The first step outside his bedroom had felt like a milestone. The next few were… quieter. Alex walked through the hallway, and though it was wide and polished—something straight out of a noble's estate—it felt strangely hollow.
The white marble walls stretched far, tall enough that his voice would echo if he spoke. The deep red carpet beneath his bare feet was plush, too clean to have ever seen dust. Yet, there was nothing adorning the walls. No family portraits, no tapestries, no ancient swords mounted for display. Not even a potted plant to break the sterile uniformity.
It was like walking through a memory that someone had started erasing.
"So… this is what it feels like to be rich and bored," Alex muttered, eyes scanning the blank white space.
Behind him, May followed silently. Always present. Always composed.
He glanced behind. "My room's at the end of the hall, right?"
"Yes," May answered simply.
That made sense. The wall behind his room confirmed it. But as he moved forward, three more doors came into view, all similar in size and style to his own. No nameplates. No sound behind them. Just silence and the faint echo of his footsteps.
When they reached the stairs, a soft chill rolled down the bannister from above. The mansion wasn't cold, but it had a lifeless air to it—as if its heartbeat had long stopped.
The staircase curved elegantly downward into a spacious living room. A fireplace dominated the far wall, though no fire burned within. Around it were couches and low tables, arranged with care yet untouched, like a showroom that had never hosted a soul. Even the cushions looked unused.
Just past the fireplace stood a set of double doors—tall, black wood polished to a shine, silver knobs reflecting the faint sunlight from the gallery windows.
Alex paused. "Where do those lead?"
May, still walking one step behind him, responded without missing a beat. "Outside. To the lawn you saw earlier."
He nodded, then continued the silent tour.
They passed through corridors and into the servants' quarters next. But there were no servants. No shoes by the doors, no clutter, not even dust. The beds were made, the rooms neat—but empty. Lifeless.
In the kitchen, it was much the same. A large stone oven, multiple counters, racks for utensils. But no food. No cookware. No smell of old spices or burnt bread. Just clean air and vacant countertops.
The dining hall was next—a rectangular table of polished oak surrounded by eight tall-backed chairs. It looked regal. Elegant. Lonely.
"No one's dined here in a while," Alex commented.
May said nothing.
They moved on. Out the back of the mansion, the scenery changed slightly. The lawn opened into a wide training ground paved with stone tiles. Faint markings lined the walls—once training dummies or racks, perhaps—but all that remained now were a few rusted weapons resting against a rack that had seen better decades.
Alex walked across the ground slowly, dragging a toe over the cracked tiles. No guards. No clashing swords. No shouting warriors.
"Not even one guy on patrol…" he muttered. "This place feels abandoned but… not ruined."
Eventually, the silence wore thin, and Alex turned back toward the mansion.
They returned to his room without a word.
May stepped inside behind him and, as naturally as breathing, took a seat beside him on the bed. Alex sank into the sheets, rubbing his face with one hand.
Then he looked at her—eyes narrowed with curiosity, confusion, and just a pinch of irritation.
"Okay," he said. "I have questions."
May gave a small nod, almost expectedly.
"First… why is the hallway empty? No art, no portraits, nothing."
May stayed quiet.
"Second, why is the kitchen unused? Third, why are there no servants or guards? Fourth… the weapons at the training ground—rusted. Useless. Fifth…" He gestured around the room. "Despite all of that, everything looks perfectly maintained. No dust. No damage. It's like someone's been cleaning up after ghosts. And I do believe that this is not a mansion of ghosts "
He leaned back slightly, arms folded. "So… what's going on?"
May lowered her gaze for a moment before responding, her voice calm but touched by something faintly bitter.
"Young master," she began, "after you fell into a coma… things began to change. Slowly. Quietly."
She glanced toward the door. "The servants began leaving, one by one. The guards too. And over time, the house began to lose its soul."
She looked back to him. "Some took paintings. Some moved other belongings. I asked… but they would only tell me that I 'did not need to know.' That was all." "And I maintained the rooms for the time ".
Alex frowned. "That's it?"
She nodded.
"So they just… left. Took stuff. And said nothing?"
"Yes."
The silence settled between them again. Alex leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes unfocused. The mansion hadn't just been abandoned—it had been dismantled slowly, piece by piece, while he lay unconscious.
"…So I was forgotten, a very typical story " he murmured.
May looked at him. "I never forgot you."
He gave her a glance—soft, grateful—but didn't respond. Not yet.
Instead, he looked up slightly, toward the ceiling.
And smirked.
"Aria," he said in his mind . "My beautiful, elegant, divine, incomparably generous goddess… my favorite elder sister of the heavens…"
["Yes?" came Aria's voice, full of teasing delight.]
"I need a clue," Alex said, still smiling. "This girl my ally—" he looked at May, "—knows nothing about the world. I believe in you. Come on. Help your cute little brother out?"
A melodic giggle echoed in his mind.
["Ohhh~ You're learning how to flatter. You're finally growing up."]
"I've always been prince charming," Alex muttered.
["Hah! Keep dreaming, you walking cheat code."]
Then her voice shifted slightly—into something older, almost matronly. She spoke with the grandiose tone of a temple priestess delivering sacred scripture.
["I guess my child… in the end, you have come to me. I am your salvation, your guiding light, your answer in the void!"]
Alex raised a brow. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
["Immensely."]
Then, more playfully:
["Now… turn your gaze, my chosen one. There—by your bookshelf. You see the row of dusty tomes no one ever touches?"]
Alex followed her direction, turning to the bookshelf in the corner of his room. He stood up and approached it.
["Pull the one titled…"]
She paused dramatically.
["'How to Talk to Girls in 999 Easy Steps.'"]
Alex blinked.
"…You're kidding."
["Would I ever joke about literature?"]
He snorted.
"Okay, fine," he muttered, reaching for the ridiculous-sounding book.
His fingers brushed the spine of the thick, absurdly titled volume.
With a tug, it shifted—not out of the shelf, but inward with a solid click.
A faint rumble sounded. Somewhere behind the bookshelf, something unlocked.
Alex turned to glance at May, who looked just as unshaken as ever.
"Well, well…" he said with a grin. "Looks like big sister still loves me after all."