01. The Ghost of 4.17 a.m (1)

[HUAAAA…..! Hic… hic… sob….]

“ — hey, can't you stop? I’m tired of listening to your crying,” the boy sighed wearily, pressing his aching temple. If this went on, he felt he would be diagnosed with high-blood pressure before reaching old age.

[But… but…]

“Quiet.”

[.... yes.]

The boy habitually messed with his own hair as he sat cross-legged on a chair, staring at the crying maid in front of him who had been sobbing non-stop for almost an hour.

‘ — what a pain in the neck.’

Even if he disliked noise, he wouldn't be this irritated usually — if only the maid had been a living person.

That was right.

She was a ghost.

And to make the matter worse, she had been constantly getting in his way and making a scene inside his room since early at dawn.

[Oh, my. It seems that the situation is getting out of hand.]

Another ghost floated beside him, her expression calm as she stared at the crying ghost maid.

He could feel his aching head worsening. Just what kind of sin did he commit to make him suffer through this kind of thing even in another world —?

It all started yesterday, when he realised that he had just fallen into another world.

****

Before he could make sense of the situation, a knock was heard from the door.

“Pardon the interruption, sir. This is Gemma. I have come to help with your preparation.”

‘Preparation —? For what?’

He was confused, but it wasn't like he could just dismiss her either.

“ — enter.”

The door opened, revealing a woman in standard maid clothing. Her brown hair was tied neatly in a double braid, and she was wearing a pair of large glasses. The stark contrast between those glasses with her small face made him wonder why they hadn't slipped from her nose yet.

“Good morning, sir. His Lordship had requested that you present at the dining table at 8.30 a.m sharp,” the maid, whose name he recalled was Gemma, spoke in a rigid tone as if she had memorised every word carefully before coming.

‘8.30 a.m? Wait —’

He hurriedly glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 7.50 a.m. —

“Since we only have forty minutes at our disposal, let us make haste.”

As soon as Gemma clapped her hands, a few maids came rushing in. One was holding a basin filled with water and a towel, and the other immediately opened the closet and began to pick his clothing.

Gemma appeared to acutely notice his displeasure and dissatisfaction. Strangely, she wasn't surprised at all, as if nothing was unusual.

‘Does this guy also not like dressing up and socialising? We’re more alike than I thought.’

It took more than twenty minutes for the maids to dress him up. The cravat on his neck felt stuffy, and the clothing itself was quite heavy, whether it was the fabric or because of the decorations.

“Sir, please do not make a mess of your attire.”

His fingers, which were about to loosen the cravat, paused.

Unlike the other maids, Gemma appeared to not bother hiding her dissatisfaction and annoyance at his actions. Did she have quite a prominent position among the servants — or was it just his position in the family wasn't that good?

In the end, he decided to swallow this matter and put it aside. With not many clues in hand, he couldn't afford to make a hasty judgment.

“Please follow me.”

Without saying anything, he followed her along, through the luxurious and bright hallways and stairs, until they arrived in front of a huge door.

“His Lordship, Her Ladyship, Lord Leonard, and Lady Rachel have been waiting.”

The door opened and a similarly luxurious dining hall appeared in his sight. At the head of the table, was a man with flaxen hair with blue eyes as deep as the sea. His gestures, along with his neat moustache, gave a soothing yet distant atmosphere.

To the left, was a woman with slightly tanned skin. Her hair was of a similar dark brown shade of his, while her eyes were dull amber. Her expression was unpleasant — undeniably — as she glanced at him, as if he had stolen something precious from her.

He was puzzled. If his conjecture was true, the woman should be the mother of this body, yet she appeared to loathe him so, as if she had given birth to a rival and enemy.

To the left side of the woman, was a little girl who seemed to have inherited all of her father's genetics. Flaxen hair and blue eyes with a lovely appearance. It was obvious that she was loved and doted on.

Lastly — he glanced at the man on the right side. He stood out from the other three, with his dazzling blonde hair and blue eyes. A stereotypical appearance of nobility, in his opinion. Although the man was evidently smiling, there was a hidden scorn and dislike in his eyes.

"You're late," the woman, presumed to be his mother, spoke in a tone as cold as a blizzard.

"Please don't be upset, mother. Iskandar probably just stayed up until night studying shamanism. He's very diligent, after all," the blonde-haired man chimed, seemingly wanting to defuse the situation.

But his words only served to make the woman angrier.

"Iskandar Barman! Have you got no shame? How dare you make your parents and siblings wait for you —"

"Enough."

With a single word from the flaxen-haired man at the head of the table, the hall fell into silence.

"Sit down."

He nodded and took a seat beside the blonde-haired man. It was an unconscious movement — a muscle memory ingrained into the body, perhaps?

The servants entered and moved the dishes from the trolley onto the table. The breakfast was quite sumptuous and lavish, consisting of toasted bread slices with butter, omelette, grilled oysters and thinly-sliced bacon, stewed apple, and some fresh, autumn fruits.

He ate his food in silence while covertly listening to their conversation. As of now, he had already concluded his position in this household, and the dynamic between each member of the house. Not to mention that he also learnt the name of his current identity — Iskandar Barman. He thought that it was a cool name, and since it was like a variation of his original middle name, Alexander, it was an almost effortless task to quickly be accustomed to it.

"Iskandar is daydreaming again, hehe~"

A lovely, bell-like voice rang, snapping Iskandar out of his thoughts. The owner of the voice was the little girl with flaxen hair. Unlike their mother or older brother, she didn't seem to harbour any hostility towards Iskandar.

Iskandar was uncertain, whether he should respond to the girl or keep silent. He hadn't fully grasped the previous Iskandar's personality either, and having someone doubted his identity was the first and foremost thing he should prevent from happening.

Eventually, he decided to just give her a glance before responding with a common denial, " — I don't."

Fortunately, the little girl appeared to not mind his brief response, as she just shrugged it off without any signs of offense. But of course, it went differently for his mother, who shot him a glare as if he had made an almost irreparable mistake.

'Ridiculous.'

This kind of extreme partiality wasn't that uncommon for him, as he happened to encounter this kind of situation quite a few times, and some of the stories he heard from the ghosts — who never ceased to irritate him unless he listened to them — mostly depicted partiality they suffered from during their lives. Back then, he already thought that it was ridiculous. Who knew that when he came to experience it himself, the situation felt more ludicrous than ever.

And so, he decided to focus on his plate — until he suddenly felt a chill creeping to his spine.

Almost dropping his fork from the shock, he cast a glance and noticed from their expressions that none had felt the chill except for him.

'I have a bad feeling — as expected, my luck has been worse lately. I should've made an amulet to ward off this bad luck —'

Before Iskandar could finish his laments, as if shattering his last wishful thinking, a translucent yet vivid figure of a lady appeared behind his father's chair, calm and poised, as if she had belonged there from the beginning.

'Goodbye, my short, peaceful time.'

As his professor had said repeatedly, he was never destined to have a peaceful life — only now did he surrender to his unfortunate fate.

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