“Ugh, the despicable privileged class, this is just too outrageous!”

While cursing the extravagant decadence of the aristocracy in his heart, Moen gracefully enjoyed today's dinner with an elegant demeanor according to the original owner's muscle memory.

Dinner was merely a steak paired with a vintage wine from who-knows-which year.

But—

It was so delicious!

Moen swore he had never had steak so good in his entire life.

The aroma of the meat was intoxicating, the fat rich yet balanced, melting instantly in his mouth.

In comparison, the so-called "premium steak" he had reluctantly purchased from a high-end western restaurant in his past life was nothing more than a poor imitation.

Oh my, how could something taste this incredible?

What’s more, he even felt an inkling of reluctance to part with this identity. What should he do about that?

“Is something the matter? Little Moen seems particularly happy today.”

Across the dining table, an elegant and noble woman dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a white napkin, smiling warmly as she inquired, “Did something happy happen to you?”

“Haha, he must be looking forward to tomorrow’s coming-of-age banquet,” said the man sitting at the head of the table beside the lady. His imposing face, framed by lion-like whiskers, carried a natural authority even in repose, yet now he laughed heartily. “After all, that will be one of the most pivotal banquets of Moen's life.”

“…Yes, Father, Mother, I am really looking forward to it,” Moen responded with his best sunshine-like smile, though inwardly he raised his guard.

Right in front of him were Moen Campbell’s biological parents: Ron Campbell, Duke of the Leopard Empire and one of its four great dukes, and his wife Noyce Campbell, once the daughter of a marquis.

The Campbell family was noble in rank but famously singular in its direct male line. As a result, Moen was their only son, showered with excessive love and indulgence.

One could argue that this overwhelming affection, carried to unhealthy extremes, bore significant responsibility for the miserable end of the original Moen Campbell. Yet, for the same reason, Moen himself had to tread cautiously to avoid arousing suspicion in these excessively doting parents.

After all, he still needed to rely on the dukes, who doted on their children, to intercede for him. Only with the King's explicit decree to erase his offenses and absolve accountability might he escape being hacked to death by his enemies in some alley the moment he became a commoner.

As it happened, Moen's fears were unfounded. With the memories of the original owner now fused with his, and the instincts of this body honed over more than a decade, his every move appeared natural, betraying not the slightest hint of inconsistency.

“Tomorrow, my son will surely be the most dazzling presence at the banquet. Who knows how many young noble ladies will fall for him,” Noyce said with hands clasped in delight, her gaze brimming with maternal adoration. In her eyes, her little Moen was nothing short of perfection.

“Haha, let's not forget he already has a fiancee! If Princess Celicia sees this, she might get jealous,” The always serious Duke Campbell couldn't help but tease even after drinking a bit of wine.

“Humph, I don’t like Princess Celicia. She’s icy and aloof.How could she possibly be worthy of our little Moen?” Noyce pouted, her dissatisfaction evident.

“Well, if even Princess Celicia isn’t worthy, then no one is. But I do agree on one thing—Moen, you should charm a few extra young ladies for our Campbell family to expand. If As for the king, I'll handle it for you! Gulp, gulp. I think with my son's ability, it should be a piece of cake. Ha ha! ” the Duke guffawed, pounding the table lightly in jest.

“…”

Hearing his parents' excessive praise, even he felt a blush rising to his cheeks.

Truly, excessive love can blind one's judgment, making people see only what they want to.

But Princess Celicia? Who was she? The Empire’s third princess, a child blessed by

the Divine Grace, known among the populace as the Ice Witch and one of the candidates for the first beauty of the Irish German.

In the original story, Celicia won over countless fans with her perfect appearance, cold exterior but warm interior—a dichotomy that was utterly irresistible. She was also Moen’s favorite character in the story. Yet, here she was supposed to be betrothed to him? What a laughable mismatch—he was little more than a second-rate clown.

“Don’t desire what you cannot have.”

“I will steer things back onto their destined path.”

“Celicia will find her true happiness with the protagonist.”

“And I, even as a minor villain, will survive.”

Moen reaffirmed his resolve in his heart.

……

After dinner, he bid farewell to his parents and decided to take a stroll outside. As he rounded a corner, he bumped right into a maid.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Young Master Moen… It’s my fault…”

Tea spilled onto Moen’s expensive clothing, leaving a maroon stain. The maid’s expression instantly filled with terror. She clumsily pulled out a handkerchief in an attempt to blot the stain, only to make it worse.

Her face grew paler, and to Moen’s astonishment, she knelt on the floor, trembling, and began pleading.

“Please, Young Master Moen, forgive me! It was just an accident—I won’t make such a mistake again! Please don’t punish me… Don’t strip me and throw me into the streets…”

“…”

For a moment, he was rendered speechless.

Did he truly come across as that cruel, malevolent, and unreasonable in her eyes?

Well, it is true that the original Moen Campbell would probably have acted in such a heartless way.

“It's just a small problem, no need to be concerned, get up first,” Moen said as he bent down to help the trembling maid to her feet.

“I won’t be punishing you.”

“Eh?”

The maid froze in surprise, staring at him as if she'd misheard. The kind and indulgent demeanor of this young master was utterly at odds with the tyrannical reputation he carried.

Moen offered a faint smile, and with his effortlessly handsome features, that smile left the maid momentarily dazed.

He knew he had to be kind; he was no longer the haughty Moen Campbell of the past!

And besides, it wouldn’t hurt to reduce his enemies at a time like this. Knowing the perilous road ahead, Moen had no intention of aggravating the people around him.

Especially when he knows that himself is likely to be killed by a thousand cuts.

It's possible that it might be because of his own evil behavior that the close maid who is most likely hates him and ends up hurting him!

“Are you alright?” Moen’s gaze swept over the maid, sensing something amiss.

Despite her apparent fear, her cheeks remained flushed.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Startled, Moen placed a hand on the maid’s forehead. The move was so sudden that the maid stood frozen, unable to respond, like a statue.

“As I thought…”

Her forehead was burning hot.

The maids in the Duke’s estate were always highly trained; it was unlikely she’d make such a clumsy mistake unless she was sick.

Moen fixed her with a stern look and said, “Why don't you take a break for such sick?”

“I-it’s because tomorrow is your coming-of-age banquet, Young Master, and we’re short on staff…”

“That’s no excuse for working while sick!”

Moen scolded her sharply, though instead of becoming more fearful under his rebuke, the maid’s wide eyes only brimmed with confusion, as if questioning whether this scenario was actually happening.

“Anne.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Let her take a break… What’s your name?”

“…I’m Noir.”

“Alright, make sure Noir gets some rest.”

“As you command.”

Anne respectfully nodded in acknowledgment.

“However, Young Master Moen, Noir wasn’t lying. Preparations for tomorrow’s coming-of-age banquet are critically understaffed. If she takes a break, it will place significant strain on the other maids.”

“Then hire temporary staff from the outside. Are you telling me that the Duke’s estate can’t afford it?”

“…Understood. I will convey your instructions to the head maid.”

Anne bowed and walked away, urging to relay this message promptly. Tomorrow’s banquet was imminent, and last-minute personnel adjustments required swift action.

“Oh, Anne.”

“Is there anything else, Young Master?”

“…No, it's fine. You may go now.”

“…”

Anne showed a flicker of doubt, but quickly collected it.

“Yes, well, if you'll excuse me.”

“…Phew.”

Watching her disappear around the corner, Moen let out a soft sigh.

He’d almost asked her to procure the critical item for the upcoming plot—*the sleeping potion.*

After all, in the original story, that task was assigned to Anne.

But upon reflection, he decided against it.

Although the novel hadn’t explicitly stated so, as an accomplice in Princess Cecilia’s frame-up, Anne would no doubt have faced execution.

This time, he was the one fated to fall, and he didn't want to drag an innocent servant into his misfortune.

“Ha…”

Moen chuckled bitterly at himself.

“How ridiculous to think someone who's never even harmed a fly will soon be drugging an innocent girl.”

“But at least it's a mean-to fail mission.”