished, Lycaon nodded once.
"Acceptable. You demonstrated appropriate judgment. Engagement was not required for a reconnaissance patrol. You prioritized information gathering and safety." He turned to Subaru. "You will report for your first shift tomorrow morning. Six o'clock. Corin will provide your schedule and uniform requirements."
Subaru blinked. "That's it? I'm hired?"
"You completed all three examinations to a satisfactory standard. Your prior experience is evident. Your judgment in the field was sound." Lycaon's crimson eye fixed on him. "Victoria Housekeeping has need of capable attendants. You are capable. The position is yours."
Something loosened in Subaru's chest. Not relief, exactly. More like a knot he'd been carrying finally beginning to untangle.
"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
"See that you don't." Lycaon's ear twitched. "You may go. Ellen, remain a moment."
Subaru stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. Through the wood, he heard Lycaon's low baritone: "Your assessment?"
Ellen's voice, muffled but clear: "He's weird. Talks to himself. Too energetic." A pause. "But he's not useless. Caught a vase before it broke. Didn't let me fall out of my chair. Made the right call in the Hollow." Another pause, longer. "I guess we can keep him."
Subaru smiled.
He made his way back through the Victoria Housekeeping lobby, past Corin—who gave him a shy wave and a whispered "C-Congratulations!"—and out into the evening air of Sixth Street.
The sky was deepening to violet. The streetlights were flickering on. And somewhere in his chest, beneath the weight of everything he carried, Natsuki Subaru felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Purpose.
He had a job. He had a way to contribute. He could pay back the managers, even if just a little. He could be useful.
One thing at a time.
He started walking toward Random Play, his butler's vest fitting snug against his chest, his Guiltywhip warm at his hip, and the first genuine smile in weeks tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Tomorrow, he'd be a butler again.
That night, in the apartment above Random Play, Wise found Subaru standing at the window, staring out at the city lights.
"Belle said you got a job," Wise said, leaning against the doorframe.
"Yeah. Victoria Housekeeping. Part-time."
Wise's eyebrows rose. "Victoria Housekeeping? That's... actually impressive. They're selective."
"I had relevant experience."
"I bet you did." Wise crossed his arms, his green eyes thoughtful. "You know you don't have to do this, right? Pay us back, I mean. You're not a burden, Subaru. You're our friend."
Subaru didn't turn from the window. "I know. But I need to do this. For me."
Wise was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "Okay. Just... don't push yourself too hard."
"I won't." Subaru's voice was soft. "I promise."
Wise squeezed his shoulder once and left him to his thoughts.
Subaru stood at the window for a long time, watching the city breathe.
Somewhere out there, Ellen was probably sleeping. Corin was probably apologizing to someone. Rina was probably floating through some elegant space with her Bangboo drifting behind her. Lycaon was probably reviewing patrol reports with that unblinking crimson eye.
And tomorrow, Subaru would join them.
He touched the Guiltywhip at his hip.
One thing at a time.