Breaking the Multiverse for You

Ethan strode out of the meeting room, still mulling over the morning's discussion with the Duke and his brothers. His father's unusually protective attitude toward Micheal gnawed at him. Though he believed that it is a necessity for every able-bodied man serving in the army, the Duke's reluctance to include Micheal raised more questions than answers.

As he approached the grand staircase, the sight of Micheal wrestling with Barnaby snapped him out of his thoughts. Barnaby had a vice-like grip on Micheal's arm, dragging him toward the estate's entrance.

"Barnaby, for the love of all things noble, let go!" Micheal yelped, his face red with effort.

"You've procrastinated long enough, my lord," Barnaby replied, his tone both stern and calm. "We will make it to the library before it closes."

Ethan paused, his initial irritation melting into amusement. The scene was utterly absurd. For all of Micheal's antics, it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like a rebellious child being dragged to his lessons.

"Barnaby, stand down," Ethan called, stepping forward. His commanding voice cut through the chaos.

Barnaby released Micheal with a reluctant sigh. Micheal stumbled back, smoothing his coat and shooting his brother a grateful look. "Ethan! Finally, someone with a shred of humanity."

Ethan crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "What's going on here?"

Barnaby straightened. "Lord Micheal has overdue books that must be returned to the city library before it closes for lunch. Today is the final deadline."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "All of these?" He gestured to the teetering stack of books at Barnaby's feet.

"Yes," Barnaby replied firmly. "Punctuality and honor, my lord."

Micheal groaned. "It's just books! The library isn't going to collapse if I'm a day late."

Barnaby's glare could have cut glass. "A noble's reputation is built on such matters."

Ethan chuckled and bent down to pick up the stack of books with ease. "Micheal, get in the carriage. I'll make sure you get there on time."

Barnaby hesitated before giving a slight bow. "As you wish, Lord Ethan."

As they headed toward the carriage, Micheal glanced back at Barnaby. "See? This is why Ethan's my favorite."

Inside the carriage, Micheal sprawled across the seat, clearly reveling in his newfound freedom. Ethan sat opposite him, balancing the books effortlessly.

"So," Micheal began, his voice light. "Why the scowl earlier? Did Father lecture you about something?"

Ethan shot him a sharp look. "Not me—he was talking about you."

"Oh, great." Micheal groaned, throwing his head back. "Let me guess. 'Micheal needs to grow up, take life seriously, and stop embarrassing the Shelb name.'"

Ethan smirked. "Something like that. Though, he did mention being impressed by your deal with the Central Plains."

Micheal straightened, his chest puffing out slightly. "He said that?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Ethan warned. "You've got a knack for business, I'll admit. But you've still got a long way to go."

Micheal tilted his head, his tone turning teasing. "Look at you, Ethan, playing the wise older brother."

Ethan leaned forward, his expression serious. "You've been given a second chance, Micheal. Don't waste it. Your health—"

"My health is fine," Micheal interrupted, his tone defensive.

Ethan's sharp gaze didn't waver. "Do you remember when you were five? You used to follow me around with that toy sword, mimicking everything I did."

Micheal's brow furrowed. "Yeah. I remember. I was pretty good, wasn't I?"

Ethan sighed. "You were better than good. You awakened your aura that day. The youngest in the family to ever do it. But then..." His voice softened, trailing off.

Micheal's chest tightened as the memory surfaced. The triumph of that moment was overshadowed by the searing pain that followed. He had fainted, and when he awoke, the family doctor delivered a crushing verdict: his heart couldn't withstand the strain of aura manipulation.

"That was the last time I ever used aura," Micheal murmured, his voice heavy.

Ethan nodded. "You're a genius, Micheal. But your body isn't built for it. That's why Father is so protective. He sees you as... fragile."

Micheal's eyes darkened. "I'm not fragile."

"I know you're not," Ethan said, his voice softening. "But you need to be careful. Without aura, you're vulnerable. Work on your physical strength. Prove to Father—and to yourself—that you're more than what he thinks."

Micheal leaned back, crossing his arms. "You sound like Barnaby."

Ethan smirked. "Speaking of Barnaby, do you know why Father assigned him to you?"

Micheal shook his head. "I assumed it was because he's relentless."

Ethan chuckled. "Partly. But mostly because Barnaby's mana went rogue five years ago. He can't stop using it. That makes him a liability on the battlefield, but as a butler, he can manage it. Father thought pairing someone who can't use aura with someone who can't stop using it was poetic."

Micheal blinked, stunned. "Barnaby... was a soldier?"

"One of the best," Ethan confirmed. "And now, one of the best butlers. Though, I admit, he's a bit intense."

Micheal let out a low whistle. "I'll never complain about his punctuality again."

The carriage rolled to a stop outside the city library with mere minutes to spare. Ethan stepped out, balancing the stack of books with ease. Micheal followed, adjusting his coat.

"You're going too slow," Ethan said flatly.

Before Micheal could retort, Ethan threw the books onto one shoulder and hoisted Micheal onto the other.

"Ethan! Put me down!" Micheal flailed helplessly.

Ethan smirked. "We're in a hurry."

Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Ethan reached the top and deposited Micheal unceremoniously. Micheal stumbled to his feet, his face flushed with indignation.

Inside, the elderly librarian raised an eyebrow at the sight of the disheveled younger brother and his composed elder. "A punctual return, Lord Micheal. Impressive teamwork."

Micheal muttered a sheepish thanks, while Ethan's smirk deepened. As they exited, Micheal glared at his brother. "You're impossible."

Ethan's voice was warm, though teasing. "And you're lucky I care."

The grand library's hushed ambiance seemed to grow even quieter as Micheal froze mid-step, his heart sinking. Standing near the entrance, bathed in soft afternoon light, was Magda. She exuded her usual composed elegance, her calm crimson eyes taking in the scene before her: Ethan, the stack of books, and Micheal, still recovering from his undignified journey up the stairs.

"Lady Magda," Ethan greeted warmly, bowing with the practiced politeness befitting his station. "A pleasant surprise to see you here."

Magda inclined her head in acknowledgment, her expression as measured as always. "Lord Ethan. I didn't expect to find you at the library."

Ethan let out a deep chuckle, his tone amused. "Duty called, my lady. Micheal needed a bit of… assistance with returning his overdue books before the library closed for lunch."

Magda's gaze shifted to Micheal, who was awkwardly pretending to examine the spines of a nearby shelf, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of red. "I see," she said, her voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. "You've done an admirable job, as always."

Ethan grinned, the mischievous spark in his eyes betraying his otherwise stoic demeanor. "He's lucky to have me, no doubt. Though, I think I've gone above and beyond my brotherly duties today."

Magda's lips curved faintly at his jest, her expression softening ever so slightly. "And Micheal would say the same about you."

Ethan glanced back at Micheal, his teasing grin replaced by something more earnest. "He has potential, you know. More than even he realizes."

Magda's gaze lingered on Micheal for a moment longer, her features unreadable but her tone assured. "I know."

Micheal, feeling the weight of their shared attention, finally turned around with exaggerated nonchalance, attempting to mask his earlier embarrassment. "Ah, Magda! Fancy meeting you here," he said, his voice pitched higher than usual. "Ethan was just helping me with some... logistical issues."

Magda raised an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Logistical issues? Is that what we're calling it now?"

Micheal rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, you know, a bit of this and that. Important intellectual pursuits."

Ethan stifled a laugh, crossing his arms. "If by intellectual pursuits, you mean forgetting the return deadlines for an entire library shelf's worth of books, then yes."

Magda's gaze flicked to the towering stack of books Ethan had carried in earlier. "Impressive," she said dryly. "It seems I'm in the presence of the Empire's most dedicated scholar."

Micheal's eyes darted nervously between her and Ethan, searching for a witty retort. "I'm simply ahead of my time, that's all," he quipped. "Pioneers are often misunderstood."

Ethan laughed outright at that. "Misunderstood is one way to put it."

Magda gave a small sigh, though the hint of a smile on her lips betrayed her fondness. "Well, I suppose every genius needs their moments of chaos."

As the trio exited the library, Micheal walked between Magda and Ethan, sulking like a chastised child. Ethan glanced at his carriage, parked neatly by the side. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to stay. Duty calls at the barracks." He turned to Micheal, handing over the book receipt with a smirk. "You'll have to manage your way back."

"What?" Micheal blinked, a bit too loudly. "You're abandoning me?"

Ethan grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Magda has you covered."

Magda's calm voice interrupted before Micheal could respond. "You can join me in my carriage, Micheal. It would be… efficient."

Micheal froze, his heart's reluctance warring with practicality. "I—uh, I wouldn't want to trouble you…"

"It's no trouble," Magda said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Come along."

Ethan patted Micheal on the shoulder, his grin wider than ever. "Good luck, little brother."

Before Micheal could protest further, Ethan climbed into his carriage and rode off, leaving him standing awkwardly beside Magda.

"This is humiliating," Micheal muttered under his breath, earning a faint chuckle from Magda.

"I'd say it's practical," she replied smoothly, gesturing toward her carriage. "Shall we?"

Reluctantly, Micheal followed her lead, sliding into the plush interior. As the carriage set off, he fidgeted with his sleeves, pointedly avoiding her gaze. Magda watched him out of the corner of her eye, her amusement hidden behind a serene expression.

The carriage wheels clattered softly against the cobbled road as Micheal and Magda traveled back to the House of Shelb. The silence between them was almost tangible, with Micheal sulking quietly by the window, still nursing his bruised pride. Magda, sitting opposite him, seemed lost in thought, her expression serene but distant.

Her father's letter lingered in her mind. The flower festival, the dancing, and his subtle suggestion that she should attend with Micheal weighed on her. Though she had always been more comfortable with magic formulas than pleasantries, she felt compelled to say something to lighten the mood.

After a moment's hesitation, she ventured, "You looked… cool."

Micheal froze mid-sulk, his mind racing to process the unexpected comment. "Cool?" he echoed, his voice a mix of disbelief and suspicion.

"Yes," Magda replied, her tone calm but slightly uncertain. "When you and Lord Ethan entered the library together, it… looked impressive."

The words hung in the air, and Magda immediately regretted them. Micheal's wide-eyed expression made her realize she had unintentionally touched a nerve. To her dismay, her attempt at small talk had clearly backfired.

"Impressive," Micheal repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. "I looked like a sack of potatoes, and you're calling it impressive?"

Magda blinked, unsure how to salvage the situation. "I… didn't mean it that way."

Micheal let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his seat. "This day just keeps getting better."

Magda's brows knitted together as she glanced out the window, berating herself internally. Social interactions were always tricky for her, and this was no exception. She decided to change the subject, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out a small glowing rune.

"I wanted to show you something," she said softly, holding the rune between her fingers.

Curiosity piqued, Micheal leaned forward slightly. "What is it?"

Magda placed the rune in her palm and whispered an incantation. The glowing symbol shimmered before vanishing in a swirl of light, leaving behind a small, delicate bag.

"This is a spatial magic rune," she explained, handing the bag to Micheal. "It allows me to distort space and store items far larger than the bag itself. This was the first rune I ever created—or rather, stumbled upon—at the Featherfield estate. Everything I've done since then started with this."

Micheal examined the bag with wide eyes, turning it over in his hands. "You created this? That's… incredible."

"Well," Magda admitted, "created might not be the right word. It was more of an accident, but it laid the foundation for all my work."

Her words softened the tension between them, and Micheal couldn't help but smile faintly. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Magda tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. "Since you mentioned we'd try to change things together, I thought we could start by sharing more about ourselves."

Feeling the sincerity in her words, Micheal straightened, emboldened to share something of his own. He began recounting the story of his first invention—a failed attempt at creating an automated crop harvester that scared birds better than it harvested grain.

Their shared laughter filled the carriage, and the tension from earlier began to melt away. By the time the carriage reached the Shelb estate, the awkwardness between them had shifted into something lighter, more comfortable.

As Micheal stepped down from the carriage, Magda's voice stopped him.

"Micheal," she called, her tone hesitant yet firm.

He turned, puzzled by the rare hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Do you have any plans for the flower festival?" she asked. "If not… would you accompany me?"

Micheal blinked, certain for a moment that he had misheard her. "Y-you want me to go with you?" he stammered, his face a mix of surprise and incredulity.

Magda nodded, her expression calm but earnest.

"Yes! Yes! Absolutely yes!" Micheal blurted, his enthusiasm spilling out before he could stop himself. Realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he quickly added, "I mean, yes, I'd be honored."

Before she could respond, Micheal turned and bolted toward the estate, leaving Magda staring after him with a mixture of amusement and bemusement.

As the carriage rolled away, Magda allowed herself a small smile. "Perhaps," she murmured to herself, "there's hope for us yet."

The soft rustle of the evening breeze caressed the curtains of Duchess Eleanor von Shelb's private sitting room. She stood by the grand arched window, her hands gently clasped as her sharp eyes surveyed the estate grounds below. The familiar sight of her youngest son, Micheal, caught her attention. He was sprinting—no, fleeing—from the direction of Magda's carriage, his disheveled form a clear indication of his hasty retreat.

Trailing him at a more composed pace was Magda, stepping out of the carriage with her usual elegance. The contrast between the two was stark: Micheal, a flurry of chaotic energy, and Magda, a serene figure of calm. The sight tugged at the corners of Eleanor's lips, her amusement breaking through her otherwise composed demeanor.

A soft chuckle escaped her as she turned to her trusted maid, Clara, who was diligently organizing the Duchess's embroidery supplies. "Clara," Eleanor began, her tone light with mirth, "have you ever seen two people so uniquely awkward with each other?"

Clara paused her work, glancing out the window to observe the scene below. "Young Master Micheal does seem to be in quite the hurry," she remarked, a small smile playing on her lips. "And Lady Magda appears as composed as ever."

Eleanor sighed, though her smile remained. "None of my sons are particularly adept when it comes to women, are they? Ethan, for all his strength and leadership, treats marriage like a battlefield strategy. Adrian is so engrossed in his duties that I wonder if he even notices the existence of eligible ladies. And Micheal…" She trailed off, watching her youngest vanish into the estate with the urgency of a startled rabbit.

Clara let out a soft laugh. "Master Micheal has his own… charm, my lady. Though it does seem he and Lady Magda have a unique dynamic."

"Unique is a kind way of putting it," Eleanor said with a wry smile. Her gaze drifted back to Magda, who had paused near the carriage, her crimson eyes following Micheal's retreat with a faintly bemused expression. "They're so awkward, those two. It's almost endearing. But if left to their own devices, they might never figure each other out."

Clara tilted her head thoughtfully. "Do you think they need a little… nudge?"

Eleanor tapped her chin, considering the idea. "Perhaps. Magda is an extraordinary young woman, and Micheal… well, he's full of potential, even if he hides it behind his eccentricities. They're a good match, if they'd only see it themselves."

Clara set down the embroidery supplies and joined Eleanor at the window. "What would you suggest, my lady?"

Eleanor's eyes sparkled with mischief, a rare but striking sight. "Perhaps something subtle. A shared activity, a reason to spend time together beyond polite conversation. The flower festival might provide an opportunity."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Subtle, my lady? You are not known for subtlety."

Eleanor laughed, a rich, melodious sound that filled the room. "Fair point. But this is a delicate matter. Micheal's pride is fragile, and Magda isn't one to tolerate interference."

"Then it must be very delicate indeed," Clara teased, earning a playful swat from the Duchess.

Eleanor returned her gaze to the window, where Magda was now heading toward the estate at her usual unhurried pace. "I just want to see him happy," she murmured, her voice softening. "For all his quirks, Micheal deserves someone who understands him. And I suspect Magda, despite her aloof exterior, might just be the one to do so."

Clara smiled warmly. "You've always had a knack for matchmaking, my lady. If anyone can bring them closer, it's you."

Eleanor chuckled again, stepping away from the window and back into her sitting room. "We'll see, Clara. We'll see. For now, I'll let them stumble through their awkwardness a little longer. It's quite entertaining to watch."

With that, she returned to her embroidery, a faint smile still gracing her lips as she contemplated the gentle push her youngest son and his enigmatic wife might need to find their way toward each other.