The private study in Marcus's lodgings looked like the headquarters of a rebellion run by madmen.

Maps of the capital city covered the floor.

Parchment scrolls were taped to the walls with generous amounts of wax.

Charcoal sticks, half-eaten sandwiches, and cups of cold tea cluttered every flat surface.

Marcus stood in the center of the chaos. He held a piece of charcoal like a conductor's baton.

"We need to attack the root of the problem," Marcus said. He pointed to a large sheet of paper pinned to the heavy oak bookshelf.

It was labeled TARGET: SERAPHINA.

"Professor Ashwood values competence and emotional stability," Marcus explained.

He drew a line connecting her name to Theo's. "She needs to see Theo not just as a student, but as a rock. A dependable figure."

Damien sat cross-legged on the floor. He was surrounded by his own notes.

He looked up, chewing on the end of a quill.

"In the novel, she fell for him after he saved her from a mana overload," Damien countered.

"It was a classic 'damsel in distress' trope, but with magical fireworks. We need to recreate a high-stakes danger scenario."

Marcus grimaced. "No. Absolutely not. We are not endangering people to force romance. That is unethical coaching."

Damien rolled his eyes. "It's not unethical if we know Theo wins. He has plot armor. It's thicker than castle walls."

"We are sticking to emotional resonance," Marcus insisted.

He tapped his temple. "Seraphina is lonely. She hides it behind duty. We need Theo to break through that wall gently. No explosions required."

Damien scribbled something down. "Fine. Organic connection. What about the Duchess?"

Marcus moved to the next sheet of paper. TARGET: CATARINA.

"Catarina is burnt out," Marcus said. His voice softened with professional sympathy.

"She's carrying the weight of the entire eastern border. She needs a partner, not another political headache."

"In the book," Damien noted, "Theo impressed her by defeating a localized rebellion. He proved he could handle military command."

Marcus nodded slowly. "That actually works. Theo is a genius at combat. We just need to frame it right. He needs to show he can share her burden."

They debated for hours. The sun climbed high in the sky.

Their styles clashed constantly.

Marcus viewed the women as complex individuals with specific emotional needs.

Damien viewed them as puzzles with specific solution codes.

"You're overthinking the dialogue," Damien argued later.

They were discussing Vivienne. "My mothe—God, that's still weird to say... shedoesn't want a therapy session. She wants excitement. She wants a chase."

"She wants to reclaim her identity," Marcus corrected.

"The chase is just a symptom. She needs to feel seen as 'The Crimson Viper,' not just a countess."

"Potay-to, potah-to," Damien muttered. "As long as she stops looking at you like you're the main course."

The heavy wooden door creaked open.

A servant entered, carrying a tray of fresh tea. The man froze.

He looked at the maps covered in red arrows.

He looked at the lists of women's names.

He looked at the two frantic men with charcoal-stained hands.

"I... I will come back later, my lord," the servant whispered.

He backed out of the room slowly. He did not blink. The door clicked shut.

Marcus looked at Damien. "He definitely thinks we're plotting a coup."

"Technically," Damien grinned, "we're plotting a coup against destiny. That counts."

By mid-afternoon, the chaos had evolved into a structure.

They cleared the floor. Marcus pinned a fresh, massive sheet of paper to the central table. He wrote OPERATION: REDIRECT 2.0 in large, bold letters.

"Okay," Marcus said. He rubbed his tired eyes. "If we execute this correctly, we save the world. If we fail, I die of awkwardness."

"Phase One," Damien announced. He pointed to the first column. "The Interception."

He stood up and struck a dramatic pose. "I, Damien Blackthorn, shall become your shadow. Your best friend. Your annoying leech."

Marcus nodded.

"The logic is sound. Every time a heroine approaches me, you intervene. You make it a 'boys' talk.' You drag me away for 'urgent business.'"

"Exactly," Damien said. "I am the physical barrier. I am the Cockblock of Destiny."

Marcus winced. "Don't put it like that."

"Phase Two," Marcus continued, moving his finger down the page. "The Setup. While you run interference, I arrange the scenarios."

He tapped the list of specific activities they had brainstormed.

"For Seraphina," Marcus recited. "I arrange a private training evaluation. I tell her Theo has questions about advanced mana theory. Questions I cannot answer."

"Good," Damien agreed. "For the Duchess?"

"I organize a diplomatic summit regarding the border defenses," Marcus said. "I claim Theo has unique insights on monster tactics. Which he does. He just never talks about them."

"For my mother," Damien sighed. "You suggest she take a dungeon dive. You tell her Theo needs a veteran guide. Someone legendary."

"And for Iris," Marcus finished. "I tell her Theo is the primary subject of her observation mission. Which he is. I just remind her to actually do her job."

"Phase Three," Damien said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Fade."

This was the hardest part.

"I slowly stop showing up," Marcus said quietly.

"I decline invitations. I send Theo in my place. I become boring. Unavailable.

Eventually, they transfer their fixation to the hero standing right in front of them."

Damien nodded solemnly. "It's a solid tactical framework. But we need code names."

Marcus paused. "Do we?"

"We are conspiring in a room with maps," Damien insisted.

"We need code names. If someone finds a note saying 'Make Seraphina love Theo,' we look insane. If it says 'Launch Phoenix Protocol,' we just look like spies."

Marcus sighed. He knew he wouldn't win this one. "Fine. Seraphina is Phoenix. Because of the fire magic."

Damien scribbled it down. "Simple. Effective. Catarina?"

"Duchess," Marcus said. "Keep it literal."

"Vivienne is Viper," Damien said quickly. "It's her old adventurer title. Plus, it sounds cool."

"And Iris?" Marcus asked.

Damien thought for a moment. "She glows in the dark. She's weird. Starlight."

Marcus looked at the list. Phoenix. Duchess. Viper. Starlight.

"This feels like a spy thriller written by a teenager," Marcus muttered.

"I was a teenager when I read the book," Damien reminded him. "Trust me. This fits the genre."

"Alright," Damien said. He cracked his knuckles. "Theory is useless without practice. Stand up."

Marcus groaned. "We are not doing this."

"We are absolutely doing this," Damien said. He cleared a space in the center of the room. "You need to be ready. These women are relentless. If you hesitate, they will devour you."

Marcus reluctantly stood. "Fine. Who are you first?"

Damien adjusted his posture. He straightened his back until it looked painful. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips into a strict, thin line.

"Mr. Aldridge," Damien said. His voice was a perfect, chilly imitation of Seraphina.

"I noticed you were absent from the faculty mixer. Your brother is progressing well, but I find myself concerned about your well-being."

He took a step closer. The intensity in his eyes was terrifyingly accurate.

Marcus took a reflexive step back. "Ah, Professor. Yes. I was... busy. But speaking of Theo, did you see his sword form yesterday? His balance is incredible."

Damien broke character. "Too slow. You hesitated. She smells fear, Marcus. If you hesitate, she assumes you're shy. Shyness is cute. We don't want cute."

"I was not hesitating," Marcus defended. "I was thinking."

"Don't think. Pivot," Damien ordered. "Again. This time, I'm the Duchess."

Damien rolled up his sleeves. He adopted a look of aristocratic boredom mixed with predatory interest. He swirled an imaginary glass of wine.

"Lord Aldridge," Damien purred, pitching his voice lower. "The politics of this court are so... exhausting. One craves a conversation with genuine substance. Tell me, what do you think of the trade tariffs?"

Marcus channeled his inner coach. "A fascinating subject, Your Grace. But surely, the future of our military supply lines is more pressing? Theo was just telling me about the logistical issues in the vanguard."

Damien nodded, dropping the act. "Better. You appealed to her duty. That works."

"I feel ridiculous," Marcus admitted.

"You'll feel worse if you accidentally marry four women," Damien said. "Ready for the big boss? My mother."

Marcus stiffened. "Please don't."

Damien grinned. He relaxed his stance. He placed a hand on his hip and sauntered forward. He radiated an unsettling amount of confidence.

"Well, well," Damien said, winking.

He reached out and brushed invisible dust off Marcus's shoulder.

He let his hand linger. "You're looking tense, darling. Maybe you need someone to help you... unwind?"

Marcus physically recoiled and knocked a stack of papers off the table.

"Nope. Too close. Too weird. That is your mother, Damien."

"It's effective!" Damien laughed. "She invades personal space. She uses touch as a weapon. You have to deflect the physical contact without being rude."

"How?" Marcus asked, retrieving the papers. "If I pull away, I look repulsed. If I stay, I look interested."

"You grab her hand," Damien demonstrated, grabbing his own wrist, "and you shake it firmly like a business partner. Then you say:

'Lady Blackthorn! Theo needs a sparring partner who can handle his strength!'"

"That might actually work," Marcus mused. "It re-frames the touch as professional."

"Last one," Damien said. "Starlight."

Damien widened his eyes until he looked unhinged.

He stood perfectly still. He did not blink. He tilted his head to the side like a confused bird.

"Greetings," Damien intoned. His voice was flat and monotone. "I have observed your species. Explain the ritual of 'dinner.' Does it facilitate reproductive selection?"

Marcus snorted. He tried to hold it in, but the expression on Damien's face was too much.

"She... she doesn't talk like a robot," Marcus laughed.

"She talks like a textbook from five hundred years ago!" Damien argued, still holding the wide-eyed face.

"Answer the question, human. Is the consumption of biomass a mating dance?"

Marcus dissolved into laughter.

He leaned against the table, clutching his ribs.

The tension of the last few weeks—the fear of the demon invasion, the panic over the harem, the guilt—finally broke.

Damien started laughing too. He dropped the act and slumped into a chair.

"Okay," Damien wheezed. " maybe I exaggerated a little."

"Just a little," Marcus wiped a tear from his eye. "But you're right. She's intense."

"We're insane," Damien said, shaking his head. "Two grown men, roleplaying romance scenarios in a locked room."

"It's for the greater good," Marcus said, his voice still shaking with mirth. "We're saving the world, one awkward conversation at a time."

The evening sun cast long shadows across the study. The room was tidy again. The maps were rolled up. The lists were hidden in a locked drawer.

Marcus and Damien sat by the window. They held fresh cups of tea. The mood had shifted from frantic energy to quiet satisfaction.

They had a plan. It was detailed. It was logical.

It accounted for personalities, schedules, and locations.

"It's a good plan," Damien said. He sounded surprised. "Interceptor. Setup. Fade. It covers all the bases."

"We're respecting their agency," Marcus added. He looked out at the city lights. "We aren't using potions or mind control. We're just... highlighting the better option."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're doing? Or are we manipulating social variables to achieve a desired outcome?"

"I was a life coach," Marcus shrugged. "Helping people see what's right in front of them isn't manipulation. It's guidance. Fine lines were my specialty."

"Right," Damien said. He swirled his tea. "And Theo is the right option. He's the hero. He's strong. He's... well, he's Theo."

"He's a good kid," Marcus said warmly. "He deserves happiness. They all do. And frankly, I deserve a nap."

"To the plan," Damien proposed. He raised his teacup.

Marcus clinked his cup against Damien's.

They drank in silence. The tea was warm. The plan was solid.

"You know," Damien said, setting his cup down. "We've thought of everything. We have contingencies for the contingencies."

Marcus nodded. He felt a rare surge of confidence.

For the first time since waking up in this world, he felt like he was in control of his own destiny.

"Exactly," Marcus said, smiling at his new friend. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Outside the window, a crow cawed. The wind picked up.

And somewhere in the city, four very intelligent women were making plans of their own.

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