[Holy shit! Just look at that glorious hunk!]
I thought to myself, eyes glued to the full-length mirror propped against the wall.
My old body hadn't been bad.
I mean, it was tall enough, had decent muscle.
I was handsome in a rough, sleepless-gamer sort of way.
But this? This was… unfair.
Outright illegal.
I'd built Odin back in Endlessness as a slightly better version of myself: sharper jaw, broader shoulders, a bit more height, a bit more symmetry.
Enough to look like me but optimized.
But seeing it now in all its tiny details fleshed out in reality… breathing in it? Living in it?
[Goddamn… no wonder that nurse was blushing herself into a fever. I would too~]
A head of black hair that fell just messy enough to look intentional.
Eyes as blue as a summer sky.
Muscles cut like they'd been sculpted by gods themselves, and not swollen by hours of gym grind.
And the grin - my grin - dialed up to max charisma.
I couldn't help myself.
I started posing like some gym bro checking his pump in the locker room mirror.
Pain twinged under the bandages, but damn it, I couldn't stop.
I flexed an arm, turned for the side profile, tightened the abs.
"Shiiiit," I whispered, twisting for another angle. "Liora, darling… how the hell did you keep yourself from jumping into my arms?"
Just as I had flexed my bicep again.
-Knock. Knock.-
I froze mid-flex.
And of course, before I could even call out, the door swung open.
In stepped… well, straight out of every fantasy cliché: a maid.
Black-and-white uniform, lace trim… the whole deal.
She shut the door behind her, balancing a folded stack of clothes in her hands... only to stop dead in her tracks.
Because there I was. Shirtless and shiny with the faint sheen of recovery oils, and muscles on full flex.
She blinked once. Then twice. And then her face went crimson.
"Si–Sir… your… cl–clothes!" she stammered, voice cracking halfway through.
While I, drunk on my own reflection, leaned into it.
Flashed her that "cover model" grin, biceps still curled tight.
And that was it.
The poor girl turned the shade of an overripe tomato as she squeaked something halfway between a word and a yelp.
She nearly tripped over her own shoes as she dropped the bundle on the nearest table.
By the time she bolted back out, she was so flustered she practically left a smoke trail behind her.
Then the door clicked shut.
[…That wasn't creepy, was it?]
Scratching the back of my head, I relaxed the flex, shaking my arms out.
The mirror caught me again on the way to the table, and despite myself, I grinned.
And the best part was… I wasn't swell enough to look like some gym-obsessed dude… it was just perfect.
[Man… this is so cool!]
Picking up the bundle, I gave it a once-over.
A deep blue, long-sleeved shirt with buttons running halfway down the chest - not quite noblewear, not quite casual either. The fabric was soft too.
Black trousers, snug but not suffocating.
Calf-high boots, solid leather.
And a belt… way too long.
[Maybe oversized belts are fashion here?]
Still, before I threw any of it on, I needed to deal with the sticky mess of oils, salves, and tonics plastered across my skin.
Couldn't exactly take a full shower - not with fresh bandages wrapped across my ribs, but I could at least wipe down.
Maybe even deal with the morning-breath apocalypse in my mouth.
[Just because I'm in some fantasy world doesn't mean I let basic hygiene slide.]
Thankfully, there was a small washroom attached to the room.
The sink in there was a basin carved from stone.
There was even a faucet for the water.
I also found a jar labeled "tooth-cleaning salt," though no brush to go with it.
Which left me using the age-old, barbaric tool: my index finger.
Not glamorous, but got the job done.
And a few minutes later, I came back out, clean enough to face Liora in case she didn't jump into my arms because of all the oils and stuff on my body.
I tried the shirt first and it hugged me loose, but snugly enough.
Made the muscle pop without screaming, "Gym Bro."
The trousers fit better than I expected, the fabric flexing just right with movement.
The boots were stiff but workable.
And the belt…
The damn thing hung halfway down my thigh like some wannabe knight's costume piece.
I shifted my stance before the mirror.
[Okay… I kinda pull it off.]
The reflection staring back at me was straight out of some fantasy character creation screen.
Blue shirt outlining muscle and the chest just right. That long belt hanging loose like some half-cocky accessory.
Still, my thoughts flicked back to the old uniform.
[Wonder what happened to my tac gear…]
I didn't need to guess too hard where the rest went.
I could feel the guns, their presence was like whispers tugging from the corner of my mind.
They were like beacons by themselves, giving me their general direction at the back of my head.
I was also perceiving them through the sword.
They'd been stored beside the broken sword, and through it, I could sense the world.
Ten meters around the sword lit up on instinct, like a mental map I didn't have to think about.
It played a huge part in me getting away with my life last night.
The cloak was there too, folded right beside them.
But the tactical clothes? Gone.
[Good thing they weren't anything high-tier.]
Back in Endlessness, I'd dumped everything into Mana Regen and Control, with just enough in Dexterity to keep me from tripping over my own feet.
Strength, Agility, Encumbrance? Trash.
I couldn't wear the shiny armor sets I owned without crawling like a turtle.
Which meant, most days, I looked like I was cosplaying a henchman.
And that uniform? Pretty much what my clan issued to mob-class NPCs.
And now here I was, looking like the main character anyway.
I was still admiring how the belt draped like some fantasy runway accessory when another knock hit the door.
-Knock. Knock.
But this time, I was faster.
"You may not enter," I said, loud enough to carry, just to spite the whole routine of people barging in like they owned the place.
Well, they kind'a did… Anyway.
A pause. Then a startled, muffled voice came from the other side, "B-But, I'm Exander!"
"Oh, Sir Exander," I called back, tone not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. "Tell me, do you have some royal decree that allows you to waltz into people's rooms without permission?"
"What? No, I just—"
"Or were you hoping to catch me with my pants down?" I added, folding my arms across my chest, deadpan. "Look, I know I'm sexy, but please, have some decency."
There was a strangled noise on the other side. "Wh—what are you on about!"
"Alright, fine," I sighed theatrically. "Come on in."
I mean… what the hell else was I supposed to do?
The door cracked open, and Exander stepped through, robes swishing, posture stiff.
There was a flush of embarrassment creeping high along his cheeks, though he tried to cover it with the same smug mask as before.
Though his teeth were clenched so tight I thought I heard them grind.
"Good to see you so lively," he said with a forced smile, "The Duke requests your presence."
And before I could reply, he spun neatly on his heel as he tossed back, "Follow me."