The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 399: She is an npc?

A few hours later, they gathered in the villa’s dining room for what Milan had called a ”small feast” but which looked more substantial than that description suggested. The table was laden with dishes—roasted meats, boiled vegetables, a variety of dishes, pastries, and several bottles of excellent wine.

Milan sat at the head of the table, with Jolthar to his right and Cleora to his left. Nora had been seated next to her mother, which put her directly in Milan’s line of sight.

Which proved to be a problem.

Every time Nora spoke, Milan’s attention would focus on her with an intensity that made him miss conversational cues. His responses would come a beat too late, or he’d lose track of what he’d been saying mid-sentence.

”The paperwork situation in Tekkora really has become unmanageable,” Nora was explaining. ”We’ve had such rapid growth that the administrative systems haven’t kept pace. I’ve been working sixteen-hour days just to keep up with the basics.”

”That’s... that’s very dedicated of you,” Milan said, then seemed to realize how inadequate that response was.

”I mean, we could perhaps send some administrative assistance? Would that help? The capital has many skilled clerks who could—” He stopped, his face reddening.

”Not that I’m suggesting you can’t handle it! You’re obviously very capable. Extremely capable. I just meant—”

He trailed off, looking flustered.

Jolthar watched this with growing amusement. He had never seen Milan lose his composure like this. The prince, who had calmly negotiated his release from custody and who had faced down divine confrontations, was reduced to stuttering and blushing by Cleora’s daughter.

”That’s kind of you, your highness,” Nora replied, apparently oblivious to his distress.

”Additional assistance would be welcome.”

”Good. Great. I’ll arrange it.”

Milan reached for his wine glass, missed, and had to try again to grab it. When he finally got it, he drank more than he probably intended.

Andrion, who had joined them for the meal, was watching his brother with barely concealed delight.

”Brother, are you feeling well? You seem unusually warm. Perhaps you should remove a layer?”

”I’m fine,” Milan said quickly, shooting his brother a look that promised retribution later.

The meal continued with Nora discussing the barony’s developments, asking questions about the capital, and generally being her energetic, competent self. And through it all, Milan became progressively more flushed, more prone to stammering, and more obviously captivated.

Finally, about halfway through the meal, Milan abruptly stood.

”I, ah, I need to excuse myself for a moment. Please, continue without me. I’ll return shortly.”

He practically fled from the dining room.

Even the last time he saw Nora, he was quite captivated by her beauty, and now that she has grown much more beautiful, Milan can’t seem to take his eyes off her. He was mesmerized by her.

Jolthar set down his fork.

”I should check on him. Make sure he’s alright.”

”Please do,” Cleora said with a knowing smile.

Jolthar left the table and went looking for Milan. The prince wasn’t in his study or his chambers.

He looked around for a while.

Finally, Jolthar heard a sound from a small courtyard near the back of the villa, a quiet, frustrated voice muttering something.

He approached quietly and stopped dead in his tracks when he heard something.

”Kuso! Kanojo wa tada no NPC da to omotte ita noni... Naze konna ni doki doki shiteru nda?!”

Shit! She’s just an NPC... Why is my heart pounding like this?!

Jolthar knew the language, and it wasn’t from this world.

It was Japanese. Fluent, native-sounding Japanese.

Jolthar turned on his heel and saw Milan on the ground.

Milan was squatting, not sitting, but in that distinctive Asian squat with his feet flat on the ground and knees bent, in a position that was uniquely common in Japan but rarely seen elsewhere. He was holding his face in his hands, his cheeks red, and he was muttering under his breath in a language that made Jolthar shocked.

Jolthar stood frozen, his mind racing. That language didn’t exist in this world. It was from Earth. From his world. Which meant—

”Milan,” Jolthar said quietly.

The prince jumped, nearly falling over as he spun around.

When he saw Jolthar, his face went even redder.

”How long have you been standing there?”

”Long enough,” Jolthar replied, switching to English, his native language, equally foreign to this world.

”To hear you complaining in Japanese about someone you thought was an NPC.”

Milan’s expression went through several rapid changes: shock, denial, and then resignation.

”Wait—that’s English. You are...”

He answered in English, his accent distinctly American.

”Well, fuck me!!”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Jolthar started laughing, not mockery, but the relief and absurdity of discovery. Jolthar couldn’t believe that he didn’t know Milan was also a reincarnator like him. All this time, they talked, but not a single one of them had noticed it.

”You’re a reincarnator. You’re from Earth.”

”So are you, apparently,” Milan replied, standing up from his squat and running a hand through his hair.

”Though your accent is American, East Coast?”

”Yeah,” Jolthar confirmed.

”You?”

”Osaka,” Milan said. ”Born and raised. Died in a stupid traffic accident when I was thirty-five and woke up as a baby prince in this crazy fantasy world.”

He looked at Jolthar with new understanding.

”When did you figure out this world wasn’t... normal?”

”Pretty much immediately,” Jolthar admitted.

”Magic, monsters, medieval society with weird technological inconsistencies. It screamed ’isekai’ from day one.”

He paused.

”You really thought the people here were NPCs?”

”At first,” Milan said sheepishly. ”That this was all just novel type setting or something.”

”I spent the first few years half-convinced this was some kind of afterlife simulation or incredibly vivid VR. But they’re real—as real as we are.”

He slumped against the courtyard wall.

”Which makes what just happened in there even more embarrassing.”

”You mean turning into a blushing, stammering mess around Nora?” Jolthar asked with amusement.