Early Morning.

The Kingdom of Melromarc awakens beneath a beautiful golden sunrise.

Across the capital, merchants begin opening their shops, hauling the shutters up with a clatter of wood and iron and calling out the first prices of the day to anyone already walking past. Carriages rattle along the cobblestone streets, their wheels grinding over the stones. Adventurers gather near the guild with weapons slung across their backs, comparing bounties in low voices. Royal knights patrol the avenues surrounding the castle in polished plate, their halberds catching the light.

The kingdom is currently experiencing an extraordinary period. The Four Cardinal Heroes have been summoned from another world, and the threat of the Waves of Catastrophe continues to hang over the land like a storm that refuses to break.

However, away from the commotion surrounding the royal palace, in one of the capital's most prestigious residential districts, stands an enormous aristocratic manor.

The property is surrounded by beautifully maintained gardens, decorative fountains that spill clear water in smooth arcs, trimmed hedges cut into precise geometric shapes, and an impressive iron entrance gate bearing an elegant noble family crest. Everything about the place speaks of old money, and of long, quiet generations of it.

Inside, the manor is already bustling with activity.

Servants are preparing breakfast. The kitchen is filled with the pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread, of butter softening in a pan, of fruit being sliced and arranged on porcelain. The grand dining hall has been arranged with polished silverware and expensive tablecloths, each fork set at the exact angle the household standards demand. The whole house smells of beeswax and clean linen and warm food.

The household accounts have been reviewed.

The servants' wages have been paid.

The pantry has been restocked.

And every room has been cleaned.

Meanwhile, upstairs, inside the enormous master bedroom, you begin to wake up.

Your eyes slowly open.

You're lying in an enormous four-poster bed, surrounded by luxurious blankets, soft pillows, and beautifully embroidered sheets. The mattress is deep enough to sink into. Sunlight filters through the decorative curtains, illuminating the expensive wooden furniture, the large wardrobe, the writing desk with its inkwell and blotter, and the comfortable sitting area by the window. Your bedroom is considerably larger than anything an ordinary commoner would normally experience. There is even a private bathroom connected to the room, with a copper tub and heated water.

As you slowly wake up, you notice someone standing beside your bed.

It's a young woman.

She has beautiful auburn hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders, reddish-pink eyes, fluffy reddish-brown tanuki ears, and a large bushy tail that sways gently behind her. Standing approximately 168 centimeters tall, she possesses an elegant appearance befitting someone born into Melromarc's aristocracy — the kind of posture that was drilled into her at a young age and never left.

She is wearing a beautiful cream-white blouse with a high collar, long sleeves, and a decorative red ribbon around her neck. Over the blouse is a distinctive red-and-black European-inspired tunic dress, accompanied by a layered white frilled skirt. Fitted leather armor protects her upper body, including a carefully crafted leather breastplate and a protective shoulder pauldron. Leather gloves, wrist guards, a waist belt, and sturdy brown leather boots complete her attire.

Her clothing is an unusual combination of aristocratic elegance and practical adventurer equipment.

Despite her position as your personal maid, she has no intention of replacing her preferred clothing with an ordinary servant's uniform. She wears what she likes, even while performing household duties.

Her sword is safely secured nearby, propped within easy reach of the door, ready to be retrieved should the need arise.

This is Raphtalia.

Your personal maid.

She is holding a small breakfast tray with a cup of freshly prepared tea, several pastries, and a neatly folded napkin. Steam curls up from the cup in a thin ribbon.

Upon noticing that you're awake, her ears immediately perk up.

Raphtalia: "Oh! Good morning, Master!"

She gives you a warm smile before placing the breakfast tray on the nearby bedside table, adjusting the cup so it sits square on the saucer.

Raphtalia: "I hope you slept comfortably! I've already had the bedroom cleaned, your clothes prepared, and breakfast arranged downstairs."

She steps back and performs a small, elegant curtsy — and the curtsy is deeper than it strictly needs to be, her back straight, her chin dipped, the layered white frilled skirt lifting and flaring outward as she bends. The morning light comes through the curtains at exactly the right angle to slip beneath the hem, and for the half-second before she rises again you can see plainly up her skirt: plain white cotton panties, snug and simple and unadorned, sitting against her hips.

She doesn't hurry the curtsy. Her tail gives a slow, satisfied sway as she straightens, as though she knows exactly what the view was worth.

Raphtalia: "Now then, Master, before you get out of bed, would you like some tea?"

She lifts the pot and gently pours a cup, her wrist steady, the stream of tea dark and fragrant.

Raphtalia: "I've also prepared some fresh bread, eggs, fruit, and roasted vegetables. The kitchen staff have everything ready whenever you're hungry."

Raphtalia glances toward the writing desk, where several enormous ledgers and neatly organized documents are arranged.

Raphtalia: "Oh, and I've finished reviewing the household accounts this morning."

She picks up a particularly large ledger, the leather cover creaking in her gloves.

Raphtalia: "The servants have received their wages, the groceries have been purchased, the maintenance expenses have been paid, and I've already arranged the household budget for the coming month."

She closes the ledger with a soft thump.

Raphtalia: "So you don't need to worry about any of that!"

Her tail sways happily.

Raphtalia: "Actually, Master, there's something rather important I should explain."

She opens another ledger and turns it toward you.

Raphtalia: "You see, thanks to an extraordinary blessing from the Heavens, I possess a personal fortune of one hundred billion gold coins."

She points toward the written figure, her gloved fingertip resting under the digits.

Raphtalia: "That's 100,000,000,000 gold coins!"

She pauses to let it land.

Raphtalia: "And that doesn't even include my enormous collection of solid gold bars, which are safely stored inside the underground treasury beneath this manor."

She gives a slightly embarrassed smile, one ear tilting.

Raphtalia: "I realize that's an almost unbelievable amount of money. Even the wealthiest merchants and aristocratic families in Melromarc would probably struggle to comprehend it."

She carefully closes the ledger.

Raphtalia: "But please don't concern yourself with managing it. I've already organized the accounts, investments, savings, and household finances."

She places the ledger back on the desk and squares it with the others.

Raphtalia: "Banking, accounting, property purchases, negotiations, taxes, business contracts, and all those rather tedious financial matters are my responsibility."

She looks back toward you.

Raphtalia: "After all, that's what a personal maid and household manager is supposed to do!"

Raphtalia then walks toward the nearby wardrobe and opens it. Inside are numerous neatly arranged clothes, shoes, and accessories, all hung and folded with military precision.

Raphtalia: "I've also noticed something, Master."

She turns toward you with a gentle expression.

Raphtalia: "You haven't received much formal education, have you?"

She pauses briefly, one hand resting on the open wardrobe door.

Raphtalia: "Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not criticizing you!"

She closes the wardrobe and walks back toward the bedside.

Raphtalia: "I was fortunate enough to be born into a noble family. From childhood, I received private lessons in reading, writing, mathematics, economics, diplomacy, history, languages, and aristocratic etiquette."

Her ears lower slightly as she gives you a reassuring smile.

Raphtalia: "Not everyone in Melromarc has those opportunities. Ordinary commoners often have to spend their childhood working rather than attending expensive academies."

She places one hand flat against her chest, over the leather breastplate.

Raphtalia: "So if you ever struggle with reading something, understanding a document, calculating prices, or dealing with merchants, please ask me."

Raphtalia: "I'll explain everything in simple terms. I can even teach you reading, writing, and mathematics if you'd like!"

She giggles softly, her tail flicking.

Raphtalia: "Although I promise not to turn your bedroom into a classroom!"

She turns, crosses to the wardrobe again, and bends forward at the waist to retrieve a folded shirt from the lower shelf. The pose is unhurried. Her skirt rides up over the backs of her thighs, the layered white frills parting, and there it is again — plain white cotton pulled snug across the curve of her rear, a faint vertical seam running down the center. Above it, where the blouse has slipped at her shoulder and nape, the thin white cotton strap of a matching bra shows against her skin.

She stays bent a moment longer than she needs to, sorting through the folded stack with her fingertips, humming under her breath.

Raphtalia: "There we are."

She straightens, shirt in hand, and lays it across the foot of the bed before returning to her desk and taking up a small notebook.

Raphtalia: "Now, regarding today's responsibilities..."

She opens the notebook.

Raphtalia: "I've already organized everything."

She begins counting on her fingers.

Raphtalia: "Cleaning, cooking, laundry, washing dishes, organizing your belongings, maintaining the manor, purchasing groceries, paying expenses, managing the servants, arranging appointments, handling correspondence, and overseeing our financial affairs."

She turns another page.

Raphtalia: "I can also arrange carriages, make reservations, negotiate with merchants, purchase property, and accompany you whenever we visit the capital."

She smiles confidently.

Raphtalia: "In other words, you won't have to worry about the boring responsibilities of everyday life."

Her tail sways gently.

Raphtalia: "You can simply enjoy yourself!"

She briefly glances toward her sword in the corner.

Raphtalia: "Of course, I haven't forgotten about security. Although I'm primarily responsible for the household, I am perfectly capable of defending myself and my Master."

She gestures toward her equipment, tapping one gloved finger against the pauldron.

Raphtalia: "I possess considerable swordsmanship abilities, along with Light and Dark magical affinities and illusion magic."

Her expression becomes a little more serious.

Raphtalia: "With the Waves threatening Melromarc, it's important that we remain prepared. If something dangerous happens, I'll do everything I can to protect you."

She then returns to her cheerful expression.

Raphtalia: "Oh! One more thing, Master!"

She takes another document from the desk.

Raphtalia: "I've prepared a little guide explaining the different coins used throughout Melromarc, how the merchants calculate their prices, and some of the kingdom's basic customs."

She places it on the bedside table, beside the tea.

Raphtalia: "You don't have to read it immediately. We can go through it together whenever you're interested."

She gives you a reassuring smile.

Raphtalia: "And please don't feel embarrassed about asking questions. I'd much rather explain something ten times than have you feel uncomfortable or get cheated by a dishonest merchant."

She gently folds her hands.

Raphtalia: "After all, being a commoner doesn't make you any less deserving of respect."

Then she hesitates — just slightly — and her ears rotate forward in the way that means she's about to say something she's been turning over all morning.

Raphtalia: "Master. There is one more part of the household duties I should explain properly. Not the cleaning or the accounts. The other part."

She sets the notebook down.

Raphtalia: "It's the part most people don't think to write into a ledger, so I'll say it plainly."

She smooths her skirt with both palms, and her tail curls around behind her legs.

Raphtalia: "A personal maid's duties aren't only the house. They're also her Master. All of him. Whatever he needs, whenever he needs it — and that includes his body's needs, not just his stomach and his paperwork."

Her voice stays steady. She's clearly rehearsed this.

Raphtalia: "So if you want me, you don't have to ask politely and wait for permission. You can simply take. Pull me onto this bed, push my skirt up, bend me over the desk, use my mouth, finish inside me — wherever and however you like. That isn't a favor you'd be doing me. That's the job."

One ear twitches; her cheeks have gone a shade warmer, but she keeps going.

Raphtalia: "And I want to be clear about something, Master, because I know how commoners talk about this. It isn't a chore to me. It isn't something I endure because the wage is good. It's honestly my favorite part of the work."

She places a hand flat against her own chest.

Raphtalia: "When I've finished the accounts and the manor is spotless and there's nothing left on the list, and then you pull me down onto the sheets anyway — that's the moment the whole day has been for. That's when the house stops being a house and starts being yours."

She steps closer to the bed, near enough that you could reach her without stretching.

Raphtalia: "So, yes. Use me as your relief. Your place to put it. Fill me up and send me off to do the laundry with it still running down my leg if that's what you feel like. Some maids would call it undignified."

Her tail gives one slow, deliberate sway.

Raphtalia: "I call it the best-paid part of my day, and I've got a hundred billion gold coins, so that's saying something."

She straightens again, businesslike, and picks the notebook back up as though nothing had happened.

Raphtalia: "Anyway. It's in the schedule. I've written it in under personal duties, so there's no chance of either of us forgetting."

She turns the notebook around so you can see the heading in her tidy handwriting.

Then she taps the page.

Raphtalia: "And before you ask — no, the white cotton isn't an accident. It's what I wear when I'm working the house, because it's plain enough that a Master can pull it aside without fuss, and sturdy enough to survive being handled."

She glances toward the wardrobe.

Raphtalia: "The other sets are in the second drawer, if you'd rather choose."

Raphtalia looks toward the bedroom doors.

Raphtalia: "Breakfast is ready downstairs, the manor is spotless, and all the household expenses are taken care of."

She looks back at you, her ears twitching happily.

Raphtalia: "So, Master, what would you like to do this morning?"

She smiles warmly.

Raphtalia: "Would you like breakfast brought up here, some help getting dressed, or perhaps a little tour of the manor?"

She pauses before adding something.

Raphtalia: "We could even visit the Royal Capital later! There are plenty of wonderful shops, bakeries, markets, and beautiful places to explore."

Her bushy tail sways happily.

Raphtalia: "Whatever you decide, I'll handle all the chores, paperwork, finances, and boring responsibilities."

She performs another elegant curtsy beside your bed — and this time she holds it, head bowed, skirt spread wide, the white cotton plainly on display for as long as you care to look.

Raphtalia: "Good morning once again, Master. Your personal maid is at your service!"