Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent

The servants quickly and efficiently laid out the meal, each dish more ornate than the last.

Roasted pheasant glazed in honeyed wine, golden-baked pastries filled with spiced meat, fresh-cut vegetables arranged like a painter's work, and a soup that shimmered faintly with steam in the cold air.

Everything looked like it had come straight from the royal kitchens.

The advisors smiled stiffly as Kyle surveyed the spread.

"Lord Armstrong, please, enjoy your meal. We put in great effort to prepare something worthy of your status."

One of them said with practiced grace,

Another chimed in.

"The Marquess was adamant that you be treated with the highest hospitality."

None of them even glanced at Bruce.

It was as though he didn't exist, a servant unworthy of even contempt. Kyle didn't seem to mind their oversight, and Bruce, ever loyal, didn't take offense.

He kept his posture straight, eyes vigilant, until Kyle reached for his soup.

He lifted the spoon, bringing the aromatic broth closer—but just as it neared his lips, Kyle paused.

His nose twitched slightly, expression sharpening.

A subtle, almost imperceptible thread of mana drifted from the bowl. It was faint, delicate, and masked cleverly beneath the spice.

To anyone else, it might have gone unnoticed. But Kyle felt it immediately. Magic.

He didn't speak right away. Instead, with a small, casual motion, he signaled Bruce to put down his utensils.

Bruce obeyed instantly, tensing in his seat.

Kyle lowered the spoon, looking directly at the nearest advisor.

"Tell me, is this the kind of food Marquess Terrance eats every day?"

He said with deceptive calm.

The advisor blinked.

"Yes, of course. Though we've made extra efforts today just for you, my lord. To show our respect."

He said quickly.

"Oh?"

Kyle leaned back, setting the spoon on the edge of the plate. His voice was smooth, almost playful.

"You went through so much trouble, and yet… I find myself lacking an appetite."

The advisors exchanged quick glances. One of them, bolder than the rest, leaned forward slightly.

"Perhaps if you take a bite, Lord Armstrong. I'm sure it will—"

"No, no. I was just thinking. Eating alone is dreadfully boring. Why don't you all join me?"

Kyle interrupted with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The advisors froze.

"P-pardon?"

One stammered.

"I insist. We're all here in the hall and yet, only I and Bruce are allowed to eat it all. It would be rude of me to eat alone."

Kyle said, gesturing to the empty chairs around the table.

Bruce nodded along, trying not to smirk.

"He doesn't like eating without company."

The advisors looked like they had swallowed stones. One tried to protest.

"My lord, we are not—"

"Sit."

Kyle said, voice suddenly hard as iron.

They sat.

One by one, the advisors pulled out chairs and seated themselves, their bodies stiff with tension. The food still sat steaming in front of them, untouched.

"Well then. Let's enjoy this fine meal together."

Kyle said cheerfully.

No one moved.

Kyle picked up his spoon again and stirred his soup slowly, watching their reactions. His golden eyes were sharp, almost glowing in the light.

"Go on,"

He said softly.

"Eat."

The advisors said nothing. Not one reached for their utensils.

A heavy silence hung over the table, broken only by the clinking of Kyle's spoon against porcelain. He didn't take a bite, and neither did Bruce. The tension stretched longer with each passing second.

Finally, Kyle set his spoon down once more.

"I see. So it's only fit for me, is it?"

he said quietly.

One advisor, pale and sweating, opened his mouth.

"L-Lord Armstrong, I—"

Kyle raised a hand to silence him. His eyes no longer held warmth.

"Next time you prepare something with such… devotion, make sure you can eat it too. For now, sit down or my mood will get even worse."

The silence in the dining hall lingered like a heavy fog, and Kyle's expression slowly shifted into something colder. His smile stretched—small, sharp, and unmistakably dangerous.

"I'm starting to think. My mood is beginning to sour."

Kyle said softly, eyes never leaving the advisors seated before him.

Several advisors flinched at his words, their hands twitching uselessly beside untouched plates.

The scent of the food—delicate, savory, laced with the faintest trace of magic—still hung in the air. And though no one moved, the pressure building in the room was undeniable.

Then, Lady Vernia, one of the more politically ambitious members of the group, steeled herself.

Her jaw tightened as she looked at Kyle, then at her plate.

She could feel the sweat forming along her spine, but there was no choice. If they didn't eat, they would be accused of tampering.

If they did… well, perhaps they could fix the consequences later.

With a deep breath, she lifted her spoon and took a bite of the shimmering soup.

The rest of the table froze.

Kyle's gaze moved to her with mild interest, but he didn't speak.

Lady Vernia swallowed.

"Delicious. Truly worthy of a guest such as yourself."

She said, voice shaking.

The advisors looked at her, then at each other. The hesitation cracked.

One by one, they followed suit. A bite of pheasant. A spoonful of soup. A nibble of pastry.

It was immediate.

The mana-laced food hit their systems like a fog creeping into the corners of their minds. It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. In fact, it felt… good.

Warm. Comforting. Addictive.

Each bite made them hungrier, their stomachs twisting as if begging for more. Rational thought began to slip away.

They had no idea what kind of mana had been used, but it was potent—and it was binding.

Somewhere deep inside, they knew they needed to stop.

But they couldn't.

Their bodies moved on instinct, bite after bite vanishing from their plates as sweat beaded down their temples. Eyes dilated. Hands trembled. Hearts pounded.

It was a struggle against a compulsion they couldn't name.

Kyle didn't eat. He didn't speak. He just watched.

And when the final bites were taken, when the last sip of soup was forced down their throats, the advisors sat back with wide eyes and pale faces, trying to mask their panic.

"Dinner was enlightening."

Kyle said at last, his voice smooth.

The advisors didn't respond. The moment he pushed back his chair and stood, they followed in a scramble.

No bows. No polite farewells.

Just a frenzied rush to leave the hall before their composure broke entirely.

Kyle watched them flee. Like rats.

Bruce stood beside him, arms folded.

"Should I follow them? Catch them in the act before they try to cover it up?"

He asked.

Kyle shook his head.

"No need,"

He said, voice calm.

"Whatever was in that food—it's stronger than usual."

Bruce raised a brow.

"You mean the mana?"

Kyle nodded.

"Not just to enhance flavor. That was a binding-type. It'll grip their cores, twist their emotions, dull their logic. In a few hours, they'll be scrambling for detox. Or worse."

Bruce smirked.

"So they've already lost."

"They just don't know it yet."

Kyle turned away from the table and walked out of the dining room without looking back.

"Let them run. They'll get their just desserts soon enough."

He added over his shoulder.