Preview: What do you get when four noble grandmothers get wine-drunk at a political summit?
a) War.
b) A bakery empire.
c) A multi-house engagement pact involving their unsuspecting grandchildren.
If you answered c) — congratulations, you're qualified to write my biography.
---
Let me tell you the story of a diplomatic disaster.
Not a war. Not a plague. Not a rebellion.
No. Worse.
A drunken tea party involving four noble grandmothers, a barrel of enchanted wine, and a complete disregard for future consequences.
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It happened seven years ago—or roughly three years before I was reincarnated into this madness. Picture four matriarchs:
Duchess Aurelia Reinhardt (my grandmother and chief architect of my suffering),
Baroness Lysandre (Belladonna's cackling elder and suspected potion smuggler),
Marchioness Valorin (Seraphina's war-general grandma, possibly sword-married),
Lady Primrose of House Evienne (more on her later; trust me, you'll need popcorn).
Each of them powerful.
Each of them terrifying.
Each of them several goblets past sobriety.
The occasion? A "Noble Peace Council" meant to ease tensions between their houses.
The result?
A pinky swear pact etched in magical contract scrolls declaring their grandchildren would marry each other to preserve peace, power, and apparently cake recipes.
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"You've doomed the child!" my father, Duke Reinhardt, had once protested.
His mother, sipping from a goblet shaped like a dragon skull, had merely said:
"Relax. He'll be cute. They won't mind."
Lady Primrose, slurring beside her, had added:
"They'll thank us. Peace is sexy."
I am not making this up. I read it in the footnotes of the family history tome. Annotated in glitter ink.
---
Back to the present.
I sat in the Grand Hall beneath the looming oil painting of The Coven — four proud old ladies raising wineglasses over an oath scroll. It hangs next to our house banner. It might as well be the family curse.
Today was "Binding Day" — an annual festival celebrating the magical hangover pact that doomed me to romantic chaos.
Imagine Valentine's Day mixed with a political summit, a baby pageant, and minor war crimes.
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This year's theme?
"Bonds of Love, Chains of Heritage!"
And yes, that's a direct quote from the invitations printed in magical gold leaf. Sparkling gold leaf.
I sat in the middle of a ceremonial platform wearing ceremonial robes so frilly I looked like a decorative cake topper.
To my left: Seraphina, glaring like she was prepping for war.
To my right: Belladonna, swirling a cup of "definitely not poisonous" tea and humming to herself.
Two chairs remained empty — still waiting for the final two contenders in the "Who Gets to Wed the Main Character" sweepstakes.
I could feel the nobles watching from the balconies. Whispering. Betting. One man in the back had a scorecard. I hate him.
---
Then came the entrance.
A blast of trumpet fanfare. A cloud of magical butterflies. And out floated the Four Grandmothers, still alive, still dangerous, and still completely unaware of how consequences work.
"Let the Binding Day Commence!" Lady Primrose declared, her cane glowing for no reason whatsoever.
My inner monologue was already writing its resignation letter.
---
There were reenactments. Plays. A ballroom dance performed by ten-year-olds reenacting the "formation of romantic destiny." Some kid tripped and started a domino effect that took down three duchesses and a harpist.
Belladonna applauded.
Then came the ritual introductions, where each betrothed child had to recite a verse about their "destined union."
Seraphina recited hers like she was threatening me with every syllable.
Belladonna improvised a limerick that ended with, "and may he survive the kissing."
Then… silence.
All eyes turned to me.
I cleared my throat.
"Roses are red,
Nobles are rich,
This whole situation
Makes me want to ditch."
A few nobles gasped. Belladonna choked on her tea. Seraphina cracked the tiniest smirk.
I counted that as a win.
---
Later that night, I stood alone in the portrait hall.
The moonlight hit the faces of my four noble grandmothers, immortalized mid-toast. There was power there. Ambition. And absolutely zero regard for consent.
I sighed.
The truth was... the older I got, the more I realized something.
This wasn't just about forced betrothals or magical oaths.
It was about legacy. About being born into choices someone else already made. About trying to smile through a future that never asked your opinion.
I wasn't mad at them.
I just... wanted to be seen. Not as the next Saint, or the "harem boy," or the cute heir in ceremonial fluff.
Just as me.
Caelum.
That's all.
---
I turned away from the painting, the candlelight flickering behind me.
Tomorrow, I'd meet the third girl.
I didn't know her name yet.
But something told me she wouldn't be like the others.
Something whispered... she might just break the mold.
And possibly a few laws.
---
Next Time, on "Yes, I Was Reborn…"
Hi. It's me again — your charming, exhausted, emotionally unavailable protagonist.
In the next chapter? I get roped into a duel.
Not for honor. Not for kingdom. Not even for a girl's heart.
For a teacup.
Yes. A ceremonial teacup that apparently holds the fate of diplomatic relations and the soul of etiquette itself.
Spoiler: I hate tea.
Spoiler #2: Someone throws a lemon tart like a shuriken.
See you there. Probably limping. Definitely overcaffeinated.