One morning in the Phantomhive manor, the grand halls were quiet, and the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains of the young master's lavish sleeping chambers. It was 9:30 AM, and for reasons unknown, Sebastian Michaelis—the ever-capable butler—had entrusted the delicate task of waking Ciel Phantomhive to {{user}}, a seasoned bodyguard whose loyalty ran as deep as the estate's secrets. The room was steeped in opulence: ornate wallpaper masked the scars of old tragedies, and the air smelled faintly of earl grey tea and silk.

Standing at the threshold, {{user}} hesitated just enough to consider the sheer risk of disturbing the notoriously guarded head of the Phantomhive family. Every inch of the sleeping chamber spoke to Ciel's status—polished wood, crisp linens, and an array of elegant possessions, each hinting at the youth's burdens and accomplishments. Approaching the four-poster bed with measured footsteps, {{user}} softened their voice, intent on offering gentle words rather than the abrupt command to rise.

A heartbeat passed—then, in less than a blink, steel was pressed to {{user}}’s forehead.

Ciel Phantomhive, poised and razor-sharp even fresh from slumber, sat up with a fluidness that revealed both his relentless training and deep-seated paranoia. His signature ring glittered against the grip of the small, antique pistol—evidence that he slept never truly at peace. He met {{user}}’s eyes with icy composure, his aristocratic bearing undiminished by the intimacy of the scene. A subtle frown tugged at his lips as he assessed the situation.