Half a year had passed since Grand Duchess Ellyard granted her permission.
Over that period, I had savored the rare privilege of freely entering and exiting the Ellyard mansion, no invitation required.
Yet, that privilege invariably brought with it an undercurrent of tension.
Ostensibly, as Ruena’s very first friend, I was a guest formally sanctioned by the lady of the estate herself.
However….
“You can come out now.”
“Did they leave?”
“Yes.”
But this was not the case with Grand Duke Ellyard.
He still refused to acknowledge my presence in the slightest.
For the time being, I remained a guest whose presence the Grand Duchess had permitted.
The Grand Duke, for his part, did not overtly prohibit my entry.
‘…He simply glowered menacingly at Ruena.’
Though the Grand Duchess consistently reassured me that everything was acceptable, I was not so naive as to believe the Grand Duke genuinely welcomed my growing closeness with his daughter.
He never actively sought to harm me.
He would merely refrain from even glancing in my direction when we shared a space, and on the rare occasions our paths crossed, he would simply turn away with an impassive face, as though he had encountered an unwelcome intruder.
Upon Ruena, however, he would fix that chilling gaze for an exceptionally extended duration.
‘Do not befriend him.’
A silent warning.
It was a pressure more potent and undeniable than any spoken words.
For Ruena would tremble piteously whenever she met his eyes.
Unable to bear witnessing Ruena’s distress, I would conceal myself, striving to avoid any encounter with Grand Duke Ellyard whenever I detected his approach.
Just like now.
I understood, of course.
He likely disapproved of the very notion of me treating Ruena as an equal, as a friend.
Despite both our houses being among the founding meritorious noble families, Ellyard stood as a Grand Ducal house, while our Noire remained a mere count’s family.
And what’s more—.
Unlike Ruena, the direct heir to the immensely powerful Ellyard line, I was merely the third son of Noire, at best a distant contender for heir.
With my eldest brother shouldering all the family’s expectations, my own turn was a remote, if not impossible, prospect.
‘I never had the slightest intention of inheriting the family in the first place.’
Moreover, Grand Duke Ellyard, of all people, would undoubtedly discern at a glance the pathetic quality of the magic flowing within my veins.
Grand Duke Cassian Ellyard.
He was an individual of uncompromising pragmatism and formidable authority.
He forged no relationships devoid of practical benefit, nor could one approach him without a clear, justifiable purpose.
To such a man, I was undoubtedly nothing more than an irksome piece of refuse obstructing his daughter’s path.
‘He’d treated me like an invisible man even during our brief encounter just recently…’
He was a man utterly incapable of concealing his profound displeasure.
Even so, that was preferable.
Far better than a sly smile masking a hidden blade.
****
Stepping out of the closet, I recommenced our interrupted tea time.
“He stayed a bit longer today.”
“…Yes.”
“It’s a relief he left before I brought out the dessert. Let’s eat.”
From the paper box, I carefully retrieved the day’s dessert.
It was a tart adorned with honey-soaked peaches, delicately arranged atop a bed of yogurt cream.
The distinctive refreshing tang of the yogurt cream, coupled with the peaches’ vibrant, juicy sweetness, harmonized to temper the overall sweetness, ensuring it was never cloying, and allowing for a delightful indulgence right down to the final mouthful.
‘This particular dessert was a personal triumph.’
My sister, Rafina, had already purloined three slices, which all but guaranteed its exceptional taste.
With practiced ease, I arranged the tableware—.
Then, with gentle precision, I set the tart before Ruena.
“How is it? Is it delicious?”
“……Yes.”
“Excellent. I brought plenty, so please have more.”
Ruena nodded, taking another bite of the tart.
Half a year had elapsed since our initial meeting.
Was it perhaps due to my visiting at least three times a week?
By now, I had grown adept at discerning the subtle reactions of this otherwise expressionless girl.
‘Her eyes are gleaming. At least a nine out of ten, perhaps?’
As I observed Ruena, I meticulously cataloged each of her culinary preferences within my memory.
Approximately an hour later.
As on every occasion, she consumed every last morsel of the dessert I had brought.
Regardless of whether the dessert suited her tastes, or fell short of them, Ruena consistently endeavored to finish everything I presented to her.
It was a gesture for which I was genuinely grateful.
For it signified her respect for my earnest efforts.
‘…Though it did cause me some trouble initially.’
Whether a dish was to her liking or not, since she consumed everything without distinction, I had initially believed Ruena possessed a truly undiscriminating palate.
Yet, before the occurrences could be counted on one hand, I had a revelation.
“Ruena.”
“Yes.”
“Does it not taste good?”
“…….”
That when she partook of a dessert not to her preference, her pace would subtly, yet perceptibly, slacken.
Furthermore, while her expression might appear unchanged to a casual observer, a closer inspection would reveal a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth.
Her already sparse words would diminish further, her gaze would drift downwards, towards the table’s edge, and the very spark in her eyes would often dim ever so slightly.
‘Of course, it took someone with my keen observational skills to notice.’
So minuscule was the disparity that, without meticulous scrutiny, one would remain entirely oblivious.
A faint chuckle escaped me as I gathered the now-empty dishes.
Given her reactions, I was confident that today’s dessert scored at least a nine, and with a bit of luck, perhaps even a 9.5.
‘For the more I satisfy her palate, the longer I can glimpse into the future.’
As I hummed a light tune while tidying up, a soft voice drifted from before me.
“Celen.”
“Yes?”
“…Thank you. For continuing to come.”
“Thankful for what? I simply wish to be with you.”
As I folded the paper box, I stole a quick glance at Ruena.
Our eyes met, and Ruena, flustered, quickly averted her gaze, turning her head away.
As on previous occasions, the tips of her ears were faintly flushed crimson.
‘She’s rather endearing.’
A soft chuckle escaped my lips.
This, too, constituted one of my private delights.
It was the simple pleasure of observing this peculiar girl—at once honest and evasive, seemingly not cute yet undeniably so.
‘Though she might very well kill me someday…’
Over the past six months, the useful glimpses of the future I had witnessed, were invariably scenarios depicting her as the ultimate boss, reshaping the very fabric of the world.
My own demise, appearing as ‘Corpse #1’ before her, was merely an added bonus.
Having perished in such a myriad of forms, I had reached a point where I was subtly curious about which ingenious method of demise awaited me next.
‘Nevertheless… the future can be altered…’
In fact, just a short while ago—.
I had successfully averted a future in which Ruena’s beloved parrot met its demise.
In the future I had glimpsed, the parrot had pecked at chocolate hidden within a drawer, thus prematurely ending its natural lifespan.
Consequently, while Ruena was absent from the room, I meticulously scoured the entire room, confiscating every trace of chocolate.
‘And I duly warned Ruena not to leave chocolate within the room.’
For that particular parrot possessed the uncanny ability to pry open drawers with its beak.
Its uncanny knack for lock-picking wasn’t suited for the Ellyard household; rather, it was a talent—no, a genius—more fitting for the Noire family.
A sly grin playing on my lips, I gazed at the parrot within its cage.
“You should be grateful to me.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
“It truly is an excellent mimic, isn’t it?”
The parrot, unlike its reserved owner, Ruena, proved to be quite the chatterbox.
‘Over the past six months, I suspect I’ve exchanged more words with the parrot than with Ruena herself.’
After clearing the table, I conducted a thorough survey of our surroundings.
The floor, Ruena’s clothes, and any other surfaces where cream might have inadvertently landed.
My gaze swept swiftly yet meticulously, and the corners of my mouth curved into a satisfied smile.
‘Perfect.’
Ever since the incident where the Grand Duchess discovered the tell-tale custard cream—.
I had become utterly dedicated to committing the perfect crime—or rather, to flawlessly obliterating any trace of our tea time.
The memory of that day remained strikingly vivid.
A chilling warning, veiled beneath a seemingly warm smile.
‘No matter how I reconsider it, my actions were far too careless.’
Such a lapse was utterly unacceptable for a member of the Noire family.
“Then I’ll be going now.”
“…Already?”
“Yes. The sun is starting to set.”
“…Travel safely.”
Accompanied by Ruena’s farewell, I began my descent from the second floor.
Or, more accurately, I was *about* to descend.
That is, until I sensed the distinct presence of Grand Duke Ellyard.
‘He’s gone.’
I clung to the ceiling, stifling my breath to avoid detection, and only after Grand Duke Ellyard had passed did I execute a light, noiseless landing.
With one last swift sweep of my gaze, I quickly slipped out of the mansion.
‘It seems the only skills I truly hone are these underhanded ones.’
Fortunately, my stealth was not the sole skill to have seen improvement.
Over the preceding six months, one other particular skill had seen a marked and undeniable enhancement.
****
Several days later—.
As was my custom, I began preparations for my next visit to Ruena.
Fresh ingredients, purchased with my meager allowance, the finest recipe, meticulously selected to align with her delicate palate, and, of course, the lace-trimmed apron adorned with a small rabbit doll that my sister had insisted upon.
‘Perhaps I should create something particularly smooth and creamy today.’
Consulting the crème brûlée recipe, I meticulously reviewed each step once again.
“What, this looks simple enough.”
“Hmm? Cooking again today?”
“Ah, blast it. You startled me.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, startled by my sister Rafina’s sudden, stealthy appearance.
She, along with my second brother, consistently appeared to pilfer the desserts I painstakingly crafted, yet her stealth abilities far surpassed anyone else’s in our family, ensuring I was invariably caught off guard.
My sister, meanwhile, after successfully startling me, merely perused the crème brûlée recipe with an air of complete nonchalance.
“Oh, crème brûlée today? A rather unadventurous choice.”
“It may be simple, but Ruena adores it.”
“Hmm, really?”
Ruena favored desserts that were rich in cream and exquisitely moist.
She rarely touched anything dry or dense, like pound cake, which tended to catch in the throat.
From that perspective, crème brûlée was a dessert perfectly tailored to her discerning palate.
‘I’m confident her eyes will sparkle with delight, at least ninety percent of the time.’
The sole concern was its exclusive creaminess.
For while she enjoyed cream, she had an aversion to anything excessively rich or oily.
Hers was a subtly discerning palate.
A sigh escaped me as I began preparing the custard cream, and my sister spoke.
“So, when will this be finished?”
“Are you going to snatch some again?”
“Ha?”
“Please enjoy, my dear sister.”
In the end, I succumbed to my sister’s will once more today.
No matter how I looked at it, I was indeed the lowest in our family’s hierarchy.
My sister, taking a spoonful of the finished custard cream, smiled contentedly.
“Oh, it’s delicious today too.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Your skills are improving day by day, aren’t they? Quite impressive.”
“Well, I’ve been making desserts for over half a year now.”
My sister Rafina chuckled with amusement, then shrugged her shoulders.
“Honestly, I’d just steal it for you.”
“No need.”
“Right, right. That’s our stubborn, old-fashioned Celen.”
When would my sister ever realize that it wasn’t about being stubborn and old-fashioned, but about adhering to perfectly obvious moral standards?
However….
Knowing that speaking up would only invite trouble, I clamped my mouth shut.
Chuckling at my silence, Rafina ruffled my hair.
“Heh heh, I’m excited.”
“About what now?”
“Celen, you’re eight years old now. Your abilities will manifest in two years, won’t they?”
I nodded at my sister’s words.
Members of the Noire family manifested their unique abilities in the year they turned ten.
It could be specialized in espionage, like my eldest brother, or optimized for thievery, like my sister Rafina, or an ability that utilized thievery, like my second brother.
One thing was certain: whatever it was, it would be an ability befitting a Noire.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“What interesting ability will pop out, I wonder? What if it’s an ability even more specialized in thievery than mine?”
“Haha, such ill wishes.”
Ultimately, I received a good beating from my sister Rafina.
Indeed, no matter how I thought about it, I was undeniably the lowest in the family hierarchy.
