The Last Human: Unlimited Power, Unlimited Beauties

By the time Leyra finally closed the last book, I had developed several strong opinions about education.

First, knowledge was useful.

Second, politics was unnecessarily complicated.

Third, whoever decided important information should be hidden inside six hundred pages of tiny handwriting deserved to be hunted through the streets by librarians carrying clubs.

We had spent nearly the entire day buried inside the royal library.

History.

Diplomatic customs.

Noble families.

Trade relations.

Titles.

Court etiquette.

How to address people depending on rank.

How not to accidentally insult someone by accepting a gift incorrectly.

Apparently receiving a decorative bowl with the wrong hand could potentially become an international incident.

Wonderful.

Back on Earth, I had considered remembering birthdays difficult.

Here, forgetting which noble was allowed to sit three chairs away from a duke could apparently destabilize dinner.

And somehow, the lesson still wasn’t finished.

Leyra stood from the table.

I watched her begin gathering the remaining books.

”Please tell me you’re putting those away.”

”I am.”

”Good.”

She stacked two volumes together.

Then looked at me.

”We’re going somewhere else.”

I stared.

”My hope lived for almost three seconds.”

”You’ve been sitting all day.”

”Exactly. I was planning to continue.”

Leyra ignored my suffering.

”Come.”

There was no point arguing.

Well, there was always a point arguing.

Entertainment.

But I followed her anyway.

We left the library and moved through the palace corridors.

Leyra remained every inch the crown princess while servants and guards were nearby.

Small graceful steps.

Hands kept neatly together.

Soft expression.

Gentle nod whenever someone bowed.

Nobody passing us would have guessed the delicate flower floating down the hallway had recently tried to blast my head off with glowing fists.

I had to respect the performance.

The woman possessed range.

We passed through several halls before reaching a pair of tall doors.

Two servants opened them.

Beyond was a ballroom.

Not a room with enough space to dance.

An actual ballroom.

Huge.

Of course.

The royal family apparently considered ordinary dimensions a personal insult.

The ceiling rose high above us, painted with clouds, stars, and golden lions arranged around a painted sun.

Tall windows lined one wall.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead.

The polished floor stretched wide enough that I briefly considered checking whether indoor horse racing was allowed.

A raised musicians’ platform stood near one end.

At the opposite side were long doors opening toward a balcony.

I walked into the center of the floor.

My boots clicked against the polished surface.

I looked around.

”Please tell me this is where you finally teach me how to fight nobles.”

Leyra closed the doors behind us.

”No.”

”Disappointing.”

”This is part of your etiquette training.”

I turned toward her.

”What are we doing here?”

She approached.

”Reading is not enough.”

”I strongly agree.”

”That was not permission to celebrate.”

”Too late.”

She folded her hands.

”Etiquette is learned through repetition. You need to know how to stand, how to move, how to enter formal rooms, when to bow, when not to bow, how to greet different ranks, how to behave during banquets, and how to present yourself when representing Inizio.”

I smiled.

”Now this sounds useful.”

”It was all useful.”

”The books tried to murder me through boredom.”

”You read them quickly.”

”I survived efficiently.”

Leyra sighed.

Then the lesson began.

She corrected my posture first.

”Shoulders back.”

I straightened.

”Not that far.”

I adjusted.

”Chin slightly higher.”

I raised it.

”Less.”

”This is incredibly specific.”

”You need to look confident without appearing arrogant.”

”I naturally achieve both.”

”You naturally achieve the second.”

”Thank you.”

”That was not praise.”

She walked around me once.

I remained still.

Leyra reached toward my arm and adjusted its position.

”Relax your hands.”

”They are relaxed.”

”You look ready to grab something.”

I glanced at her.

”Depends what’s nearby.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I smiled.

”Professional setting. Understood.”

We continued.

Walking.

Standing.

Formal greetings.

Entering a room.

Waiting to be acknowledged.

How deeply to bow depending on the person.

When a diplomat should bow at all.

How to acknowledge a queen differently from a minor noble.

How to address someone holding both military and aristocratic rank.

There were more rules than I expected.

Fortunately, doing them was much easier than reading about them.

Leyra demonstrated once.

I followed.

She showed me again.

I adjusted.

A few repetitions later, the movements felt natural.

Her reaction became more entertaining each time.

”Again,” she said.

I repeated the formal entrance.

Three steps.

Pause.

Proper posture.

Controlled bow.

Eyes lowered only long enough to show respect without submission.

Then straight again.

Leyra stared.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

”That sounded like something.”

”You corrected the timing.”

”You told me the timing was wrong.”

”Once.”

”Once was enough.”

Her eyebrows pulled together.

We moved on.

She showed me how a royal envoy approached a negotiating table.

I copied the sequence.

Her expression tightened.

Then she taught formal hand gestures used during introductions.

Again.

Done.

Then table manners.

Positioning.

How to handle cups differently during ceremonial toasts.

Even the correct way to offer written agreements.

Every time she demonstrated something, I picked it up.

Not approximately.

Properly.

By late afternoon, Leyra had progressed from impressed to confused to faintly irritated.

I enjoyed every stage.

She watched me perform another formal greeting.

”You’ve done this before.”

”No.”

”You’re lying.”

”Not about this.”

”Nobody learns court behavior this quickly.”

”I am exceptionally motivated.”

”By what?”

”Fear of disappointing my teacher.”

She gave me a flat look.

I smiled.

”Also avoiding diplomatic war caused by spoon misuse.”

”This is ridiculous.”

”Yet graceful.”

I performed the bow again.

Perfectly.

Leyra stared at me.

Then shook her head.

”I spent weeks correcting that movement when I was younger.”

I straightened.

”I’m sorry.”

She blinked.

”You are?”

”No.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I laughed.

By the time the practical lesson moved into conversational behavior, I barely recognized the version of myself standing in front of one of the ballroom mirrors.

My posture had changed.

Not permanently.

I could still become my usual relaxed self whenever I wanted.

But when I slipped into the diplomat role?

Different person.

Straight back.

Measured movements.

Controlled expression.

Even my tone changed when necessary.

Calm.

Polished.

Respectful.

Still me underneath, obviously.

Nobody could completely remove the disease.

But if someone met me in that mode without knowing the truth, they might believe I had spent years being trained in royal courts.

Terrifying.

Leyra seemed equally disturbed.

She stood several steps away, studying me.

”I don’t understand you.”

”Most people eventually stop trying.”

”You were joking about chairs this morning.”

”I remain opposed to politically sensitive furniture.”

”And now you move like someone raised in court.”

”Natural talent.”

She pointed at me.

”Do not become smug.”

”Too late.”

She exhaled.

Then her expression changed.

Thoughtful.

”There is still something missing.”

I looked down at myself.

”Jewelry?”

”No.”

”Sword?”

”No.”

”Personality transplant?”

”Tempting.”

I put a hand against my chest.

”Princess.”

She ignored the offense.

”Being able to behave like a diplomat is only part of court life.”

”There’s more.”

”Obviously.”

”Of course there is.”

Leyra walked deeper into the ballroom.

”Formal gatherings are not always about meetings.”

I followed.

”Banquets?”

”Yes.”

”Easy.”

”Celebrations.”

”I can celebrate.”

”Ceremonies.”

”Depends how long.”

”Royal receptions.”

”Sounds expensive.”

”And dances.”

I stopped.

”Dancing?”

Leyra turned.

”Yes.”

I smiled.

”Oh.”

That I understood.

”Good news. I’m excellent at dancing.”

Her eyebrows rose.

”You are?”

”Absolutely.”

Before she could ask further, I demonstrated.

Not ballroom dancing.

Obviously.

I gave her the kind of movement I remembered from clubs on Earth.

Shoulders.

Hips.

Loose rhythm.

A few steps.

Nothing restrained.

Nothing royal.

Just the kind of dancing that worked significantly better when music was loud, lights were low, and everyone involved had consumed financially irresponsible amounts of alcohol.

Leyra stared.

For the first few seconds, she looked genuinely amused.

Her lips twitched.

Then she actually smiled.

I added an unnecessary turn.

That nearly made her laugh.

Then responsibility arrived and strangled the fun.

Leyra cleared her throat.

Her crown-princess expression returned.

”Stop.”

I froze mid-step.

”Too advanced?”

”That is not dancing appropriate for a royal court.”

”It has worked very well in several social environments.”

”I do not want details.”

”Your loss.”

She rubbed her forehead.

”For diplomatic gatherings, you need something formal.”

”Boring dancing.”

”Traditional dancing.”

”Elegant boring dancing.”

Leyra ignored me.

”I will teach you one of Inizio’s standard court dances.”

She stepped in front of me.

Then extended one hand.

Palm upward.

I looked at it.

Then at her.

”Princess, are you asking me to dance?”

”For instructional purposes.”

”Romance is alive.”

”Caled.”

I placed my hand in hers.

Her fingers closed lightly around mine.

Soft.

Warm.

She stepped closer.

”Your other hand goes here.”

She guided my free hand toward her waist.

My palm settled against the side of her waist, just above her hip.

I looked down.

Then at her face.

A smile slowly formed.

Leyra saw it immediately.

Her eyes sharpened.

”Your hand stays exactly where I placed it.”

”I haven’t moved.”

”I know that expression.”

”You’ve known me for one day.”

”It was enough.”

”Impressive observational skills.”

She raised our joined hands.

Then adjusted her stance.

”And behave.”

”I always behave.”

”No, you don’t.”

”I behave according to personal standards.”

”Then use mine.”

”Fine.”

I paused.

”I’ll try.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

I immediately corrected myself.

”I will.”

”Better.”

The dance began slowly.

Leyra stepped.

I followed.

One.

Two.

Turn.

Shift.

Her movements were smooth and precise.

This was different from fighting.

But not entirely.

Balance mattered.

Foot placement.

Timing.

Reading a partner’s weight.

Knowing where she intended to move before she moved there.

Interesting.

Leyra guided me through the first sequence.

”Left.”

I stepped.

”Now back.”

Done.

”Turn.”

Done.

”Do not look at your feet.”

”I wasn’t.”

”You were about to.”

”Slander.”

She continued.

The dance carried us gradually across the ballroom.

No musicians.

No music.

Only the quiet rhythm of our shoes against the floor.

Leyra counted softly at first.

Then stopped when I no longer needed it.

She demonstrated a turn.

I followed.

Another sequence.

Again.

A change in direction.

Got it.

Her eyes became suspicious.

”You’re learning this too quickly.”

”Would you prefer I step on you?”

”No.”

”I can arrange it for educational realism.”

”Don’t.”

I smiled.

The next sequence began.

This time, I stopped waiting for her guidance.

I knew the rhythm now.

The structure.

Where each motion led.

I shifted our direction first.

Leyra followed instinctively.

Her eyebrows rose.

I guided the next turn.

Then another.

Our positions reversed.

Without either of us discussing it, I had taken control.

Leyra realized it too.

Her blue eyes focused on mine.

”You are leading.”

”Am I?”

”You know you are.”

”Then apparently I’m improving.”

We moved faster.

Still formal.

Still controlled.

But smoother now.

I guided her through a rotation near the center of the ballroom.

Her dress moved around her legs like blue water.

Golden hair shifted across her shoulders.

When we came around again, she was staring at me with unmistakable surprise.

”You are actually good at this.”

I looked offended.

”You sound shocked.”

”I am.”

”Brutal honesty.”

”You were dancing like a drunk tavern performer five minutes ago.”

”Versatility.”

She almost laughed.

I pulled her slightly closer.

Not enough to break the dance.

Enough for her to notice.

Her eyebrows lowered.

”Your hand.”

I glanced toward the one at her waist.

”What about it?”

”It moved.”

”Did it?”

”Yes.”

”Maybe your hip moved toward it.”

”Caled.”

I smiled.

”You can push me away if you hate it.”

Leyra’s expression went flat.

”I can snap your neck.”

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Not because she couldn’t.

She probably could.

That was what made it funny.

”I believe you.”

Leyra watched me.

Something in her expression softened.

The irritation disappeared first.

Then her lips curved.

Not the careful smile of the crown princess.

Something more natural.

And then color appeared across her cheeks.

Faint.

But there.

Interesting.

She looked away first.

”I am beginning to dislike you.”

”Beginning?”

”Very much.”

I gave her my best smile.

The one that had caused problems across multiple locations and at least one world.

”Really?”

Leyra looked back.

Mistake.

Her breathing changed slightly.

I noticed because we were close enough that noticing was easy.

The dance continued.

But now I controlled all of it.

Every turn.

Every shift.

Every step.

Leyra no longer taught.

She followed.

And she knew it.

I drew her through another slow turn before bringing her close again.

Our bodies were separated by very little.

Her chest rose and fell faster.

I lowered my voice.

”Question.”

Her eyes stayed on mine.

”What?”

”Do you think this would work on Queen Firsa?”

Something flashed across Leyra’s face.

Tiny.

Sharp.

Gone quickly.

But I saw it.

Jealousy.

Well.

Hello there.

Her lips tightened.

”You are an idiot.”

”That wasn’t an answer.”

”You plan to flirt with the queen of Agran during negotiations?”

”I plan to use every diplomatic tool available.”

”That is not diplomacy.”

”Depends how successful it is.”

Leyra tried to pull her hand from mine.

I kept it gently.

Not forcefully.

Just enough to keep the dance from immediately ending.

Her eyes snapped toward me.

I leaned closer.

”It seems effective on you.”

Leyra looked away.

Her face reddened further.

But interestingly, she did not turn her head away from mine.

Just her eyes.

Very important distinction.

”You are unbearably arrogant.”

”I’ve been told.”

”You assume too much.”

”Also been told.”

We slowed.

The ballroom suddenly felt much quieter.

My hand remained against her waist.

Her fingers were still threaded with mine.

I looked at her face.

The crown princess act had disappeared.

No soft ceremonial smile.

No carefully lowered gaze.

This was Leyra.

The woman underneath.

The one who fought.

The one who challenged people.

The one who got irritated.

The one who became competitive.

The one her family apparently did not know existed.

”I like this version more,” I said.

Her eyes returned to mine.

”What version?”

”The real one.”

Her expression changed.

I continued.

”Actually, that’s wrong.”

Leyra watched me carefully.

”I like both.”

She went still.

”The sweet princess.”

I smiled faintly.

”And the woman who threatens my spine.”

Leyra’s breathing caught.

”You don’t.”

That response came too quickly.

I stopped smiling.

Not entirely.

But enough.

”No?”

Her gaze lowered.

”No one does.”

There was something heavier beneath those words.

Not self-pity.

Expectation.

Like she had already accepted it as fact.

I moved slightly closer.

”Then I’m no one.”

Her eyes lifted.

She froze.

So did the dance.

No more steps.

No turning.

No ballroom lesson.

Just the two of us standing near the center of an enormous empty floor.

Leyra stared at me.

Her lips parted slightly.

I could feel her breath.

My hand remained at her waist.

She did not move it.

I leaned closer.

Slowly.

Giving her plenty of time.

Her eyes dropped toward my mouth.

Then lifted again.

Closer.

Her face turned warmer.

Her fingers tightened slightly in mine.

I lowered my head.

Almost there.

Then someone cleared their throat.

Very loudly.

Leyra jumped away from me like the floor had suddenly become volcanic.

I stepped back too.

Both of us turned.

Nemris stood near the ballroom entrance.

Arms crossed.

Eyebrows furrowed.

Naturally.

Of all the people in the kingdom.

The Lord Commander.

Professional destroyer of timing.

She looked at Leyra.

Then me.

Then our suspiciously large new distance from each other.

Nobody spoke for one long second.

Nemris finally addressed her sister.

”Princess Leyra.”

Leyra immediately recovered.

Almost.

Her posture straightened.

Her hands folded.

Her voice came out softer than usual.

”Yes?”

”His Majesty is asking for you.”

”I see.”

That was probably the quietest I had ever heard her.

Leyra smoothed her dress unnecessarily.

Then turned toward me.

She bowed her head.

Perfectly formal.

I returned the bow.

”Thank you for today’s lesson, Princess.”

She avoided my eyes.

”You are welcome.”

Then she walked toward the doors.

She passed Nemris without looking back at me.

Nemris watched her sister leave.

Then slowly turned toward me.

Arms still crossed.

I smiled.

”Etiquette training.”

Nothing.

”Very advanced.”

Nemris continued staring.

I gestured toward the ballroom.

”Practical demonstration.”

Still nothing.

Then she shook her head.

Not angry.

Just profoundly tired of my existence.

She turned and walked away.

I watched her.

That was it?

No threats?

No interrogation?

No warning about touching royalty?

I had expected at least a small lecture.

Possibly strangulation.

I shrugged.

”And here I thought she’d jump across the room and choke me.”

From the corridor ahead, Nemris’s voice returned.

”What are you waiting for?”

I blinked.

I looked toward the doorway.

She had stopped farther down the hall.

Nemris looked back at me.

”Are you coming?”

I pointed at myself.

”Me?”

”No, the chandelier.”

”Hard to tell with you.”

I walked after her.

She waited until I caught up.

”You have done enough work for one day.”

”Finally, someone recognizes labor rights.”

”I am taking you to the dining hall.”

”Now you’re my favorite princess.”

Nemris looked at me.

I smiled.

”Second favorite?”

Her eyes narrowed.

”Keep walking.”

We continued through the corridors.

For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke.

The castle had become quieter as evening approached.

Servants moved between halls carrying trays and folded linens.

Guards changed positions at several intersections.

Orange sunlight entered through the tall windows, stretching long shadows across the polished floor.

Nemris walked beside me instead of ahead.

Interesting.

Normally she positioned herself like an escort.

Now we were simply walking.

I glanced at her once.

She stared ahead.

Another corridor passed.

Then another.

Finally, Nemris spoke.

”So.”

Dangerous word.

I looked toward her.

”So?”

Her expression remained completely neutral.

”You prefer delicate women.”

I almost stopped walking.

Instead, I kept pace.

”What?”

”Delicate.”

She still did not look at me.

”Innocent.”

Ah.

I smiled.

”Is this about what you saw?”

”I asked a question.”

”You made a statement.”

”Answer it.”

I studied her profile.

Golden hair.

Straight posture.

Eyes fixed stubbornly ahead.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

”I don’t have a specific type.”

Nemris’s ear moved.

Just slightly.

”None?”

”No.”

”Not even a preference?”

”I prefer attractive women.”

”Very selective.”

”I have standards.”

”Clearly.”

I laughed.

Nemris kept looking forward.

I continued.

”Delicate, bold, quiet, dangerous, cheerful, serious.”

I shrugged.

”Different women are attractive for different reasons.”

Nemris gave a slow nod.

”I see.”

Two more steps.

Then she said, ”Good to know.”

I looked at her.

She still refused to look back.

Good to know?

There was something buried under that sentence.

Something I could probably uncover if I poked it long enough.

But this was Nemris.

Professional wall.

Commander of armed people.

Owner of several extremely sharp expressions.

I decided, for once, not to ask.