He pinched the bridge of his nose, Phei let out a breath that contained the weight of negotiating with an ancient chaos entity who had apparently decided that sexual jealousy was a reasonable emotional stance for a primordial fairy to adopt.

"I will say this again: You passed out, Eira!" he said carefully. "Do you remember that? You lost consciousness and entire nervous system shut down from overload of pleasure. If I’d deployed the Void-Ice element on you yesterday, you would have still past out. Except this time you would have gone into slumber for days!"

Phei shook his head, he reached for his phone and dialed Hayashi’s number directly—

The elderly manager answered on the second ring.

"Young Master. Is there a problem?"

"Good morning, Hayashi. The kitchen supplies," Phei said. "They’re incomplete. I need full service — every utensil, every pan, every finishing supply that should be in a penthouse kitchen. Send more please."

"Of course, Young Master. We will have it remedied immediately. I apologize for the oversight. Someone might’ve failed to execute the detailed preparation properly. I will personally ensure—"

"Hayashi, it’s fine Can I get the in a fe minutes?"

"Right away, Young Master!"

He ended the call.

The service carts arrived a few minutes later.

Two of them, laden with equipment, linens, serving pieces, the entire orchestrated machinery of luxury hospitality. Behind them came the manager — middle-aged, anxious, already mentally cataloguing every way this morning had failed to meet Chaos’s standards.

The man began a bow that was half-apology, half-panic.

"Young Master, I sincerely apologize. We should have—"

Phei held up one hand.

"Stop," he said quietly.

The manager froze mid-bow.

Phei nearly felt bad; he nearly felt the weight of this man’s panic, his fear, the way his entire morning had probably been consumed by the knowledge that something had gone wrong and he was about to pay for it.

’Is he scared I would complain to Chaos?’

That the Empress herself would hear about this failure? Was that what lived behind the panic in his eyes?

He couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it.

’What does this man take me for? A spoiled brat?’

Well — he might be turning into one with all this spoiling; the evidence was mounting.

The way people scrambled, the way expectations had become the baseline and the way he’d called Hayashi directly instead of just accepting what was there.

’Yeah. Probably turning into a spoiled brat.’

But he also knew something must have gone wrong in the preparation.

Someone who’d been instructed to fully stock the kitchen hadn’t done it thoroughly. It wasn’t the man’s fault — he hadn’t been here to oversee it. But as the manager, the weight of it fell on him anyway.

That was the structure of hierarchy and what responsibility meant when you were positioned between the demands from the Empress and the execution of the staff.

After all, Phei was the sole Young Master of the Ryujin Tiamat Bloodline: The Empress’s grandson and the heir to a power that had predated the current sun.

Everything had been denied to him for seventeen years. But now he’d awakened and broken the shackles of his past years; he could finally receive the inheritance that had been locked away.

The entire operational structure of the island — maybe the entire operational structure of his grandmother’s holdings — was oriented toward proving their loyalty by extension. Proving their loyalty to him and making sure he had everything, wanted for nothing, never experienced even the smallest inconvenience.

The Empress wouldn’t tolerate any mistake.

The Empress would absolutely destroy someone who failed her grandson.

And this manager knew that.

But Phei wasn’t the Empress.

"You’re fine," he said simply. "Something went wrong with the preparation. It wasn’t your fault. You fixed it. That’s the job... you’re good at your job, Hayashi."

The relief that crossed the man’s face was audible; his shoulders dropped and his breathing steadied. Hayashi he suddenly looked five years younger because someone had just lifted the weight of absolute catastrophe off his shoulders.

He bowed properly — once, grateful, the bow of a man who’d been given permission to survive another day.

Hayashi observed from his position of dignified neutrality, his expression remaining perfectly neutral.

He never showed approval or anything. But there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth that might have been acknowledgment or might have been gas.

’Impossible to tell with the old man.’

They set up quickly and quickly the kitchen transformed from Phei’s solitary domain into a fully staffed operation, carts positioned with the precision of military maneuvers, every serving piece arranged for optimal access and function.

When they finished Hayashi gave a small nod and the entire staff retreated with the understanding that their job was complete and their presence was no longer necessary.

The kitchen was quiet again.

While they were all uptight and everything, Phei was rather chill and didn’t care so much about any of it.

The spoiling, the hierarchy, the way his existence had become the epicenter of a small operational universe.

It was what it was.

Soon they left and Phei was finally making his final touches on the meal. Added the last flourishes and checked the temperature on everything that needed temperature checking.

Finally, he tested what needed taste-testing.

Hayashi approached as Phei was finishing.

"The meal looks exceptional, Young Master," the old man said. His voice carried that particular tone of genuine appreciation — not flattery, not performance, just the honest assessment of a man who had spent decades around wealthy people and had learned to distinguish between good and excellent.

"Did you prepare this yourself, Young Master?"

"I did."

"I see." A pause. "The Empress would be pleased to know that you’ve retained competence in practical skills. Most bloodline heirs lose the ability to perform basic tasks once they’ve achieved sufficient wealth."

Phei smiled. He didn’t know if the old man had lied when he said the meal looked exceptional — didn’t know if Hayashi was being genuinely complimentary or if this was the diplomatic language of someone who’d served nobility years and had learned to make everything sound impressive.

Of course he might’ve lied. But that didn’t mean Phei’s food was bad. He was a good cook, he knew that much about himself.

"Thank you, Hayashi.

***

Phei carried the first tray out of the kitchen without ceremony but not toward his bedroom—

His women were his priority, but others deserved the same care and attention: after all not just the three girls and his women were in his penthouse.

He had to wake all of them; Yuki woke with composed grace like she’d never had an ungraceful moment in her life while Amber threw her arms around his neck with the uninhibited affection: it was apparent she had decided that decorum was optional and also stupid.

Both reactions he’d anticipated.

On Victoria’s room, after he knocked, Phei opened without waiting for response — a privilege of ownership, and knowing that Victoria would either be awake or would appreciate being woken by breakfast.

She was awake, actually, sitting on the edge of the bed , her stillness that suggested she’d been there for a while, thinking about something or planning something or simply waiting for the day to begin.

And Nastya was there too — curled up in Victoria’s bed like they’d been sharing space for months instead of days, her hair spread across Victoria’s pillow and her expression carried a certain vulnerability of someone who’d just woken up and hadn’t yet assembled their public face.

She saw Phei and went very still:

A girl meeting the man after so long since the nightclub incident—