Chapter 197
Chapter 197
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 197
Chapter Title: Family Tradition
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Aila Trista's daily routine was the epitome of discipline.
She had to be in bed by ten at night to get a proper night's sleep, leaving her no room for a sloppy schedule. She wrapped up most of her tasks before then, which demanded incredibly efficient time management.
On the flip side, she rose early. As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, she was up, starting her day by brushing her teeth.
Dawn brought jogging and light strength training, followed by classes, meals, and free time for self-improvement—like visits to the convenience store—or practical magic drills and theoretical studies.
She might seem perpetually cheerful and carefree, but the reason she could live so freely in the rigid confines of Jefrin Academy was the endless effort hidden beneath the surface.
Without leaning on the Trista name, Aila was proving her own worth.
Of course, there were a few minor issues... like her liberal arts grades not being stellar, or her disastrously quirky sensibilities producing artwork, cooking, or music that was a bit ahead of its time for humanity to appreciate. But setting those aside, Aila Trista was a model student as a third-year top of the Magic Division.
And lately, thanks to that relentless effort, her bedtime had stretched to ten-thirty.
A tiny new hobby had slipped into her meticulously packed schedule.
Writing in a notebook and sending letters home.
Paper was handmade and bound by alchemists, so notebooks were naturally a luxury.
The first emperor, Hark von Loengrin, had pressured the nobles with, "Just fund Jefrin with donations or taxes. Why squeeze money out of kids? This is a place of learning. No need to ruin dimensions picking and choosing based on coin." As a result, Jefrin charged high tuition but provided all class materials, including textbooks and writing tools.
Commoner students cherished their notebooks, using tricks like reusing seniors' notes after graduation, sharing via clubs, and stretching the annual allotment until commencement—then selling them off for pocket money.
But Aila wrote. Wrote freely, without restraint.
She filled the notebook Wolfram von Loengrin had made for her, cover to cover.
Entries like, "Today I ate food Wolfram made. It was delicious," or philosophical musings capturing her own thoughts: "What is rebellion? The very act of pondering it means you're already not rebellious enough."
And in her newfound scraps of time, she penned letters home.
They were rambling and disorganized, but she wrote them steadily.
Starting with everyday trivia, then school life, her feud with Regina Cielra, her favorite junior called Milmyu, Eve von Loengrin, Nefthelian, or Rudika.
The biggest chunk, though, went to stories about Wolfram von Loengrin.
Eating with Wolfram. Chatting with Wolfram. Occasional adventures together.
Today's letter focused on the food he'd made. "It was utterly delicious," she concluded with a period.
"...I'm sleepy."
A glance at the clock: 10:28 p.m. Bedtime.
She slipped under the covers, hugged her worn-out old bear plushie, and closed her eyes.
"That concludes today's lecture," the professor said. I packed my writing tools and stood.
I had no need for magic myself, but magic theory turned out more interesting than expected.
I didn't know magic as actual knowledge, of course—just from game skills. Filling in those blanks was its own fun.
Right, time to head back to the convenience store and tie up today's tasks. I'd used a ton of fruit and sugar for jam, so baking bread with the leftover flour and butter to sell alongside it sounded perfect.
As I pondered the day's menu on my way back, a voice called out.
"Wolfram. Wolfram von Loengrin."
Who dares speak my name so casually?
I turned, and there stood Eve, sulking with puffed-up cheeks like a grumpy child.
Good lord, look at those infuriatingly swollen cheeks. Utterly revolting!
"What."
"Can we talk for a sec?"
"If you're out of candy, come to the store."
"What do you take me for? I've still got eight bags left!"
Wow, impressive! Eight whole bags remaining!
We parted last night, and by now, she'd polished off two!
And she'd even stubbornly insisted on dividing them into ten portions herself, taking more than my standard fill per bag, right?
She'd be back shopping next week, no doubt.
"Eight bags of candy left... Got it."
"Why the face."
"Nothing. So, what's up?"
"...It's not a big deal. Speaking of, where's Aila Trista?"
"We don't always share classes. She's probably in liberal arts right now."
"I see. Her too, then... Anyway, I need to tell you something."
"Is it important? I need to get back."
"I'm busy too, you know? It's not huge, but... actually it is, but I just wanted to ask quietly... Ugh, whatever."
"Don't mumble secrets to yourself. Just talking to you draws eyes. If you don't want baseless rumors, stop being seen with me so much."
Eve von Loengrin was the righteous student council president. I was the expelled third-rate villain.
Us chatting openly like this confused the other students.
Especially Eve, whose reputation among them was on the line—unlike me, who had nothing to lose.
Half an excuse, sure, but really, just stop talking to me.
"Fine. I'll make it quick."
"Shoot."
"Last night, we got a portal request to Jefrin."
"Not unusual."
"Right. Reason: family visit. Totally legit, paperwork perfect. But no one's seen this 'family member.' So... they vanished."
"Hm... That's not normal."
"It happened fast, and they're a candidate for prior action. If anything weird pops up, tell me right away."
"Got it. ...But why tell me first? Ask the Knight or Magic Division reps or tops? Or enrolled students with visiting family?"
"I said I don't want to blow it up. And you're not a total stranger."
She clutched her head like it ached, sighed, and walked off.
Not a stranger? To me?
...Who?
The moment I returned to the store on Patrascheu's Black King Tiger, I couldn't believe my eyes.
The front door lock was undone.
Aila, Milmyu, and Nefti had keys, so maybe one of them. But Milmyu would've manned the counter with the door open, and Nefti preferred playing nearby over unlocking.
Aila always came back with me from the Magic Division if stopping by after class.
Third possibility.
In other words... a thief.
"Patrascheu. Anyone inside?"
"Someone's there."
"Right... Can you telekinesis them out? Or intercept from here?"
"Hm... Better not, master. The store'd get trashed."
"...Fair point."
Patrascheu yawned massively and nodded.
What a useless mutt. I'll sell it off someday.
The store was indoors, one entrance.
Rushing in meant attacks from all angles; even backdash parry cancel into invincibility frames left no stamina for counter after. At 5 HP, maybe front-slide into a grab... but 3 was dicey.
A true veteran trusts himself but never misjudges. Charging blindly wasn't smart.
Time for a proper strategy.
"Patrascheu, telekinesis the door open."
"Mm."
Click. The door swung wide. I activated Imperial Bloodline, max intimidation. Game on.
"An uninvited guest. I know you're in there. Reveal yourself. Fail to do so, and by strict imperial law, I must dispose of you."
⟨ Imperial Bloodline ⟩
Come on out.
Surrender nicely, and I'll just whip you a few times, dump you in the snowy wilds for a week, and call it done.
And as if obliging, the culprit emerged slowly from the store's front.
Step. Step.
Petite frame. Long black hair to her waist. And...
"S-Sorry... I didn't touch anything. Really, sorry."
The teary little face hit me like a truck. I killed the intimidation in a panic.
My mind rang with Imperial Bloodline warnings on repeat.
I was that shaken.
"Spica?"
"Sorry, big brother..."
An unexpected face.
Spica Trista stood there.
About two hours later.
After soothing a terrified, crying Spica and giving her bread and drink for her rumbling stomach—she scarfed it down like a chipmunk hoarding nuts—we finally tidied up and could talk.
"So why are you here, Spica Trista."
"...I-I'm sorry."
"I'm asking why."
"W-Well... I did something bad. Sorry. I unlocked the door and came in..."
"I don't judge the whole from fragments."
"...Huh?"
"I want the full context first. Then we talk. Spica Trista."
Even back at Hope's Home—the orphanage—it was the same.
Plenty of troublemakers and delinquents. But everyone had a story. So when calming kids, you'd hear the full tale and judge from all angles.
Pushing already hurting, troubled kids just made them stray further. That was life's lesson for me.
"Why here in the first place? Enrollment's still half a year off."
"...I... ran away from home."
Bold move.
"Reason?"
"I... fought with my parents..."
Ah, kids.
I'd sulked after a scolding from the director, hiding under a park slide. Five years old, my greatest rebellion.
"Got it. So you came to Jefrin?"
"Yes..."
Makes sense.
Eve's words finally clicked.
What a gutsy kid. Forged docs for the portal, arrived at Jefrin, and ditched immediately. My runaway was amateur hour compared.
"You made the family visit papers yourself?"
"...Yes."
"How'd you unlock the store?"
"Ground Black Crystal to powder, shoved it in the lock, solidified it into a key. Was worried 'cause the method's low-level."
"I see."
"Yeah... You should use two kinds—magic-sealed and physical."
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
"Why here, though? Too conspicuous. You know you'll get caught eventually."
"Revolutions... need short-term and long-term goals."
"...What?"
"First step in revolution: declare intent. Show unwavering will, persuade from there. Radical revolutions are just terrorism."
"Hm."
"That's why Jefrin. Better to go where there's support than nowhere, declare my will. Got cold, picked the lock for shelter. Sorry. Didn't touch a thing."
"..."
Scratch that.
This runaway was next-level insane.
"Sorry..."
"Nah, it's fine."
Now, the real meat.
"What sparked the runaway? Bad enough to fight your parents over?"
"...W-Well."
"Wolfram! Spica's missing!"
As Spica hemmed and hawed, the door flew open—Aila burst in.
"Spica's right here."
"...Oh. Not missing."
"S-Sis..."
Aila's eyes, brimming with shock, panic, confusion, and fear, calmed. She sighed in relief.
"Spica. Why are you here?"
"...W-Well."
"Speak, or sis might get mad too."
The wrath of rebel lady Aila Trista.
Spica shrank. Even I tensed.
Finally, Spica blurted it out in resignation.
"I... ran away!"
"I see. Ran away. Phew. That's all?"
"...No anger, sis?"
Aila stroked Spica's head with a gentle smile.
"I did it all the time as a kid. Yelling 'This isn't rebellion!' and fleeing to the mines."
"...Ah, those times sis vanished."
"Yup. Stumbled on a silver vein, used it to boldly shout at our parents: 'Acknowledge my rebellion!'"
"Sis is the best."
"Heh, right?"
Good grief.
Sisters both?
Glass Trista Count. What on earth...
No, forget the count's tormented life. Focus on now.
"Anyway. Why'd Spica run? That's the issue."
"Oh, that."
If runaway's just Trista family tradition flipping off the count, no biggie. Sweet-talk and send her home.
Spica fidgeted, then spilled her worry.
"...They're trying to marry me off."
"Hm."
...Way bigger problem than thought.
But family affair. Tricky to meddle.
"I don't think it'll be happy... Can you really be happy with someone picked for you? I'm not confident."
"Hm..."
I trailed off, a rare long pause for me.
Era-appropriate, sure—arranged marriages happen. But as an out-of-era guy, tough to swallow.
As we pondered, Aila petted Spica's head.
"Hm. Sis has zero skin in this, so hard to empathize fully, but hating a pre-set path? Got it. Rebellion, huh?"
"...Yes. Revolutionary spirit."
"Right. Let's complete that rebellion. I'll talk to Eve von Loengrin."
"Yes, revolutions must happen someday."
"Rebellion."
"Revolution."
They grinned, glaring at each other.
Glass Count, you see this daily...?
"Fight at home."
"Ahem. So, big bro Wolfram... sorry, but can I crash here awhile?"
Want to say sure, but I'm a businessman.
Not just Spica—the fallout's the issue. Tangling often tires me out.
"Oh, this is payment. Invested my allowance in family mining rights—twin heavenstones from there..."
"Need toothbrush? Blanket?"
Anything else?