First Class
An ivory tower stands at the center of the island ship known as Sternsiegel.
It is a hotel for the guests of honor of the ship's owner, Zackery Morgenstern.
Inside the penthouse suite, a scantily dressed woman sits on a couch, looking at the setting sun with a stoic expression. The current guest of honor uses her lap as a pillow, playing with the chains of the metal collar around her neck.
"Hmm... they're late, aren't they?" the young man asks, glancing lazily at the window, where he sees the empty island's docks.
To the sofa's right, his bodyguard looks at him hesitantly.
"... Yes, Saint Timothy."
"Why do you think that is, Tenot?"
Tenot's helmet gives none of his expressions away as he cites possible reasons for the Dauntless crew's delay.
"They could have found stormy weather on their way here. Or trouble with a pirate ship. Or..."
He cuts himself off after remembering a detail about the Dauntless' captain, vice-admiral Grace Sol.
Unfortunately, the noble lounging beside him catches it.
"Or?"
"... Sea kings," he chooses, and it's only a half-lie.
The noble frowns at that. "Sea kings? Shouldn't a vice-admiral take care of them easily?"
"It depends on their size, my Lord."
"Aww... now I'm worried. How will we ever find Sora with a crew that struggles with a Sea king?"
The rear admiral isn't surprised at his lack of concern for their lives.
Timothy leaves the couch, and the collared woman follows before he can tug on her chain.
"Tenot."
He stands at attention. "Yes, my Lord?"
"I think I'm bored."
From his experience, nothing good would come of that. Still, he keeps quiet. If Timothy wanted him to do something to alleviate his tedium, he would have ordered him already. As things are, he's only venting.
"Let's go outside," Timothy decides, pressing a button on his collar that creates a bubble around his head. "I wanted to get my tour of the island when everyone was here, but apparently, that was too much to ask."
Though he wants to point out that the Dauntless is late by only 10 minutes, Tenot nods and follows the noble along with two slaves.
The first is a mink tribe woman with cat features. Timothy rides on her shoulders, not wanting to waste his energy walking.
The second is the human woman he'd been treating as a pillow. She trudges behind the mink, her chain wrapped around the noble's hand.
"Lord Timothy is leaving his quarters to explore the Sternsiegel," Tenot mutters into his Transponder Snail, ordering his men to stand guard at various key positions.
Then, he discreetly reaches for a metal flask, pulls up his mask, and takes a few sips of wine.
It's going to be a long shift.
[First Class]
The streets of the Sternsiegel are abuzz as the world noble and his entourage take a stroll. People clear the way and bow as he passes, only to whisper and point as soon as his back turns.
When he arrived at the island today, the people threw a massive party to welcome him, treating his arrival like a national holiday. He didn't have a chance to enjoy everything, weary from the trip as he was.
Even now, restaurants, casinos, amusement parks, and many other establishments are open and beckoning him, desiring the prestige of a noble patron... and his money.
Through it all, Timothy smiles, accustomed to the spotlight. His eyes wander, looking for a place to relieve his boredom while appreciating the craftsmanship that went into the island.
"Father did a great job with this place," he comments, resting his head atop his slave's. "Don't you think so, Tenot?"
"It's certainly impressive," the rear admiral agrees nonchalantly, carefully watching out for anything out of the ordinary. Other lower-ranked marines hide between the crowds and atop buildings, also monitoring.
"Ya know, I wanted a smaller ship because it would be faster to catch up with Sora. But he and Mom told me that smaller vessels aren't as cozy, and if I had to sail in a Battleship or Cruiser, I'd end up snapping one week into the journey and coming back home."
Tenot blinks at the accurate assessment. Only another world noble could call him out on that, he supposed. Then again, it was probably advice from personal experience.
"Oh! Look, look."
The young man pats his slave's cheek twice as a sign for her to stop walking.
Tenot's eyes follow his finger, glancing at a theater's marquee in the distance.
Tonight at 7 PM The Sternsiegel Palladium presents: Medleys to Saint Timothy!
"They're making a show for my arrival!"
Suddenly, he lowers his finger, pouting.
"... And didn't even send me an invite? How sloppy. Hey, Tenot, what time is it now?"
"6:53 PM, my Lord."
The young man nods in satisfaction, patting the mink under him to start moving again. "Just in time, then. Let's go."
"Half of you, set a perimeter around the Sternsiegel Palladium," the rear admiral tells his snail as he trails behind. "The other half, stand in guard inside the building."
A well-dressed, portly man greets them as they enter the theater.
"S-Saint Morgenstern! Thank you for joining us on this joyous night!"
"Oh please, Saint Morgenstern is my father. Just call me Saint Timothy."
"As you command, my Lord. Our best front-row seat is waiting for you, and there will be a banquet in your honor afterward."
"About that. Why didn't you send me an invite? If I hadn't decided to go outside at the right time, I would have missed the show."
"H-Huh? But we did send an invite. I a-assumed you came here because of it..."
The young man hums. "Tenot. Find whoever's responsible for my correspondence and punish them accordingly."
"Of course."
Tenot would investigate the matter first, then give them a slap on the wrist.
"Rise," Timothy commands, and the palladium's employee stops bowing. "Who's performing today?"
"Ah, it's Garvey Bay and his band! They'll play an overture and four medleys for you and the audience..."
As they cross the main corridor, murmurs of anticipation echo from the walls, from people waiting for the spectacle to begin.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The Sternsiegel Palladium proudly welcomes... the star of the show to get it on with the soul... Saint Timothy Morgenstern!"
The domed ceiling's lights fall upon him as he enters the main auditorium. On the stage, the band plays a cheerful entrance theme. The noble waves to the audience as they give him a standing ovation just for being there. His mink mount walks down to the front row, stopping in front of the reserved, golden velvet seats.
The applause dies out. The spotlight goes back to the stage. Timothy climbs off the slave's crouching form, facing the reception, the same portly man from before and a tall, red-headed lady wearing a similarly-colored suit.
Camille Daelman, she introduces herself as. The palladium's proprietor. There to pay her respects and ensure the noble is satisfied with the arrangements.
He picks the centermost golden seat, and his slaves sit on the floor, leaning close to his legs like they were trained to do.
"You can sit behind me if you want, Tenot. Enjoy the show for a bit."
"... Thank you, my Lord."
Tenot rests for the first time in a few hours, sighing softly. He wonders how many days of this he will have to go through.
"As for you..." Timothy points at Camille, then pats the seat to his right. "Right here."
She bows deeply, then takes her place. A seat that belonged to her until the world noble walked in and gave it back to her.
"Thank you, my Lord."
With a snap of his fingers towards the band, music fills the air.
[First Class]
"This medley is a combination of their hits from the 1560s," Camille explains to the guest of honor. "Boogie Woogie Sea Train, Peculiar As Can Be, Under The Lighthouse, and It's So Sweet Loving You."
Timothy nods along with the explanation, splitting his attention between the band's thrilling performance and the beautiful woman at his side.
"Who's the man on the trumpets?" he wonders, almost putting a hand under his chin before realizing his bubble helmet is on the way.
She blinks. "That's Nolan Harkless, my Lord."
"He's doing a superb job, but his embouchure could use some work. How long has he been playing for?"
"... I'm not sure."
"Look it up, then. I'm curious."
"... I beg your pardon?"
He smiles at her. "Find out how long he's been playing for. Step away from the auditorium if you have to."
She bows her head in deference. "I apologize in advance... but couldn't you ask him yourself after the show? I'm confident he would be overjoyed to answer your questions."
"I could ask him," Timothy agrees. "But you offered to tell me about the show, so you should know this much."
"I—"
He reaches out and pats her cheek. "Go on. I'll be waiting."
"..."
The palladium's owner leaves without another word.
"Ain't that peculiar~?" Timothy sings along with the chorus, lightly swaying side to side. "A Peculiar—ality? Ain't that peculiar, baby? Peculiar as can be..."
He turns to the rear admiral walking towards him. "Hm? What is it, Tenot?"
"Vice-admiral Grace has just docked on the Sternsiegel."
"Wonderful! And it only took... twenty-seven minutes," Timothy says, pausing briefly to count the songs' lengths. "Tell her to come here. I don't want to miss this part."
"As you wish."
Tenot steps away from the melody to contact the vice-admiral properly. Minutes later, as the second medley ends and the cheering starts, Timothy catches three people in his peripheral.
The tall man with an archaic helmet. His bodyguard, Tenot.
A woman with short black hair, wearing the marine's uniform, but lacking the classic officer's coat.
And a silver-haired woman who trailed behind them yet towered above everyone in the palladium. She did not wear a marine uniform but instead an elegant purple dress.
The two late arrivals kneel before him. "We apologize for the tardiness, Saint Morgenstern," the shorter woman says. From physical descriptions given to him by his father, Timothy knows this is...
"Vice-admiral Grace. Before I decide whether I should forgive you, can you explain why you're tardy in the first place?"
"... We got lost," the two women reply simultaneously. Timothy and Grace's gazes go to the silver-haired marine, whom he hadn't directed the question at.
"Who are you?" he asks, blinking.
Still on her knees, she gives him a hasty salute.
"Ensign Mioka, Sir! I-I mean, Your Highness—err, my Lord!"
Oh no! She'd practiced all day for her introduction only to blow it at the last second!
"Are you right in the head?" he asks, baffled.
"Yes, my Lord!"
He turns his gaze to the higher-ranking officers. "Why did you bring her here? I only asked for Grace."
Tenot's posture becomes more rigid. "About that..."
"She wanted to see you. It's her first time meeting a World Noble," Grace explains.
"I apologize for my selfishness—" Mioka begins, then halts as the young man laughs, waving them off.
"It's fine, it's fine!" he tells her, grinning somewhat smugly.
A short distance from them, the band starts playing the third medley. Much to their credit, they don't miss a beat, even with the current disturbance in the VIP row.
The questioning resumes.
"Grace, how many people are on your ship?"
"Forty-five, my Lord."
"And how many of those are responsible for navigating it?"
"Sixteen, my Lord."
"And yet, you're telling me you got lost."
She nods.
"How?"
"It happened before I boarded the ship."
Timothy blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then looks at Tenot, who avoids his eyes. It takes him a full five seconds to process Grace's words and blow a sigh.
"... Alright. Crawl over here," he orders, tapping a spot on the floor with his foot.
Grace obeys silently.
"A bit to the left... stay on all fours... bend a bit lower... perfect."
He raises his feet and puts them above Grace's kneeling body.
"This is your punishment. Footstool duty until the show ends. I'll explain your job on this ship during the banquet in a few minutes."
The vice-admiral only nods, feeling the slaves near his seat staring at her with an unusual sense of camaraderie.
"You. Sit here."
Mioka blinks in shock at the noble's command before hesitantly taking her place by his left. She expected to be punished alongside her captain.
As for Tenot, he's unsurprised. She had fed his ego with her desire to see him face-to-face, so he gave her exactly what she wanted.
"You're dismissed, Tenot," Timothy tells him, and he salutes before leaving the auditorium for a much-needed wine break.
The ensign has her ears on the show unfolding in front of her and her eyes on the noble watching alongside her.
She doesn't want to admit it, but... she's disappointed.
Saint Timothy was not ugly. Even with that strange bubble around his head, she senses a slight boyish charm about him. She can tell he takes good care of his appearance.
Above-average looks, yet still far from the pinnacle of beauty world nobles were supposed to be in her head.
And beyond that...
She spares a glance at her captain, still on footstool duty.
She shouldn't feel so sad seeing this scene, right? It was punishment for her tardiness. It was no different from an officer making a chore boy do several push-ups for shoddy work. Her superiors had done her worse to her crewmates during marine training.
Maybe that's precisely it. This young man treats Grace—someone she admires greatly—like a misbehaving chore boy.
What power.
Grace herself does not feel that unhappy with her punishment. She's gotten far worse from the nobles after far minor mistakes. It was actually lucky that she caught him in a somewhat festive mood.
Mioka's thoughts shift slightly as a theater owner returns, sitting by Timothy's other side with a neutral expression.
"Twenty-one months," she says, much to the ensign's confusion.
"Wow," he breathes, looking at the trumpet player with renewed amazement. "He's really talented, then."
He notices Mioka's puzzlement. "Oh, this is Camille. She owns the palladium. If you have any questions about the show, leave it to her."
"It's an honor to meet you! I'm Mioka," she introduces herself with a hand over her heart.
The two nod respectfully at each other.
Soon, the fourth medley starts, and Mioka finds her mood growing as she learns about the band, the palladium, and Timothy's visits to other concerts.
Still, something is missing.
She hasn't proven herself to the world noble like she wanted to.
If only she could join the band in their performance... that would surely earn a few compliments from him, not to mention the audience...
"You wanna join them?"
Timothy looks at her with a raised eyebrow. It seems she let a few words escape during her daydreaming.
"Umm..."
"You didn't mention you played an instrument, Miss Mioka," Camilla comments, eyes also on her.
The silver-haired woman fixes her hair nervously. "Truthfully, I'm more of a dancer..."
She feels the young noble's eyes roam over her body.
"Hmm..."
He's seen dancers of all species, including the longlimbs, which Mioka clearly belonged to.
The young man makes a thumbs up.
"I'll allow it."
"What?" the two women ask in shock.
An eager grin appears on his face. "The final medley is about to start, right? It's her chance to enter the stage."
"B-But the band hasn't rehearsed for this at all," Camille stutters, looking fearfully at the growing hope in Mioka's eyes. "Miss Mioka, you can't actually be considering it!"
"Well... an artist has to know how to improvise?" she states unsurely, unable to hide her excitement.
"But... but..."
"Let her dance, Camilla," the world noble orders, and she's forced to swallow her refusal and obey.
"Come with me, Miss Mioka..."
[First Class]
"You know, ladies and gentlemen... very few performers have the privilege to step into this palladium during the course of their career... I feel lucky to be here, in the presence of thousands of wonderful people..."
The main singer praises his audience and stage while the band plays a soft tune.
"To perform these last songs for you, a charming lady dancer is about to come to the stage to assist us... so... won't you come together and give a warm welcome to... Ensign Mioka of the Marines!"
Timothy claps for the silver-haired woman as she steps into the spotlight and waves shyly at the audience. His support is joined by thousands of others.
The lights are far brighter than expected. This was everything Mioka wanted. And yet, with the way her heart drums inside her ribcage, she feels one dance step away from dying.
"Thank you, thank you!"
The melody picks up, ending what little time she has to think.
To say her first movements are weighed down by hesitation would be a gross understatement. Her only audiences before were people on the ship or barracks who sometimes stopped to look at her. Now, she feels the eyes of hundreds—no, thousands! Thousands of people from all over the world! Watching her every move!
As her heart wavers, she tries to downplay the situation. Right here, the worst she can face is contempt from the audience. But during her job, she fights for her life every other day! As far as proving her beauty goes, this is the easier option...
If it wasn't for Saint Timothy on the front row, watching her every move. He looks... unimpressed.
What will he do to her if she disappoints? He placed her as the grand finale to a show he was already enjoying, so she must deliver!
Every second feels like an hour as the main singer's voice dictates her rhythm. Eventually, Mioka cannot sense the audience anymore, focused on the music as she is. There's only her, the beat, and the noble.
When the first verse ends, everything changes. Of course, it's a medley. Mioka cannot rely on the structure of one song for too long.
However, her heart stops wavering. If she's been going for this long and no one has taken her off the stage yet, she's doing good. Amazing, even.
More verses. More instrumentals.
The audience makes a brief comeback in her awareness as she does several grand jetés across the stage.
And just like that, her confidence peaks as she lands her last jump. The remaining nine minutes aren't easy by any means. But they aren't enough to weigh down her moves again.
"Woo!"
She poses gracefully as the horns signal the song's end.
From there, it's a blur of cheers, roses falling from the ceiling, and thanks given to the audience.
She returns to the front rows after the curtain call. Sweaty. Tired. Content.
Timothy is standing for the first time she's seen him, and she finally registers how short he is. She's more than twice his height.
"Perfect. I knew you wouldn't make it boring. Your beauty was just what that stage needed for a proper finale."
Grace hovers behind him, finally free from footstool duty.
"Huh. Didn't know you had moves like that."
Her captain smiles warmly at her. "Good job, Mioka."
She soaks in their praise like a man dying of thirst in the desert drinks water, bowing in gratitude.
"Shall I guide you to the banquet, Saint Timothy?" the palladium's owner asks, walking towards them.
He wags a finger at her.
"Not yet. First, make sure I won't be disturbed. This will be a meeting between me and the marine officers. No one but the servers are allowed. Refund whoever paid to join the banquet if you have to. I'll cover the expenses."
He turns to Mioka and Grace. "Second, take these two to the nearest shower and give them a change of clothes from your costume shop."
It was already bad enough that he had to breathe the commoner's air while eating. He wouldn't smell footstool and sweat, too.
"You two can take how many clothes you want from there. I'll pay for it."
Mioka fails to hide a grin at his words, while Grace succeeds in hiding her annoyance at being considered dirty.
"Third... where the hell is Tenot?"
[First Class]
"Ta-ra-ra-ra~ra-ra-ra~ra-ra-ra~tu-du-du..."
Slumping against a backstage wall, the rear admiral chugs down his fifth bottle of wine, then continues humming a tune only he knows.
"Pa-ra-ra-ra-pa-pa-ra~pa-pa-pa-ra-ra-ra-pa-pa-ra~"
"Oi, Tenot, what's the meaning of this?"
"Ah, crapbaskets."
A hazy vision of the future comes to his drunken mind, and he slowly stands up, leaving the empty bottles behind.
He had relaxed a bit too much.
"I'm here!" he greets as he turns a corner, shuffling towards the young man and his slaves.
"We'll have words later," Timothy promises as his mink mount walks past the slumping rear admiral. "Do you have Sora's information?"
"... Yes," he replies after feeling his pockets.
"Then let's get to business."
The Sternsiegel Palladium has a main auditorium for 2200 people, but the hall they enter can only house 200. It's meant for VIPs and whoever they decide to invite.
Since there are only four of them, it seems eerily empty... like they're a bunch of hooligans invading it before the big party. Or at least that's what Tenot feels.
That unease doesn't fade even when Grace and Mioka rejoin them.
Somehow, the two women changed clothes while he was away. Grace wears something similar to her marine attire. Mioka dons a cobalt dress that looks suspiciously like a costume from a play. The latter also carries several bags filled with more clothes.
Tenot doesn't question when and why they did this. Unfortunately, he's used to Timothy's strange tastes from the short time he's spent guarding him.
The ensign twirls and poses in front of them. "I thank you again for these garments, my Lord. Finding clothes for my proportions was difficult... but I'm certain I've succeeded. Don't you agree?"
Tenot glances at the bangs she's carrying again, pondering how many more there would be if she were a human.
"I do! The dress shows off your legs quite nicely."
"Why, thank you!"
"You know, I loved your performance today. You should dance for me again! When you're not busy with the tasks I have for you, of course."
"I-I would be honored to!"
Grace and Tenot share a look. They'll need to talk with their lower-ranked compatriot later.
... About how fickle a world noble's favor can be.
The palladium's staff guide them to their table. After less than a minute, the marines are swarmed with various dishes of all tastes, ingredients, and origins.
Tenot munches on comfort food from his country, though the taste doesn't compare to his memories. Grace indulges in various desserts.
As for the other two... their plates stay empty. Mioka because she's watching out for her figure, trying to find the healthiest option for her dinner.
As for Timothy... he's pondering if the food is worth dropping his protective bubble. He can't even ask the people around him since they have a commoner's palate.
In the end, he sighs and faces the nearest waiter.
"Bring me a mint julep."
"Right away, my Lord."
[First Class]
"Your mission is to help me find a wanted woman and protect me during the journey. Simple, no?"
"Indeed, my Lord!"
"... That was a rhetorical question."
Mioka scratches her neck sheepishly.
"Tenot, show them the poster!"
SORA TENSHI ALIVE 2,800,000,000 BERI
The woman pictured in the bounty poster has tanned skin, long white hair, and sharp green eyes. Adorned with the finest clothes and jewelry money can buy, she glances away from the viewer with a solemn, almost melancholic expression.
Grace balks at the number listed below her name. She'd never seen this woman or heard about her. Yet, somehow, her bounty eclipses the ones of most emperor crew members.
"Who is she?" Mioka asks before the vice-admiral can.
"My future wife."
"C-Congratulations?" the silver-haired woman says unsurely. "Er-hem, I mean... my condolences," she corrects herself, remembering Sora's current status.
"I appreciate it. Sora is from an almost-extinct tribe, the Lunarians. They were worshipped as... Gods... ages ago for their superhuman physicality, ability to fly, and pyrokinesis."
He can't hold back the exasperation in his tone. Adulating anyone but the creators of the current world... the stupidity of some commoners astounds him sometimes.
"She's special. Her bounty was supposed to be only one billion since that's how much I bought her for, but I had Marine HQ bump it up because of all the time and money I spent training her to be my wife."
Elementary education, noble etiquette, cooking, sewing, medicine... so many tutors were hired during her graduation from slave to bride. Not to mention the troubles breaking her invulnerability to clip her wings and brand her with the celestial dragon's claw.
Ah... he was getting upset all over again by thinking about it.
Sitting next to him, one of the slaves he'd brought senses his turbulent mood and acts, reaching for a glass of chocolate mousse and offering him a spoonful of the delicacy.
He looks at her in surprise before parting his mouth and accepting the treat, feeling a soothing sensation from its sweet flavor.
It was good that she noticed their master's woes and tried to help without being ordered... but part of him wished it was Sora feeding him right now.
Timothy wraps an arm around her waist, and she shifts in response, sitting on his lap to offer him more comfort.
"... Bought her?" Mioka asks as he savors another bite.
"Mm-hm."
Timothy licks his lips, then subtly gestures for his other slave to fetch a bowl of berries, which the woman on his lap uses as spoons to feed him more chocolate.
"I can tell you're puzzled, ensign. So I'll clear things up. Sora Tenshi is a slave. My slave. You, Grace, and Tenot were brought here to capture her and guard me and this island. If everything goes right, some of you may gain a promotion and an invite to the wedding in the holy land of Mary Geoise. And if it doesn't..."
He lets the threat hang in the air for a few seconds, humming. "Hmph. Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."
He shoos away the hand holding a glazed strawberry, having eaten enough.
"Any more questions?"
"..."
Mioka shakes her head and looks down, suddenly muted.
"..."
Tenot says nothing, being the first one to know of this operation.
"Any clues on her whereabouts?"
Playing with a toothpick, Grace leans back on her chair, asking the most obvious question.
Tenot reaches over the table with reports of the Lunarian's known movements. The gesture vaguely reminds Timothy of a classmate passing a test to someone behind their desk, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or scowl. They could have had a more professional setting for this if it wasn't for Grace's tardiness.
... Still, the show wasn't half bad.
He would make a generous donation to the theater after this.
Playing with the waistband of his slave's skirt, he half-listens to the Marines discussing strategy, his mind more occupied with how he will entertain himself on the Sternsiegel tomorrow.
It's only a matter of time until Sora is his again.