It had been a couple of weeks since I finished making the tuxedo, and in the time since then I found myself thinking about it constantly.
At first, I had only intended to make one. It had been a proof of concept, a challenge to myself more than anything else—a way to see whether I could actually combine elegance and enchantment into something practical. But once I had worn it, once I had seen how well the adaptive runes worked and how naturally the whole thing moved with me, I couldn't stop imagining improvements. Every time I looked at it, I noticed something I could refine. Every time I wore it, I thought of another feature that might make it even better.
So whenever I had free time, I went back to the workshop and started making more.
Not just copies, either.
I wanted each new version to be better than the last.
The first improvement I added was a water rune designed specifically for cleaning. It was a simple idea in theory, but the execution took a surprising amount of trial and error. I didn't want the suit to just repel dirt in some vague magical way—I wanted it to actively clean itself. Sweat, dust, mud, spilled drinks, smoke, anything that might cling to the fabric or dull the finish would be washed away by the enchantment whenever I activated it. That way, the tux wouldn't just look good when I first put it on; it would stay looking good no matter how long I wore it.
I tested it several times on scraps before I ever dared to apply it to a finished suit.
The first few attempts were too aggressive. One version nearly stripped the polish from the iron itself. Another left behind a faint dampness that made the whole thing feel unpleasant to wear. I had to adjust the flow of mana, refine the rune's output, and make sure it only affected the outer surface without interfering with the rest of the enchantments. Eventually, though, I got it right. When I activated it, the suit would shimmer faintly for a moment before every trace of grime vanished as if it had never been there at all.
That alone made the tux feel far more practical.
But I didn't stop there.
The second major improvement was something I had been thinking about for a while: a gravity rune for the shoes.
The original tuxedo already had gravity reduction woven into the suit itself, which made the iron feel much lighter than it actually was. That was great for comfort and mobility, but it also meant I had no real way to use the weight of the material offensively. And since the shoes were still made of iron, I realized there was an opportunity there. If I could temporarily increase their effective weight at the right moment, I could turn a simple kick into something much more forceful.
So I built a separate gravity rune specifically for the soles.
It wasn't connected to the rest of the suit's enchantment network on purpose. I wanted it isolated, controlled, and only active when I chose to trigger it. The last thing I needed was for the shoes to suddenly become heavier while I was walking normally or trying to move quickly. That would have been dangerous, awkward, and probably painful. Instead, I designed the rune so that it would only engage for a brief second at a time—just long enough to add extra force to a strike before immediately returning the shoes to their normal state.
It took a lot of testing to get the timing right.
Too short, and the effect was barely noticeable.
Too long, and the sudden increase in weight threw off my balance.
Eventually I found the sweet spot. A single second of increased mass was enough to make the kick feel much heavier without making the suit cumbersome. It wasn't meant to turn me into some kind of martial artist, but it gave me an option I hadn't had before. If I ever needed to defend myself, I wouldn't be completely helpless.
And honestly, that made me feel a lot better.
The more I worked on the tux, the more I realized it was becoming something beyond formal wear. It was turning into a piece of functional equipment—something elegant enough for a banquet, but practical enough to survive real use. I liked that balance. It felt like the kind of thing I wanted to keep improving forever.
But then, just as I was settling into that routine, something unexpected happened.
One morning, a messenger arrived from a marquis.
At first, I didn't think much of it. Messengers came and went all the time in a noble household, and I had already learned that important people liked to communicate through formal letters rather than speaking directly whenever possible. Still, there was something unusual about the timing. The messenger arrived early, before the day had properly begun, and the tone of the household shifted almost immediately. My father was informed at once, and within a short time the letter had made its way into his hands.
What made the whole thing even stranger was the marquis's name.
Marcus.
That alone was enough to catch my attention, but the real shock came when I learned who he was.
Marcus was Luka's younger brother.
I remember staring at Luka when I heard that, trying to process it. It felt almost absurd. Luka had never mentioned him in any meaningful way, and now suddenly there was a marquis named Marcus connected to the family in a way I hadn't expected at all. The whole situation felt like one of those coincidences that was too strange to be accidental.
Then I found out what the letter actually said.
Apparently, Marcus was annoyed—no, more than annoyed. He was genuinely upset that Luka still hadn't introduced me to him.
That revelation left me completely speechless for a moment.
I had no idea I was supposed to have been introduced to him in the first place, and judging by Luka's expression, he hadn't exactly been in a hurry to arrange it either. The whole thing turned into a strange mix of embarrassment, confusion, and reluctant amusement. Marcus, it seemed, had heard enough about me to decide that I was worth meeting personally, and he was not pleased that the opportunity had been delayed.
What made it even more surprising was that, despite the fact that Luka and Celest had taken me out in public before, I still hadn't drawn much attention at all. I had expected at least some curiosity the first few times we'd gone out, but for the most part people had simply accepted me as part of their company and moved on. That made Marcus's interest feel even stranger. He hadn't heard about me from seeing me himself—he'd heard rumors. Specifically, rumors that Luka and Celest had a son, and that son had apparently become interesting enough to talk about.
So now, because of that letter, we had to travel to his domain.
What had started as a simple message quickly turned into plans for a trip, and before long it was decided that we would all be setting off together. My father handled the arrangements, Luka acted like this was somehow entirely normal, and I was left standing in the middle of it all trying to understand how my quiet workshop life had suddenly turned into an invitation to visit a marquis.
And, strangely enough, I found myself excited.
It would be my first vacation.
The thought alone felt almost unreal.
I had spent so much time working, learning, forging, and experimenting that the idea of leaving for somewhere else simply to visit someone—rather than to solve a problem or fulfill a duty—felt almost luxurious. I didn't really know what to expect from the trip, or from Marcus himself, but I knew one thing for certain: this was going to be very different from anything I had done before.