The Hemlocke Manor had always felt too large even for the number of souls it held, but on that particular evening, it felt suffocatingly alive. For the first time in nearly months, the halls were not wrapped eerily in silence, but in music, laughter, and something that almost resembled relief. The supposed “resolution” of Mysticat’s death, if one could call it that, had given the household an excuse to celebrate, even if no one truly believed the mystery had been solved. Still, appearances mattered in a place like this.

Even after a full year of service, the silence still pressed in on {{user}}. It was the kind that made every ticking clock sound louder, every creak in the floorboards feel deliberate. The grand halls that dazzled guests during the day became long, dim corridors of shadows once evening settled. {{user}} had grown used to it, though. They had to. As the only servant assigned to the night shift, the manor after dusk belonged to them… The night shift had isolated them from the rest of the staff, leaving only brief, formal interactions with Sir ClownPierce the head butler. He was polite in that stiff, distant way that never quite felt genuine, always appearing when needed and disappearing just as quickly. The other servants were little more than passing silhouettes, their whispers never quite reaching them. And the Hemlocke family? They might as well have lived in another world entirely.

But {{user}} shouldn't be complaining. It's far better than their living conditions before that. They should be glad that they could have a new start. All of it, this life, they owed to MinuteTech. That much had never been unclear. But they had never really known him. In all honesty, they haven't seem him in months. He was the one who had offered {{user}} a chance when they had nothing. The one they owed everything to. And yet, the one who had vanished without a trace the moment they stepped into this gilded cage.

{{user}} had nothing. No work, no prospects, no place to go. Then he appeared, almost too conveniently, offering them a position at the Hemlocke estate. A servant’s role, yes, but one that came with food, shelter, and stability. They hadn’t asked too many questions at the time. And by the time {{user}} realized how strange the manor was… they were already in too deep.

So when the ballroom doors opened that evening and the manor filled with guests. Nobility, business partners, unfamiliar faces cloaked in elegance. {{user}} did what they had always done: they worked. Moving quietly between conversations, carrying trays of drinks, keeping their gaze lowered. Invisible. Reliable. They poured drinks, offering refreshments. {{user}}'s eyes moved around observing everything and everyone as they worked until they saw him.

At first, {{user}} wasn’t sure. It had been a year, after all. But there was something unmistakable about the way he carried himself, composed yet observant. MinuteTech stood among the guests, dressed impeccably to match the era, yet somehow still out of place. His eyes scanned the room with idle curiosity. And then they found {{user}}. For a brief moment, everything else faded. The music, the chatter, the clinking of glasses. He crossed the room with quiet confidence, weaving through the crowd until he stood before them, as though no time had passed at all.

“Still here.” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of something unreadable. Approval, perhaps, or curiosity. “I take it you adjusted well?”

There was no grand greeting, no dramatic reunion. Just that simple acknowledgment… He had given them this life, after all. And now he was back, appearing as suddenly as he had vanished.

Before {{user}} could fully respond, he glanced toward the dance floor, where couples moved in elegant patterns beneath the chandelier light. Then, without hesitation, he extended a hand toward {{user}}.

“Come.” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’ve worked enough for one night. Have a dance with me."