Kingdom of Lugunica — Capital Outskirts | Early Morning
The capital of Lugunica awakened slowly. Its cobbled streets were still cool with morning dew, reflecting the golden-orange light of the rising sun.
Merchants pushed their carts into the squares while bakers opened their shutters, filling the air with the aroma of rising yeast and crackling crust. The sound of hoofbeats mixed with murmuring voices, forming a symphony welcoming the daybreak.
Amidst this, a lone boy walked.
His golden-blonde hair swayed in tousled waves, half-tied with a teal ribbon that shimmered in the light. A few loose strands framed his youthful face, softening otherwise aristocratic features. He wore a bard's attire—navy and white, stitched with gold thread—loose and elegant over a tall, lean figure. A polished harp, slung across his back, signaled care and intention.
Lucien walked with calm composure. Each step deliberate, but not overly cautious.
His amber eyes scanned the street like he was reading a living poem—each passerby another stanza. He noted the tension in a merchant's jaw as she argued with a customer, watched a child swipe a half-eaten pear, and caught the silent farewell of a soldier to his family. He absorbed it all—not with pity or judgment, but fascination.
"So this is the world of Re: Zero. Master is so thoughtful, granting me an identity."
His voice, low and smooth, evoked the ambiance of candlelight and wine. He tilted his head, watching a flock of birds cut across the pale blue sky.
And here he was—strolling through the capital.
Lucien stopped beside a bakery where two young girls argued over a coin. One of them was crying. He knelt beside them.
"Share the bread. Half each, double the joy," he suggested softly, placing an extra coin into the girl's hand. She blinked up at him, stunned.
He ruffled her hair and stood, not waiting for gratitude.
As he walked away, Lucien unhooked the harp from his back. His fingers grazed the strings, coaxing a few warm notes into the morning air like golden rays. He stopped by a lamppost, near the edge of a plaza, where the acoustics would carry.
He drew a breath.
And played.
The first song was lighthearted—a skipping melody like a child spinning in spring grass. He poured emotion into each note. He wasn't playing to entertain. He was expressing, binding, reflecting. This was how the potion digested: by becoming. By breathing music.
Lucien wasn't just performing—he was living as a Bard. Not as disguise, but as sacred ritual.
The fountain plaza became his stage. The air shimmered faintly—not from heat, but presence—as Lucien stood beneath the soft spill of dawnlight, harp cradled like something alive. Each note bloomed like a petal, fading into stillness.
Children slowed their play.
A woman forgot her errand, one hand on her purse.
A fruit vendor clutched a peach, breathing in time with the song.
Lucien's melody didn't command—it suggested. It nudged. A squatting boy near the wall looked up at the sky. A stray cat crawled from the alley, tail flicking, and sat beneath a bench.
Lucien smiled, radiant and bashful.
He loved this—understanding people through music, softening pain, shaping mood. Power had never felt so gentle.
The digestion stirred inside him.
He felt it in his bones, a resonance, a blooming golden warmth. His breath matched the harp's rhythm. His heartbeat became a metronome. Each chord felt answered by the world.
His bardic aura expanded—subtle but real.
The potion within him was recognizing him.
Not just as a host.
But as a Bard.
Three more verses followed—wistful, tender, playful. A couple laughed in the back corner, glancing shyly at one another.
He ended on a soft high note. The silence that followed was reverent.
Lucien lowered the harp. A few clapped. He bowed theatrically, grinning like a boy caught with jam on his face.
"Thank you, thank you! I'm new in town—please don't throw tomatoes. Unless they're fresh."
Some laughed.
The moment passed.
Lucien sighed, fingers still humming faintly with magic. One third digested. The Bard was waking.
"One third," he murmured.
And waited for the next ripple in the world.
He sensed it: a ripple. A presence. Someone out of place.
Natsuki Subaru.
Misplaced clothes. Confusion. Displacement.
Lucien spotted him near a fruit stand, dazed, flustered, stumbling through customs. He looked halfway between dreaming and drowning.
Lucien smiled, then turned away.
"Found you. But not now. I will wait."
He wandered. Watched children play. Tasted berry tarts. Listened to hawkers and gossip.
Then, the world paused.
Subaru died.
Darkness.
Lucien stood still.
"Let's see where I end up… or if I even remember?"
The void swallowed him.
When he stirred again, déjà vu struck.
He had given the coin to the girls. Again.
Confused, he glanced at his harp.
"My potion's digested one-third?"
[Subaru Natsuki has died. Return by Death activated. Memory Uploading… Complete.]
Lucien placed a hand over his heart.
"I see. Thank you, Master. Praise the Ancestor."
[Don't intervene. Not yet.]
"I understand, Master."
He resumed playing near the fountain.
Among the crowd, he spotted Reinhard.
Their eyes met. Lucien nodded. Reinhard returned the gesture.
The third loop. Soon, it would begin.
And Subaru died again.
Another reset. Another void.
Lucien stood again on the familiar path.
[This is Subaru's fourth loop. Find Reinhard and Subaru when you hear Subaru scream, 'I need a man!']
Lucien blinked. "His what?"
He stifled a laugh. "Okay, Master. I'll listen for it."
He walked to the plaza. Familiar streets. Familiar people. The fountain.
He played again.
This melody was stranger—deeper. A harmony began echoing his chords, growing beneath his song.
The Bard persona asserted itself—not pretend, but identity. His thoughts drifted, filled with myths and laughter and sorrow.
The final third was digesting.
He saw more. Felt more. Threads between people. Residue of emotions.
The harp pulsed with magic. Lucien's eyes shimmered with golden light.
He sang—not lyrics, but a hum. A lullaby no one knew but everyone recognized.
He was becoming.
Not just Lucien.
The Bard.
Then the ripple came again.
Crimson hair. Steel poise. A presence like parted stormclouds.
Reinhard van Astrea.
Lucien's chord trembled.
They locked eyes.
Lucien bowed slightly. A bard's greeting.
Reinhard didn't move. Just watched.
Silent. Scrutinizing. Noticing.
Lucien played on—not for pride, but devotion. For his Master. For the song.
Reinhard nodded, then turned.
Then paused.
"You're not from around here," he said.
Lucien smiled faintly. "That obvious?"
"A noble?" Reinhard asked.
"House Veyne. Small. Inland. We're famous for our dull taxes and very exciting vineyard spiders."
Reinhard watched him carefully.
"Your melody… carries weight."
"Magic?"
"Something like it."
Lucien played another chord. "Then maybe the song is doing its job."
A pause.
"Be careful," Reinhard said.
"Of what?"
Reinhard's gaze deepened.
"Of what listens when you play."
Then he vanished into the crowd.
Lucien blinked. Then—
"I NEED A MAN!!!"
Lucien's smile bloomed.
"There's my cue," he whispered.
*
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System Log:
Full Name: Lucien Veyne
Species: Human (Beyonder Clone)
Gender: Male
Age: Appears 17–18
Birthday: Unknown (Registered under House Veyne calendar)
Origin: System-Created; Inserted into Lugunica as the heir of a minor noble family
Affiliation: Beyonder Society, Loyal to Elias Veyne ("Master"/"Ancestor")
Profession: Wandering Noble, Aspiring Bard, Secret Beyonder