By Zephyria How many times in my life had I looked up at the night sky with such leisure?
I didn’t believe in astronomy. What god would bother moving the constellations in the sky one by one to convey their will?
It had been a long time since the last Divine Revelation. It had happened only once under Beneto. And I was convinced that the Divine Revelation was Beneto’s own fabrication.
Of course, I too had often looked up at the sky when I was younger. On days like the new year festival, when Lucilla would cry and insist, waiting for the new sun with Kate. That was over six years ago, when I was much younger than I am now. Most of the rest of my time, I spent observing things on the ground.
The cluster of stars, arranged in a geometrically irregular pattern, somehow looked beautiful.
The boy’s narrow shoulders didn’t reach my forearm. Whether it was because he had just been wielding a sword or because his body temperature was still high from youth, even sitting with a finger’s width between us, I felt warmth radiating from the boy, warming one side of my body.
I glanced over. Michael was gazing up at the night sky with a face full of melancholy.
A sudden curiosity struck me. What on earth did this child think about during his past life? Did he sometimes look up at the night sky like this? Had he ever stood alone in the Martial arts training ground, as he did today, blankly counting the tails of the stars before dawn, before the long night passed?
What did he think about during those times?
And, now?
To me, people’s inner thoughts were an open book. I read them as they were written and used them as they appeared. But at this moment, I wanted to know more about this child. I was curious how this boy, like a pure, unblemished blank canvas, would act once he came to know the world.
Would you still be able to look directly into my eyes without any fear, just as you are now?
It was absurd fantasy.
I conducted a brief investigation into Michael Ernhardt’s Academy life.
The testimony that he struggled with all other subjects, despite keeping up well with Swordsmanship Department classes, made my mouth bitter again. The reasons Michael chose his subjects were mostly transparent.
Professor Maelo Sanson was one of only two Grand Sword Masters in the Empire. He had taken on the role of homeroom teacher for the Swordsmanship Department for first-year students who showed particularly promising growth upon admission. It was natural for Michael to attend all of Maelo Sanson’s swordsmanship classes.
Douglas Mustang’s classes were similar. He specialized in handling aura and Mana, and each year he was responsible for first-year Magic Department and Swordsmanship Department students, awakening their Mana perception. I had also taken his class last year.
Briana Casablanca’s general world history class, Calypse Agrigent’s Imperial Genealogy, and Cedric’s Alchemy and Camping Class were clearly influenced by Shayden Rose.
It was an attempt to help Michael confirm his place through the continent’s structure and history, and to solidify his peer relationships through the Camping Class. Seeing this, it seemed Shayden Rose’s service to Michael was not to appease Valentia, but to repay a debt of gratitude from when Michael had saved him in his childhood.
Of course, if it were me, I wouldn’t have placed individuals who might easily be swayed by Michael Ernhardt’s appearance and act beyond my control by his side. But that was likely the extent of what one could do as a Young Master of a Count’s family. It wasn’t a bad judgment.
However, what was “Basics of Magic and Spell Formula Principles”?
Angela Sting was an exceptionally talented Wizard, but her typical Wizardly stubbornness and insensitivity were pronounced. To put it kindly, she was naive and innocent; to put it bluntly, she was oblivious and dogmatic. What could Michael Ernhardt, who knew nothing about magic, gain from that class?
Furthermore, the news that Michael had friction with Edwin Kiadris while I wasn’t paying attention was unpleasant. What good could come from Kiadris being involved with Valentia? Even if those two were to reconcile, with Wesley Kiadris being a close aide to the First Prince, it was not a good omen for me either.
Later, when I get a bit closer to Michael and he trusts me, I’ll have to probe into why he’s interested in magic.
So, how should I approach him?
The most natural way for a senior to help a junior was predetermined. Organizing notes, or passing down old exam papers. It was a classic, yet effective, method. The subject I chose was General World History, where summarized notes were most widely used among Michael’s classes.
The General World History class I took last year was not Professor Briana Casablanca’s. However, I was confident it would be sufficiently helpful. There were eight world history professors at the Academy, and I had thoroughly memorized the examination trends of all of them.
I took out the notes and past exam handouts from last year, along with new notes.
Giving him my notes as they were would have some meaning, but considering Michael Ernhardt’s level of knowledge, my notes, which only summarized key points with simple keywords, would have limited utility. Since the scope of the first semester of the first year was fixed, I could add explanations and organize it in about four hours.
I pulled the string hanging beside my desk and rang the bell. Theodore Grand, who had long served as my personal aide and attendant, opened the door a moment later and glided in silently, standing at attention.
“Reserve a table for two at the Academy Lounge for noon tomorrow.”
“Yes. May I have the name of the person accompanying you?”
“Michael Ernhardt.”
“Would a central table in the lounge be suitable?”
“Yes. Please do.”
Theodore bowed respectfully and left. If Michael, upon receiving the notes, were to politely offer to treat me to lunch, I would accept as a senior and go to the Academy Lounge.
If I’m going to help, I do it thoroughly. That was my way. If it became obvious that he was under my protection, even that Valentia would likely observe the situation quietly for a year.
The period for the first letter from first-year students hadn’t arrived yet, but there was no need for Michael to convey the situation himself. The Duchy wouldn’t have failed to plant eyes at the Academy. For now, this would suffice.
The next day.
I took the neatly organized notes with me. Michael Ernhardt had such a striking appearance that it wasn’t difficult to find where he had gone. Theodore had come to me before noon and informed me of his whereabouts.
“As you instructed, I have reserved a conspicuous spot for your lunch. Young Master Ernhardt is currently in the Second Library. Shall I assist you with your attire?”
“No. You may leave.”
“Yes.”
Theodore misunderstood, thinking I was trying to use Michael to trap Valentia. I didn’t bother to correct the misunderstanding. I didn’t want to hear unnecessary remarks by blabbing about his circumstances or other speculations, nor could I tell him to help me make an enemy of Valentia, as he intended to support me as Emperor.
What could be more bothersome and base than subordinates who didn’t move according to my will? To hide just enough and reveal only what is necessary is the path of a sovereign. I moved my steps without a trace of guilt.
Michael Ernhardt was with Shayden Rose.
The Ernhardt family and the Rose family were similar in the size of their territories, and both were heavily influenced by Valentia. The distance between the two territories was not great, and they had maintained a decent relationship since the previous generation. Indeed, the sight of them sitting not just facing each other, but so close their shoulders were almost touching, looked quite friendly.
Shayden, who spotted me first, pulled his chair back by half a hand’s width and bowed respectfully. With a simple gesture, I waved away his greeting and immediately sat down opposite Michael. Before he could even look up, I slid the world history notes I had prepared the day before in front of him.
His round eyes widened even further. I suppressed a laugh seeing the boy’s surprised face.
I had never thought of humans or animals as cute. Yet, seeing Michael, who reminded me of a rabbit peeking out from its burrow, made my insides tingle. As I watched him, the thought of his formidable sword techniques, which didn’t match his harmless and innocent, small animal-like face, crossed my mind. Then, the tingling in my insides tightened.
I tend to perceive most incidents and accidents with indifference and move past them without particular emotion. This rapid shift in my feelings was unfamiliar.
Trying not to show my strange emotions, I lowered my voice and spoke as if whispering.
“We seem to be seeing each other often lately.”
“⋯Hello, Senior.”
It’s truly strange. This time too, Michael didn’t avoid my gaze. Our eyes met directly, which felt awkward.
Until now, it was always the other person who had to look away first. But blink, blink. In his clear, watery eyes looking at me, there was still no trace of fear.
“It’s Professor Casablanca’s General World History class, right? I heard the content is the same as last year.”
“Yes, it is, but⋯.”
“I took diligent notes, so you can use these.”
“⋯.”
Michael tilted his head, his expression one of utter bewilderment, and fiddled with the notebook. He carefully stroked the cover of the notebook and flipped through the pages.
He must have never received such kindness before. It was good I came ahead of the others before they could pounce. This kind of thing requires the first-mover advantage.
With uncharacteristic warmth, I added an explanation.
“These parts here and here were on the exam. For the incident with Princess Melissa Floyd that you’re looking at now, you don’t need to memorize everything. Just remember the country names and that the price of yellow dye plummeted. Remember those two things and move on.”
“⋯!”
Ah.
His eyes, which had blinked rapidly three times, sparkled. He’s really cute. I almost laughed out loud and bit the inside of my cheek to suppress it discreetly. Waiting for the thanks that would follow, I waited with a benevolent expression.
But.
⋯.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
So bewildered and dumbfounded, I stared at him. Michael, who had been flipping through the notes diligently, tilted his head. Once again, his expression was one of pure innocence and pity.
As if my presence here was a bizarre occurrence, the boy looked at me and asked,
“Why?”
⋯Does this child only know how to say this one thing?