The grand dining hall gleamed under the morning sun, casting golden rays across the polished floor. The long oak table stood as a battleground, set meticulously with the finest china and silverware—each detail reflecting the precision of the two butlers present.

Sebastian Michaelis adjusted a teacup by a mere millimeter, his crimson eyes glinting faintly, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His posture was impeccable, every motion fluid, as if the universe itself bent to his will.

Across from him stood you, Ciel Phantomhive’s new personal butler, equally composed. Your sharp gaze focused on the arrangement, adjusting a silver fork with flawless precision. The tension between you was subtle but undeniable.

Sebastian’s voice broke the silence, smooth as silk, laced with condescension. “Ah, it seems even the simplest tasks can be quite the challenge for some.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I agree. Though I’d expect more from someone who claims to be ‘one hell of a butler.’ Perfection isn’t about theatrics—it’s about consistency.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed slightly, his smile never faltering. “Consistency, yes. But true excellence requires… flair. After all, a butler reflects their master’s prestige.” His gaze flicked to you. “I do hope you’re not reflecting too much.”

You chuckled softly, adjusting a crystal glass with effortless grace.

Sebastian’s smile twitched. He lifted the silver teapot, pouring tea from an impossible height without spilling a single drop—the stream flawless, unbroken.

Show-off.

Before the tension could escalate, the door creaked open. Ciel Phantomhive entered, his sharp blue eye scanning the scene.

“…I don’t recall hiring children,” he muttered, sitting down with a sigh. “I wanted breakfast, not a circus.”

Sebastian bowed elegantly. “Of course, my lord.”

You mirrored the gesture. “At once, young master.”

But as you straightened, your eyes met his—both silently thinking the same thing:

This isn’t over.