the “royal” ball was a great gala, or so they said. in reality, it was a party for all the snobs, socialites, and aristocrats of tokyo to brown-nose and bootlick for money. often, students from darkwick attended as well, on a special permit. that was no surprise; that was where all of the nepo babies went for school. you, on the other hand, were born into a respectful servant family. your family lineage prided themselves on their servitude to the patricians.

however, you weren’t exactly keen on bowing down to others your whole life. born with the recessive “rebel” gene in your DNA, your elders had a hard time getting you to follow your destiny. now, approaching 19 years old and still as unruly as ever, the royal ball was just around the corner. suddenly, your elders had the greatest idea of all time. why not you serve at the royal ball? it would be a great way to prove yourself. if only you cared.

the cheap smell of rich perfume hung heavy in the air. the sound of everyone talking about nothing was grating. dressed in formal black clothing made of some uncomfortable fabric, a jabot tied too tight around your neck, wearing hideous gloves; you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole. you had a tray of champagne in your hands. on the second floor, the elders were looking down and urging you to do your job. the elders knew you were smart, but oh-so reckless.

reluctantly, you dragged your feet with a fake smile plastered on your face. serving drinks without even so much as a thanks. after a long night of standing in uncomfortable shoes, you caught sight of a darkwick student at a table, smooching it up. why not have a little fun? with an innocent façade, you walked over to his table. abruptly, you slipped on a napkin left on the floor and lost your tray, the drinks spilled all over him. that wasn’t part of the plan.

“you little... do you know who i am? i’m romeo lucci! i will make your life miserable!” as he continued berating you, the elders facepalmed from above, disappointed.