Alt Title: Welcome to Noble Kindergarten — Featuring Foam Weapons and Dignity Loss
Dear reader,
Have you ever looked at a teacup and thought,
"You know what this porcelain needs? A blood feud."
No?
Then congratulations — you're sane.
Unlike literally everyone around me.
Let me explain.
---
It all began on Binding Day — which sounds like a charming festival, but is actually just an elaborate excuse for noble grandmothers to throw children into public duels while wearing tiaras.
Yes, Binding Day is a Real Thing™.
Yes, it's still legal.
And yes, it involves a sacred teacup that's about as magical as a fancy spoon.
But in noble society, symbolism is everything.
And when four very drunk noblewomen once made a pact over wine and bad decisions, they somehow decided their grandchildren — aka me and three other unfortunate souls — would marry one another to maintain "peace" between houses.
How does that bring peace?
It doesn't.
But don't let logic get in the way of aristocratic matchmaking.
Inner Me: What could possibly go wrong with forced inter-house baby weddings based on wine-fueled pinky swears? Nothing. Totally fine. Perfectly normal.
---
Scene: Grand Dining Hall, House Reinhardt Estate
The chandeliers sparkled. The velvet banners fluttered dramatically (enchanted wind, obviously). The nobles watched from balconies like they were waiting for someone to fall on a cake.
Which... fair.
Because someone would.
Spoiler: it wasn't me.
Not this time.
In the center of the room sat the "Sacred Teacup of House Harmony." I wish I were making that name up.
It gleamed. It sparkled. It looked deeply unimpressed by the children about to fight over it.
That's when my opponent swaggered in.
Lord Elric Velmont.
Age: Six.
Temperament: Inflated ego meets jam donut.
Status: Previously defeated by a flying cream puff (hurled by yours truly).
Grudge Level: Somewhere between "mild vendetta" and "anime rival with unresolved trauma."
He walked in like he was the final boss of a cooking simulator.
And me?
Well, I was still trying to figure out how not to look constipated in ceremonial robes.
Inner Me: This is fine. This is totally fine. I'm about to duel over porcelain like it's national security.
---
"Combatants to the center!" shouted Madame Thistle, who looked like she regretted every life choice that brought her to this point. (Same.)
She held up a parasol like a referee sword and narrowed her eyes.
"Weapons: ceremonial foam rods."
Inner Me: Is this a duel or preschool recess?
Outer Me: grabs foam rod with dramatic flair anyway
"Begin!"
---
Elric charged with all the grace of a sugar-addled goose.
I sidestepped.
He skidded.
His foot caught on a decorative rug.
His face introduced itself to a pie table.
Round One: Caelum "I Am the Chaos" Reinhardt.
The crowd gasped. Belladonna cheered. Someone threw a mint.
Elric stood, dripping strawberry cream, eyes blazing.
"I SHALL HAVE VENGEANCE," he screamed.
Inner Me: Please do it quietly. My ears are nobility-sensitive.
We clashed.
Rod against rod.
Squeak against squeak.
Honor against dignity.
His strikes were wild. My dodges were... mostly accidental. We looked like two toddlers trying to LARP as gladiators after eating too many sugar cookies.
But the nobles?
They ate it up.
Half of them were placing bets. The other half were whispering things like,
"Such valor!"
"He parried with his soul!"
"I think he's leaking jam?"
---
Then came The Moment™.
Elric, frustrated, decided to go for an all-out charge.
He lunged.
I moved.
He tripped.
Time slowed.
He fell forward, directly into the pedestal holding the Sacred Teacup.
It teetered.
It tottered.
It reconsidered its life choices.
And me?
I dove like my noble reputation depended on it.
Which, frankly, it did.
And dear reader…
I CAUGHT IT.
With.
My.
Face.
Yes, you read that right.
My forehead intercepted the fall.
The teacup landed safely — delicately — like fate herself had guided it onto my skull.
The hall exploded with applause.
Madame Thistle sobbed.
Belladonna screamed, "I KNEW HE'D USE HIS HEAD!"
Seraphina blinked slowly and muttered, "Impressive."
And me?
Still face-down on the floor.
Still holding the teacup on my forehead.
Still regretting my reincarnation.
Inner Me: I died saving a child and got reincarnated into a teacup-themed Hunger Games. 10/10, would suffer again.
---
Later. In the garden. With less head trauma.
I sipped normal tea from a normal cup like a survivor of an oddly specific war.
Seraphina sat beside me, her eyes flicking between my bruised face and the steaming pot.
"You were… graceful," she said.
"You mean I didn't break the crockery?"
"Exactly."
Belladonna popped out from behind a shrub like a chaos fairy.
"Next duel's mine," she grinned. "And I'm bringing potions."
Inner Me: I'm going to need therapy. And goggles.
---
Reader Poll (Yes, I'm talking to you):
Have YOU ever:
Been nearly assassinated by baked goods?
Participated in a ritualized teacup battle?
Had your forehead immortalized in family tradition?
No?
Then congratulations.
You're doing better than me.
But don't get too comfortable.
NEXT CHAPTER ,Chapter 6 involves a formal dinner, an awkward seating chart, and something called a waltz duel.
Whatever that is, I'll probably be bad at it.
Inner Me: And that, my friend, is called foreshadowing.