Philian Apolesai

Undercurrent

Vesi stood before Ainz in the quiet of his study. Currently acting as a doll while he posed her into the 'perfect' stance.

"The way you carry yourself will leave a lasting impression," he said, turning to leaf through an old book resting on his desk. "This isn't just about standing tall or looking regal. It's about subtle control—measured gestures, deliberate expressions."

Vesi watched him with mild amusement as he demonstrated an exaggeratedly slow wave, then flipped to another page. "They're all going to be excited and you have to acknowledge them without seeming too familiar" he continued, the book's yellowed pages crackling as he flipped through them. "And for the love of everything, stay calm. Every movement should feel calculated, like it was always meant to happen."

She smirked faintly, though it felt more like a reflex than a genuine response. A pang of unease twisted in her chest as his words sank in. Calculated control. Measured gestures. The very things she'd failed to embody when she'd first been found.

The memory clawed its way to the forefront of her mind—the panic that had overtaken her when she lashed out at him like a frightened animal. The sobbing that had followed, leaving her vulnerable before the one person Ainz had specifically warned her to be cautious around. Demiurge. She was long past the shock of the NPCs being alive, thinking, and acting of their own accord, but that didn't make their judgment any easier to bear. Demiurge—created with sharp intellect and unshakable composure—was now likely burdened with the knowledge of her weakness. Vesi wanted to bring it up, to confess her shame, but how? Her throat tightened at the thought. Would acting brave now shift his opinion at all? What if he'd already told all of Nazarick about that outburst? There was no pleasing answer so Vesi turned the topic off herself. Looking back to Ainz as he tried to illustrate a 'powerful walk' that would suit her.

"You're quite the natural at this."

"I am not!" he corrected, wagging his finger like a disapproving teacher before returning to his notes. "In the early days, since I first got here, I've been practicing." He gestured at the stack of books on the table. A broad range sat before them. Guides on war tactics, leadership strategies, company structuring, and even a few fantasy novels made up the massive pile. Scattered pages of his handwritten notes covered the rest of the table. "But you already have a lot of this down. Your walk, your expressions—they're sharp. You only need to tone things down a notch."

"I spent a lot of time trying to look tough," Vesi said, her voice tinged with something unreadable. "Figuring out how to make people give me the space I wanted took a while."

Ainz paused, looking up from his notes. "That time wasn't wasted," he said after a moment. "You're more prepared than you think. Just ease into it. Trust yourself."

She nodded, her faint smirk softening into a more genuine expression. "I will."

[Philian Apolesai]

In Shalltear's quarters, controlled chaos reigned. Bolts of fabric were scattered across the floor while needles and thread floated through the air, weaving in and out under the maids' diligent hands.

"No, no, no! The hem must flow like water—graceful, effortless! What if Lady Vesi thinks it looks stiff?" Shalltear's voice trembled with urgency, her crimson eyes darting between the gown and her reflection in the ornate mirror.

One brave maid stepped forward, offering a suggestion. "Perhaps if we adjusted the—"

"Ah! Do you think it's too simple?" Shalltear interrupted, clutching the gown with both hands as if it might run away. Her own doubts overshadowing everything her assistants might say, regardless of how helpful their advice could had been. "No, no... she deserves elegance, not austerity but what if she thinks it's gaudy instead?"