The day Zenith’s pregnancy became known, the air in the house was simply bright for the first time in a while.
Paul smiled like an idiot.
Rudeus said he hoped it would be a little sister.
Zenith smiled at him, then suddenly wiped at the corner of her eye.
Lilia quietly cleared the table as usual.
But her hands moved a little more slowly than usual.
The information that one more life would be joining them changed the density of the house.
The seats at the table. The arrangement of the rooms. The inside of the wardrobe. The kinds of cloth Lilia brought out. Zenith’s gait. Paul’s expression.
All of it changed, little by little.
A being not yet born was already changing the atmosphere of the house.
It was an interesting phenomenon.
"What about Norn, if it’s a girl?" Zenith said.
"Sounds good."
Paul nodded at once.
He did not look as though he had thought about it before answering.
Zenith laughed.
"And if it’s a boy?"
"Hmm... It should be a strong name."
"Such as?"
"We can think of that from now on."
"So you hadn’t thought of anything after all."
Rudeus wore a strangely serious expression beside them.
"I think I’d prefer a little sister."
"Why?"
When Paul asked, Rudeus averted his eyes for a moment.
"Little brothers are... dangerous in a lot of ways."
I did not understand what he meant.
It was likely related to memories of his previous life.
Zenith merely laughed.
It was a warm laugh.
The Greyrat household was lively all day.
I classified it as something we could be happy about.
Then, one month later, the house became quiet again.
This time, for a different reason.
---
Lilia was pregnant.
The instant that fact came to light, the air in the room froze.
Zenith. Paul. Lilia. Rudeus. Me.
All five of us were in the same room.
But we were not looking at the same thing.
Zenith looked at Lilia.
Lilia looked at the floor.
Paul could not properly look at anything.
Rudeus looked at Paul.
"I’m sorry," Lilia said.
Her voice was no different from usual.
Low, composed, and scarcely trembling.
That made it more dangerous.
It was not because she was truly calm. It sounded like the voice of someone who had steeled herself and already decided on an ending.
"I am pregnant."
Silence settled over the room.
No one asked who the father was.
There was no need.
Lilia hardly ever went out. She had much work, and the range of her life was narrow. There was no indication that she was especially close to any man in the village.
Meanwhile, Paul had been unable to control his desires since Zenith’s pregnancy.
Anyone living in the house could have noticed it to some degree.
Sounds. Glances. Feet stopping in front of a door. The number of times Lilia reheated water at night. The way Paul avoided people’s eyes the following morning.
Humans let more slip than they expect, even when they think they are hiding it.
Zenith slowly turned to Paul.
Rudeus looked at him too.
So did I.
When those three gazes converged, the blood drained from Paul’s face.
"...I’m sorry," he said.
"It is probably my child."
The moment he said it, Zenith’s hand moved.
The sound was brief.
Paul’s head snapped to the side.
A red mark appeared on his cheek.
Silence fell over the room again.
Watching that scene, I made an assessment.
There had been desire, action, and a consequence.
Then what came next was responsibility.
---
Rudeus later named it an emergency family meeting.
I did not know whether that was an appropriate name.
Still, since everyone was seated in the same room, it could formally be called a meeting.
Zenith held the initiative.
That was only natural.
She was the one most deeply betrayed in this house.
The victim’s right to decide had to be respected.
Paul sat off to one side of the room.
Normally, he was a loud man.
But now, he seemed small.
The moment a strong person becomes weak is always sudden.
He had not lost his sword. His arm had not been cut off. His mana had not vanished.
The consequence of what he had done was simply lying before him.
That alone could make a person this small.
"So," Zenith said in a low voice. "What do you intend to do?"
The question sounded as though it had been directed at Paul.
But Lilia answered.
"After assisting with your delivery, I will leave the estate."
Rudeus’s shoulders twitched.
I looked at Lilia.
It was an expected answer. She was placing herself at the center of the wrongdoing and trying to resolve the structure by removing herself.
Simple.
And dangerous.
"What about the child?" Zenith asked.
"I will give birth somewhere in the Fittoa Region, then return to my hometown and raise the child there."
"You said it was in the south."
"Yes."
"Immediately after giving birth?"
"...I will find a way."
That effectively meant there was no way.
Zenith slowly clenched her skirt.
She knew it too.
Lilia would be in danger if she left alone. Long-distance travel immediately after childbirth was unreasonable. She did not have enough money. Traveling with a newborn would make the danger greater.
Even in a safe region, danger did not vanish.
Bandits. Illness. Cold. Carriage accidents. Wild beasts. Monsters. People.
In this world, monsters were not always the most dangerous things.
Sometimes people were worse.
Rudeus was about to speak.
I spoke before him.
"If Lilia must leave, I can resolve the issue of survival."
Everyone in the room looked at me.
Rudeus’s eyes widened.
Paul raised his head.
Lilia caught her breath, almost imperceptibly.
Zenith looked at me.
"I can arrange money. I can prepare transportation. An escort is possible. If necessary, I can personally take her to her destination. I can secure medicine for postpartum recovery, food, and lodging."
Lilia’s face shifted for the first time.
"Master Eugene..."
"The risk factors can be reduced. They cannot be entirely eliminated, but if I intervene, the likelihood of Lilia and the child dying during the journey can be lowered sufficiently."
Rudeus looked at me.
There was resistance in his expression.
He probably thought I was saying it would be acceptable to send Lilia away.
I was not.
"Therefore, there is no need to cloud the decision merely because Lilia might die if she leaves."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop even further.
"Eugene, what are you—" Paul began.
"Father, it would be better if you remained quiet right now," I said.
He closed his mouth.
Normally, he might have laughed it off.
Not now.
I looked at Zenith.
"The problem is not survival."
Her eyes trembled.
"The question is what form Mother intends to preserve this household in."
No one spoke.
I organized the matter point by point.
"If Lilia leaves, the practical problems can be solved. I can assist with housing and safety. There is a high chance the child can survive."
Lilia’s hand trembled over her stomach.
"But if that happens, this will become the house that sent Lilia and her child away."
I looked at Paul.
"Father’s responsibility will not disappear."
He lowered his head.
"If Lilia remains, the survival issue decreases. The child can be born and raised in this house. But Mother will have to see Lilia every day. Father will have to see the result of his actions every day."
I turned back to Zenith.
"Neither choice is without pain."
That was incorrect.
I corrected myself immediately.
"No. Neither is a choice without wounds."
Zenith did not answer.
Her expression belonged to an angry person.
But her eyes did not.
There was anger and deliberation together.
She could hate Lilia. She had that right.
She could resent Paul. She had that right as well.
But what should be done about the child in Lilia’s womb?
The child had not done anything yet.
It had not been born into this house, cried, or held anyone’s hand.
And yet it was already making everyone’s judgment heavier.
---
"Even so," Rudeus said.
His voice was smaller than expected.
"We can’t send her away."
Everyone looked at Rudeus.
His hands rested on his knees.
A child’s hands.
But his speaking face was not that of a child.
Neither was it completely that of an adult.
Rudeus was always somewhere in between.
"Lilia has been here too," he said. "When I wake up, she has towels ready. If I get caught in the rain, she heats bathwater. When I leave books everywhere, she puts them away. After sword training, she brings me water."
Lilia’s expression crumpled slightly.
"To me, Lilia isn’t just a maid."
At that, Lilia closed her eyes.
"And the child in her stomach..."
Rudeus paused.
Normally, he would have added an unnecessary joke.
This time, he did not.
"That child is my sibling too."
The air in the room changed, just a little.
It was not logically perfect.
How should the child’s bloodline be regarded? Could Zenith accept it? What would become of Lilia’s guilt? Could Paul bear responsibility from now on?
Those problems remained.
But Rudeus’s words entered the space between them.
A sibling.
He gave a relationship to a being whose face he had not even seen.
I did not understand it.
But it had an effect.
Zenith’s eyes shook.
"Rudy," she said, her voice lowered. "Are you... all right with this?"
"With what?"
"Even after your father did something like this."
Rudeus looked at Paul.
Paul avoided his gaze.
Rudeus thought for a moment.
"I’m angry," he said.
Paul flinched.
"I think he’s pathetic too."
"But Father being pathetic and Lilia and the child having to leave are different issues."
A short silence descended on the room.
I recorded his words.
Emotional, but separate.
Paul’s wrongdoing. Lilia’s treatment. The fetus’s survival. Zenith’s wounds.
They were connected, but they were not completely the same thing.
Rudeus had instinctively separated them.
---
"Zenith," Paul said.
His voice was hoarse.
"I’m sorry."
"I’ve already heard that."
Paul fell to his knees on the floor.
It was an awkward sight.
You did not often see a man who held a sword kneeling like that.
Especially not a man as proud as Paul.
"I was wrong. To Lilia, to you, and to the children."
Zenith did not respond.
"I know sending Lilia away would not make it over. But if you cannot bear it..."
He stopped.
"Then I will take responsibility."
Listening to him, I thought: Too late.
Responsibility should be considered before one acts.
Speaking of responsibility after the result has appeared is always late.
But being late did not make responsibility disappear.
If anything, it weighed more heavily because it was late.
Zenith looked down at Paul.
There was still anger in her gaze.
There was disappointment too.
But beneath it was something else.
The exhaustion only someone who had lived with another person for a long time could possess.
And affection that did not break easily.
"You really are the worst," Zenith said.
"I know."
"If you’d said you didn’t know, I would have hit you again."
"...I know."
"Lilia."
Lilia raised her head.
She was already prepared to accept the decision.
To be told to leave.
That was the face of someone waiting for those words.
Zenith looked at her for a long time.
"I have not forgiven you yet."
"Yes."
Lilia answered immediately.
"I have not forgiven Paul either."
"Yes."
"For a while, I’ll probably get angry just looking at either of you."
"Naturally."
"Even so."
Zenith lowered a hand to her stomach.
Her own stomach.
Then she looked at Lilia’s.
There were two lives.
One inside Zenith.
One inside Lilia.
Neither had been born yet.
Neither knew anything.
"You cannot leave."
Lilia’s face stiffened.
"Ma’am."
"I said you cannot leave."
"But I..."
"Quiet."
Zenith’s voice trembled slightly.
"If you leave, I’ll feel even more miserable."
Lilia fell silent.
"I don’t want to become the person who drove you out, and I don’t want your child to suffer on the road. And..."
Zenith looked at Paul.
"I don’t want that man to get past this without seeing his responsibility before his own eyes."
Paul could not say anything.
It was an accurate judgment.
"So stay," Zenith said. "Stay and give birth. Raise the child here too."
Lilia’s lips trembled.
"I... am not worthy of that."
"Talk about worthiness later. Right now, it’s an order."
Zenith took a small breath.
"You are this house’s maid. And now... you are family too."
When she finished speaking, Lilia’s expression twisted slightly.
She did not completely break down.
Lilia was not that sort of person.
But tears fell from her eyes.
Soundlessly.
Her face remained almost expressionless as the tears alone fell.
Rudeus let out a breath of relief.
Paul lowered his head.
I looked at Zenith.
She was strong.
---
Lilia’s Perspective
Even after the meeting ended, Lilia could not move for a long time.
She needed to return to the kitchen.
She needed to clear the teacups, wipe the table, and prepare dinner.
That was Lilia’s work.
Work held people together.
Even when one felt like collapsing, the body moved if there was something that had to be done.
But that day, her body did not move.
Her mistress had told her to stay.
To give birth in this house.
To raise the child here too.
Family.
She did not deserve those words.
Lilia knew that.
This was her wrongdoing as well.
It was not only Paul who was at fault.
No. Paul was at fault.
He was the man who entered Lilia’s room while his wife was pregnant. As a husband, a master, and a father, he deserved condemnation.
But Lilia had not refused him either.
If anything, she had waited.
She had seen Paul in a moment of weakness, known the opening, and failed to abandon the fact that she was still a woman.
The result was now inside her womb.
So she had thought she ought to be punished.
She had thought leaving was right.
She would help with her mistress’s delivery, then quietly disappear. Give birth to the child and return to her hometown. If possible, she would raise the child alone. If impossible, she would find some way regardless.
She had thought that was the ending suited to her.
But Rudeus had stopped her.
He had called the child his sibling.
He had called the child in her womb, a child not even born yet, his sibling.
The moment Lilia heard those words, she could not breathe.
Rudeus was a strange child.
He had been from the beginning.
He was not childlike.
His words, eyes, and actions.
At first, he had repulsed her.
He seemed like someone with an adult’s desires and intelligence inside a child’s body.
So she avoided him.
She did what was necessary and said only what was necessary.
She fulfilled her duty as a maid, but did not allow her heart to draw close.
Yet it was Rudeus who had saved someone like her.
He could have pretended not to know anything. He could have considered it only Paul’s fault and hated Lilia.
In truth, Lilia would have had nothing to say if he did.
But Rudeus remembered what she had done.
Towels. Bathwater. Putting away books. Water after training.
He remembered such trivial things.
Things Lilia had thought of as merely work.
Things she did every day without expecting repayment or asking for gratitude.
Rudeus remembered them.
And Eugene.
Lilia quietly wrapped her arms around her stomach.
Master Eugene was frightening.
Standing before him, even making excuses was difficult.
Hidden words, manufactured expressions, and ambiguous feelings all seemed to lose their meaning.
It had been the same today.
Eugene had not defended Lilia.
He had not pitied her.
He had not said she was innocent.
He had merely organized the facts.
That she could survive if she left. That money, roads, guards, and lodging could be arranged. That they should not cloud the decision by using survival as an excuse.
For the first time, Lilia realized something because of those words.
Perhaps she had intended to use death as a punishment.
She would leave, suffer, face danger with her child, and perhaps die.
Perhaps she had thought that would settle her wrongdoing.
But Eugene had not allowed it.
He had blocked the path of escape through death.
And before her mistress, he left only the real problem.
What would this household do with her?
How would her mistress see her?
How would Paul bear his responsibility?
At that moment, Lilia understood that Eugene had not judged her.
That was more frightening.
He had not judged her. He had only erased her path of escape.
So all that remained was to live and bear responsibility.
Rudeus had saved her.
Eugene had made sure she could not run away.
Both were more than Lilia deserved.
"...I’m sorry," Lilia whispered in the empty kitchen.
She did not know whom she was speaking to.
Her mistress. Rudeus. Eugene.
Or perhaps the child still in her womb.
Her hand rested on her stomach.
The tiny life had not moved yet.
But it was certainly there.
Lilia thought.
If this child was born.
If she was born safely, grew, learned to speak, and learned to walk.
What should be the first thing she taught her?
Gratitude.
Responsibility.
And the name of the person she must serve.
Master Rudeus.
He was the one who saved us.
The thought came so naturally that Lilia startled herself.
Perhaps it was wrong.
Perhaps she would be passing her guilt down to her child.
But at that time, Lilia could think of nothing else.
She could not repay him alone.
Even a lifetime of service would not be enough.
Then she would have to teach her child too.
Who had allowed them to remain in this house.
Who had called them siblings.
And who had shown them a responsibility they could not escape.
Lilia wiped her tears.
The water in the kitchen began to boil.
There was work to do.
She had to wash the teacups, wipe the table, and prepare dinner.
Tomorrow, her mistress would eat in this house.
Her master, Master Rudeus, and Master Eugene would as well.
And someday, the two children yet to be born.
Lilia slowly inhaled.
She had not been forgiven yet.
But she had been ordered to remain.
Then she had to stay.
Living.
Serving.
Taking responsibility.
Lilia stood before the pot of boiling water.
As usual.
But this was no longer the house it had once been.
The Greyrat household had not broken, but it had cracked.
And Lilia knew that from now on, her work would be to clean, clear away, and prepare every day so that crack would not widen.
---
The end of the family meeting did not mean the house immediately returned to normal.
Rather, the opposite was true.
After that day, a thin veil covered every action in the house.
Paul watched Zenith’s mood.
Zenith tried to smile as usual, but sometimes looked at Lilia’s stomach and stopped speaking.
Lilia worked even more perfectly.
She had been capable before, but after the incident, she used her competence like a punishment.
She moved a little faster. Cleared things away a little more quietly. Prepared everything a little earlier.
She did it without being told.
No.
Because no one told her to, she did even more.
She seemed to think she had to earn permission anew every day to remain in this house.
Whenever Rudeus saw her like that, he wore an oddly uncomfortable expression.
He had not acted in hopes of receiving gratitude.
But Lilia was grateful.
More precisely, she did not leave it at gratitude.
The emotion grew close to reverence. Reverence became debt. And debt began turning into loyalty.
Dangerous.
But I said nothing yet.
---
Several months passed.
Zenith’s stomach grew round.
Lilia’s did as well.
There was more cloth in the house.
Tiny clothes. Tiny blankets. Tiny shoes. Little things that might or might not be useful.
Humans prepared objects for beings not yet born.
They did not know whether those beings would be born alive, what sex they would be, what sort of personality they would have, or what they would like.
Yet they prepared anyway.
It was strange.
But those preparations kept the house moving.
Zenith sat and sewed.
Lilia organized thread beside her.
Rudeus pretended to read while watching them.
Paul sometimes stood in the doorway. When his eyes met Zenith’s, he smiled awkwardly.
Each time, Zenith sighed.
She had not completely forgiven him.
But she did not completely push him away either.
They endured with the crack still there.
Watching them, I thought.
If it were a structure, it could be reinforced.
You would inspect the crack, add stronger materials, and distribute the load.
But human relationships did not work like that.
If you touched a crack immediately, sometimes it widened instead.
Sometimes, you had to leave it alone.
All you could do was wipe and dry it each day, so water did not seep through.
Lilia was doing that.
Zenith was doing it too.
Rudeus was doing it in his own way.
Paul often failed.
Even so, he did not run away.
---
The labor began at night.
At first, it was Zenith.
Her breathing changed.
Lilia noticed first.
Paul was next.
"What should I do?"
"Please wait outside," Lilia said.
"No, but I—"
"Please wait outside."
The second time, she said it more coldly.
Paul closed his mouth and withdrew.
Rudeus made water.
I adjusted its temperature.
I cleaned our hands.
By the time the midwife arrived, the house was already close to a battlefield.
But this war had no enemy.
The opponent was life.
Zenith’s delivery did not go smoothly.
The midwife’s face hardened.
So did Lilia’s.
Rudeus saw it and immediately fell silent.
I listened to the midwife’s instructions.
I heated more water. Passed clean cloths. Maintained the room’s temperature. Checked Zenith’s declining strength.
I prepared healing magic.
But I did not use it carelessly.
Healing was not omnipotent.
Used incorrectly at the wrong moment, it could interfere with the body’s natural processes.
If you touched it wrong, it broke.
No.
It died.
I accepted that fact.
It was an unpleasant acceptance.
Zenith gritted her teeth.
Paul could do nothing outside the room.
Men who could do nothing often looked pathetic.
But that day, Paul did not flee from outside.
He sat before the door, fists clenched, listening to the sounds inside.
His sword was not beside him.
Because what he needed was not a sword.
A long time passed.
Then a cry sounded.
Small, sharp, living.
The air in the room eased all at once.
Rudeus exhaled.
Lilia closed her eyes.
The midwife lifted the baby.
It was a girl.
Zenith smiled through exhaustion.
"Norn," she said.
The name had been decided long ago.
Norn.
Zenith’s daughter.
The new child of the Greyrat household.
Hearing that, Paul slumped down outside the door.
He did not cry.
But his face looked as though he was about to.
I looked at the baby.
She was small.
Too small.
Her neck, fingers, and feet.
They looked as though they might break if I used even a little too much force.
Such a life had shaken the entire house.
---
But that night was not over.
Just as everyone thought Zenith’s delivery had ended, Lilia clutched her stomach.
The blood drained from her face.
The midwife moved at once.
This time, it was Lilia.
It was earlier than expected.
Paul’s face hardened again.
Norn’s newborn cries still lingered in the house, and another cry was coming.
Lilia tried to endure as usual.
She tried to suppress her sounds, contain her expression, and bear it.
That was Lilia’s way.
But the midwife shouted.
"Don’t hold it in!"
It was an order.
For the first time, Lilia made a sound through gritted teeth.
I moved again.
Water. Cloth. Temperature. Air. Hygiene. Mana flow.
Rudeus moved too.
With his small body, he ran around doing whatever the midwife told him.
This time, Paul was not outside the room.
Because Lilia called his name.
"Paul..."
Her voice was quiet.
But Paul heard it.
He sat beside Lilia and took her hand.
Zenith watched the scene with her exhausted body.
It was a strange scene.
The wounded person. The person who had done wrong. The person consumed by guilt. The child not yet born.
Everyone was in the same room.
The second cry was quieter than the first.
But it was clear.
She was alive.
It was a girl.
Lilia cried.
This time, Paul cried too.
Rudeus smiled faintly.
I looked at the child.
She was a little smaller than Norn.
Her mouth searched for air.
Her voice was weak, but she was alive.
Lilia spoke her name.
"Aisha..."
And so the two children were born.
Zenith’s daughter was Norn.
Lilia’s daughter was Aisha.
Two more cries joined the house.
---
The following months were noisy.
Norn cried often.
She cried when she was hungry, sleepy, or wet. She cried even when no one could understand why.
No.
There must have been a reason.
The adults simply did not know it.
Aisha cried a little less than Norn.
That did not mean she was quiet.
Aisha moved her eyes a great deal.
Toward the source of sounds. Toward where people stood. Toward Lilia’s hands. Rudeus’s face. My finger.
She was too young to see properly, yet she seemed to be watching.
Lilia was pleased by this.
"Aisha may grow into a perceptive child," she said.
I did not answer.
A perceptive child.
She was still a baby.
It was too early to judge.
And yet, watching her quietly survey her surroundings from Lilia’s arms, I could not look away for an oddly long time.
Norn was different.
Norn did not try to understand.
She simply cried.
When hungry, she cried. When sleepy, she cried. When she wanted to be held, she cried.
At first, I considered it inefficient.
The method of transmitting information was simple and loud.
But it was certainly effective.
When Norn cried, someone came.
Zenith came.
Paul came running in a fluster.
Rudeus came with a strange expression.
Lilia came quietly.
Sometimes, I went too.
The reason was unclear.
Continued crying reduced sleep efficiency.
I could explain it that way.
But when Norn gripped my finger and stopped crying, I did not withdraw it immediately.
If I did, she might begin crying again.
That was an explanation too.
But it was not complete.
Norn’s hand was small.
Weak.
It looked as though it might break if it moved.
I held that hand with the hand that had caught a meteor.
Norn did not know that.
Knowing nothing, she held my finger.
---
The house slowly began moving again.
It had not completely recovered.
Zenith was still cold to Paul at times.
Whenever that happened, Paul kept quiet.
Lilia became more careful.
And her attitude toward Rudeus changed.
She treated him as her young master.
She had done so before.
But now, something else was mixed into it.
Respect.
Or debt.
Sometimes it went too far.
Rudeus was uncomfortable with it.
"Lilia, you don’t have to go that far."
"No, Master Rudeus."
"Really, you don’t have to."
"I cannot do that."
Rudeus looked at me with an embarrassed expression.
It was not my problem to resolve.
Still, after Aisha’s birth, I recorded that the way Lilia looked at Rudeus while holding Aisha had changed.
That gaze was dangerous.
Lilia was grateful.
Too grateful.
I could not yet determine whether I should stop it.
It was too soon.
---
One day, I brought back a small boar-like animal from the forest.
More precisely, it resembled a boar, but had four tusks and hard, stone-like protrusions along its back.
Paul said we should roast it.
Lilia said its smell was strong, so it should be salted first.
Zenith wondered whether it would be too tough for the children.
Rudeus muttered, "A fantasy-world boar."
I did not know what he meant.
I pressed the meat.
The muscle fibers were thick. There was little fat. It smelled strongly of blood. Unsuitable for direct flame. It needed long heating.
The conclusion was stew.
Lilia helped prepare it.
No.
At first, Lilia prepared it, and I watched.
From the second time onward, I did it.
The knife moved precisely.
At first, it was so precise that there was too much waste.
Focused on separating bone and meat, I cut away too much of the edible portion.
"You may leave that part," Lilia said.
"It can be eaten?"
"Yes. If you simmer it long enough, it becomes tender."
I recorded it.
The edible portions and the portions that could be structurally separated were different.
It was a distinction unnecessary in battle.
In cooking, it was necessary.
I soaked the meat in water, drew out the blood, rubbed it with salt, and added herbs.
I kept the fire low.
A strong fire was faster.
But faster was not always better.
Tough meat had to simmer for a long time before it softened.
Some results required time.
That was worth recording too.
That evening, stew from the same pot was set on the table.
Paul ate first.
He paused.
"...This is good?"
Zenith took a spoonful too.
So did Lilia.
Rudeus ate two spoonfuls, then looked at me.
"Eugene, you cook too?"
"I did."
"No, I mean... it’s good."
I watched their reactions.
Taste.
An element separate from nutrition.
Even with identical ingredients, human reactions changed depending on the method of preparation.
Eating stew did not erase Paul’s wrongdoing.
It did not heal Zenith’s wounds.
It did not remove Lilia’s guilt.
But while they ate food from the same pot, the table grew quiet for a while.
It was not an uncomfortable silence.
That day, I learned something new.
Salt reduced the smell of meat.
Low heat softened tough fibers.
Herbs lightened the heaviness of fat.
And when humans ate food from the same pot, they grew a little closer.
---
Time passed.
We turned seven.
Norn and Aisha grew well.
Rudeus still learned swordsmanship in the mornings and practiced magic with Sylphiette in the afternoons.
I held a sword too.
Whenever Paul looked at me, he made a strange expression.
Whenever he tried to teach Rudeus and me in the same way, he confirmed that his methods did not work on us.
Even so, he taught us.
He seemed to think the act of teaching itself was important.
Rudeus began to run into a wall.
His swordsmanship was no longer improving.
More precisely, it improved little by little, but he was still far from reaching Paul.
It was the same with magic.
He was already so far ahead that he could not be compared to children his age.
But he could not see what lay ahead.
After Roxy Migurdia left, Rudeus had changed many things on his own.
The form of water. The direction of wind. The density of earth. The temperature of fire. Methods of mixing magic into swordsmanship.
But there was a limit to how far one could go alone.
Rudeus felt that limit.
Sylphiette worried about him.
She had grown too.
Her magic had improved greatly, and she had learned letters and arithmetic.
She was intelligent.
She learned quickly as well.
And she depended too much on Rudeus.
At first, Rudeus saved Sylphiette.
Then he taught her.
And at some point, Sylphiette began to feel anxious whenever he was absent.
Rudeus knew it.
Knowing, he pretended not to.
That was the obliviousness he chose.
But obliviousness could not solve every problem.
Sylphiette was weak against the thought of Rudeus leaving.
Rudeus was weak against Sylphiette crying.
They needed each other.
It sounded like a good thing.
But when need became excessive, it became poison to both people.
---
It was around then that a letter came from Roxy Migurdia.
It spoke of how she was staying in the Shirone Kingdom, how she had become a prince’s tutor, how she had learned King-class water magic, and of Ranoa Magic University.
Rudeus read the letter for a long time.
Once.
Then again.
Then once more.
"Ranoa Magic University..." he murmured.
I looked at the map beside him.
Ranoa was far away.
North of the Asura Kingdom.
One of the Three Magic Nations.
A place where magicians gathered.
It was an appropriate option for Rudeus’s growth.
But he would have to leave Sylphiette behind.
That was the problem.
Several days later, Rudeus brought it up before the family.
"Father."
"No."
Paul answered immediately.
Zenith hit the back of his head.
Lilia set down a plate and added quietly, "You have not even heard what he has to say."
Paul cleared his throat.
"Right. Go on."
Rudeus hesitated.
"Recently, I’ve felt a limit in magic. Master Roxy’s letter mentioned Ranoa Magic University too."
Paul’s expression became a little more serious.
"And?"
"Someday, I’d like to go there."
"Someday?"
"If possible... with Sylph too."
At that, Paul narrowed his eyes.
Zenith fell silent as well.
Lilia looked at Rudeus.
I thought of Sylphiette.
If she heard this, she would cry.
Perhaps she already had.
Rudeus knew that.
So he created the option of taking her along.
On the surface, it was kind.
But that choice was closer to postponing the problem.
Rudeus wanted to grow.
But he did not want to leave Sylphiette behind.
Sylphiette might want Rudeus to grow.
But she did not want him to leave.
They contradicted each other.
Human relationships were often like that.
Paul crossed his arms.
"No."
This time, no one hit him.
Because his voice was different.
"Why?" Rudeus asked.
"First, we don’t have the money. You have two younger sisters now, and this family isn’t in the same financial situation as before."
Rudeus closed his mouth.
"Second, Sylph’s family isn’t something you can just take wherever you please. Even if you say you’ll pay, you don’t get to decide that girl’s life for her."
That was correct.
Rudeus’s face hardened.
"Third."
Paul paused.
"You two are too attached."
The room fell quiet.
Rudeus’s expression changed.
A defensive face.
A face that had been struck where it hurt.
A face on the verge of anger.
"Why is that a problem?"
"It is a problem," Paul said. "That doesn’t mean you’re a bad kid. It doesn’t mean Sylph is a bad kid either."
"Then what does it mean?"
"If all either of you can see is the other, it becomes poison to both of you."
The words were simple.
But accurate.
Rudeus tried to argue.
His lips moved.
But the words did not come immediately.
Looking at him, Paul said, "If you truly want to study magic, you can go someday. But I don’t know whether what you want right now is a magic university, or an excuse to keep Sylph with you."
Rudeus’s face reddened.
"That’s..."
"Think about it."
Paul ended the conversation.
"That’s enough for today."
Unable to say anything, Rudeus rose from his seat.
He was angry.
But he was angrier because he could not say Paul was completely wrong.
I looked at Paul.
He was not wearing his usual carefree expression.
His face was closer to the one he wore when holding a sword.
Not the face of someone trying to cut down an opponent.
The face of someone who knew the other person would be hurt, yet had to push them away.
That night, Paul did not sleep for a long time.
---
Several days later, a letter arrived.
It was from the Boreas Greyrat family.
Roa.
A city in the Fittoa Region.
Eris Boreas Greyrat.
A noble’s daughter.
A tutor.
And, as a swordsmanship instructor, Ghislaine Dedoldia.
It was the first time I had heard that name.
But Paul’s reaction told me enough.
She was strong.
At the very least, a swordswoman of a level not easily found in this region.
Paul folded the letter.
He looked into the yard.
Rudeus and Sylphiette were there.
Sylphiette was laughing.
Rudeus was laughing too.
It was peaceful.
And, in one sense, dangerous.
Paul said nothing for a long time.
I stood beside him.
"Eugene."
"Yes."
"You saw it too."
"What do you mean?"
"Rudy and Sylph."
I looked into the yard.
"I did."
"We can’t leave them like this."
Paul’s voice was low.
"Why do you judge that?"
"Because I’m their parent," he said.
It was not a logical answer.
But neither was it empty.
I waited.
After a moment, Paul continued.
"Rudy is smart. He speaks well, he’s good at magic, and somehow he knows how to get right into people’s hearts. But he’s still a child."
"That is true."
"Sylph is a child too. There’s nothing wrong with them liking each other. But this is too early."
He tapped the letter with his finger.
"We need to separate them."
In the yard, Rudeus said something, and Sylphiette laughed.
Even seeing that laugh, Paul did not change his decision.
"Will you send Rudeus away?"
"Yes."
"Do you intend to explain it to him?"
Paul did not answer.
That silence was answer enough.
"If you explain, Rudeus will argue."
"Yes."
"He may cry."
"I know."
"He will be angry."
"I know."
"Mother may oppose it too."
"I know that too."
"And you will still do it?"
Paul looked at me.
His eyes were tired.
But they were not clouded.
"Yes," he said. "This time, I have to be the bad father."
I heard those words.
A bad father.
A person who used bad means for a good purpose.
Or one who believed his judgment was right and pushed away his child’s feelings.
I did not yet know which he was.
Perhaps both.
"Is this Ghislaine person strong?" I asked.
Paul paused briefly.
"She is strong."
"Strong enough to protect Rudeus?"
"That..."
He did not answer immediately.
A good response.
He did not claim to know what he did not.
I looked into the yard.
Rudeus still knew nothing.
Sylphiette did not know either.
This house would soon be shaken once more.
It would be different from the family meeting.
This time, it would be shaken in order to send someone away.
"Then I will have to confirm it," I told Paul.
"Confirm what?"
"Whether Ghislaine can protect Rudeus."
Paul looked at me.
I continued looking into the yard.
"It is not a matter of will."
The wind passed by.
Sylphiette’s green hair stirred slightly.
"It is a matter of ability."
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