Bell's Childhood
Bell. In her childhood, she received more love than anyone else in the Bonyatelli family. It made sense—her beautiful appearance was a perfect mirror of her mother's, and she was the beloved youngest. Her eldest sister, Tanya, was always so quiet, so all the affection and parental love went straight to Bell.
Then, one day, everything changed. A new sister was born. Isabella. Bell's position shook a bit, but it wasn't too bad. At least Isabella didn't take after their mother. If she had, maybe she'd have resembled their father more...? Either way, Bell still monopolized their father's love.
The year Bell turned seven, another sister arrived. Valentina. My spitting image of a little sister. The only difference? Unlike my blue eyes, hers were a striking green.
At first, I was scared but a little excited too. Unlike Isabella, she looked just like me! It felt like having a twin!
But right then, something terrible happened.
"Mom...?"
Our mother had died giving birth to Valentina. The last glimpse of her face was lifeless, like she'd fallen into an eternal sleep.
"No, Mom!!"
Bell rushed toward her, but the people around callously held her back. And our father quietly uttered a single command.
"Bury her."
The coffin bearing our mother was covered in dirt. Once her face vanished from sight, Bell wept endlessly.
Her sister Tanya wore an expressionless face, much like Father—showing no emotion whatsoever. Isabella was too young to grasp the situation. She just clung to Bell's hand, asking why they were burying Mom in the ground. Bell couldn't answer, only kept crying.
"......"
After Mother's funeral, Father threw himself into work and ignored us completely. Tanya showed no interest in them either.
"Sis... Isabella's really sick. She's coughing a lot... and her head's burning up. What do we do...?"
Bell grabbed Tanya's arm and pleaded, but Tanya stared at her coldly and said just one thing.
"Let go."
Then she walked out.
"....."
In situations like this, Bell had no choice but to fend for herself. But she had two little sisters: Isabella, just starting to toddle around, and the baby Valentina, sleeping soundly in her cradle.
The family butlers ignored them, tending only to the house or Father's orders. Caring for her sisters fell entirely on Bell.
The silver lining? They weren't street kids from the back alleys—they were born into wealth. Food was as simple as opening the fridge.
At just eight years old, Bell chopped vegetables and meat to cook. She often sliced her fingers while cutting, but Isabella would always patch her up with a bandage.
"Sis, hang in there! Come on, Valentina, cheer for Sis too!"
Isabella lifted Valentina as she said it.
"Ba... boo..."
The two-year-old Valentina could only babble. Still, Bell smiled. That's how adorable Valentina was.
Taking care of my sisters is just what a big sister does. Even if I could go back, I'd do it the same.
Bell grinned, rubbing her cheeks against Isabella's and Valentina's faces.
"My precious little sisters. Hang on just a bit longer—you must be starving, huh?"
Bell's cooking wasn't half bad, actually pretty good. Maybe that's why her sisters stuck to her as they grew, following her everywhere like newborn ducklings trailing their mother.
The adults in the house watched with fond smiles... but the family head couldn't care less what his daughters did.
Then, the year Bell turned exactly sixteen. Tanya was eighteen, Isabella twelve, and little Valentina exactly eight.
One day, the family summoned an old swordmaster. His name: Bilfor.
The old man appeared kindly at first, treating us gently.
"Greetings. I'm Bilfor. From now on, I'll be teaching you young ladies the art of the sword."
We fell for his warm, friendly facade at first... but it was all a mask!!
From that day, hellish training began.
Bilfor turned ferocious like a tiger during lessons, drilling us relentlessly.
"Miss Bell, wasting your stamina like that while running helps no one. If you're going to run, at least conserve it like Miss Tanya or Miss Valentina."
I figured Tanya could handle it with her age, but I never imagined little Valentina—way younger than me—could run that well...
Bell and Isabella always crossed the finish line dead last.
"Sisters... you okay...?"
Valentina came over, concerned. Bell looked at her with complicated feelings.
"Hey... Valentina..."
"It's because of you that Sis and I got yelled at by that bear-like old man! This is all your fault!"
Bell's words cut off. Isabella had snapped at Valentina even faster.
"Everything's your fault. Father's ignoring us because of you. Even Mom..."
Valentina was deeply hurt by Isabella's words. From that day, she stopped hanging around with us.
To see Valentina's face, you'd find her with Bilfor or always in Father's study.
"Miss, you're truly exceptional. The youngest, yet your stamina and skill are outstanding. You might be the best student I've ever taught."
Young Valentina's eyes sparkled at Bilfor's praise. She hugged his thick beard.
"I love Bilfor!"
The old man laughed heartily.
"......"
Bell watched silently.
Father reacted the same when she went to him.
"Valentina, your skill is remarkable. It reminds me of your mother in her youth."
"Mom...?"
"Yes. She'd be overjoyed to see you."
"........"
Bell watched silently.
Then came the day things completely fell apart between Bell and Valentina.
As usual, Bilfor brought us two different swords: a rapier and a bastard sword.
"Today, I'll teach you young ladies Palermo swordsmanship."
"This style was created by the founding head of the Bonyatelli family. It's the clan's signature—and to become head, you must master it."
Bilfor handed swords to all four of us.
"Now, mimic my movements exactly."
After basic instruction, we swung our blades.
"This style favors women over men. Palermo drains the opponent's stamina bit by bit until they collapse like exhausted prey. Men learn it too, of course."
Bilfor inspected us one by one.
"Miss Tanya, textbook perfect. That's its flaw too—don't be so bound by convention."
"...."
"Miss Bell..."
"....."
The old man just stared silently.
"It doesn't suit you yet, Miss. Your basics need work. We'll start over later."
"......."
"Oh... Miss Isabella, much improved. Yes, keep it like that."
"L-like this...?"
Isabella glanced nervously at Bell, awkwardly adjusting her stance on his words.
"Hm... needs a bit more correction, but for your age, it's plenty."
Finally, Valentina's turn.
"Impossible..."
The old man froze on the spot. Every move Valentina made embodied perfect Palermo.
That day, Bilfor realized: Valentina was the true master of Palermo. Only she could wield it flawlessly.
"Miss..."
"Yes...?"
"Incredible. Every motion perfect, as if you're the style's true owner. Light, efficient—no wasted action!"
"Really...?"
"Absolutely. I must tell the family head right now."
"No need, Bilfor."
(Footsteps)
There stood the sisters' father, head of the Bonyatelli family.
"Valentina, outstanding. A hundred times better than your sisters. Even your mother never showed such form."
Bell bit her lip hard. She hurled her two swords to the ground and glared at Father.
Bilfor tried to intervene, but it was too late. As her blazing eyes met his, Father asked,
"What's wrong?"
"...."
"Denying you're inferior to Valentina?"
"......."
Too young to speak, Bell seethed. Father's indifference. The master's bias. Being treated like air at home. Everything disgusted her now. Even Mother's death... it all felt like Valentina's fault.
She gripped her two swords, glaring at Father.
"Hoh..."
Bilfor rushed to stop her, but Father raised a hand.
"Bell. Think you can really kill me?"
Bell's sword hand trembled. Father smirked, picking up a stick.
"If you land even one hit."
He smiled at Bell for the first time.
"I'll make you head instead of Valentina."
"...."
Bell swung silently at Father. Some might call it filial impiety; others, tragic.
But before him, her every move was futile. As Bell slumped exhausted, he kicked her gut.
"Urk...."
She vomited everything up, collapsing.
"..Cough.. Cough.."
Father approached the kneeling girl.
"Think I never learned Palermo?"
His face impassive again.
"To be head, you must know it inside out. Every stance, trajectory—predictable. But..."
Then he said the one thing no parent should:
"You're awful even at that."
"......"
"Disappointing. Truly."
He patted Valentina's shoulder.
"Looks like you, but a failure."
Then he left.
Soon after, Bell sought out the family head.
(Knock knock)
"Come in."
Entering, Father eyed her.
"Why are you here? I'm already disappointed."
Bell knelt, head bowed.
"Give me... one more chance."
"....."
"I know it's shameless, but like this..."
Father smirked.
"Fine. One chance."
As she looked up hopefully, he continued smiling.
"But promise anything I ask."
"I will. I won't disappoint you, Family Head."
....
The training ground buzzed with crowds. Among them, several in red hats and thick jackets, guns in hand—like Thumb organization members.
Isabella fidgeted, biting her nails from the stands.
"Sis'll be fine, right...? She went to see Father, but no reply..."
Then the match began.
The theme: Palermo. The Bonyatelli symbol of honor and pride.
Bell ascended the platform, dual swords in hand.
"Sis...?"
Opposite her: Valentina.
The crowd murmured at the identical sisters. They assumed stances in sync, drawing blades.
Bell struck first, fierce—but Valentina dodged effortlessly. Dodge. Dodge. Dodge again.
Bell's futile swings never touched her. Valentina parried, sending Bell's sword flying.
Overwhelming.
Before Valentina, Palermo was mere child's play. True mastery was hers alone—made for her. Bell's every technique was just previewing moves Valentina already knew.
Kneeling on the ground, Bell stared blankly at Valentina.
"....."
After that match, her sister broke.
"Hey. That's my clothes."
"...."
Valentina turned away.
"I said it's mine!"
Bell smashed the vodka bottle. It shattered against the wall with a sharp ring, shards grazing Valentina's skin, drawing hot blood.
At home, just seeing Valentina made Bell scream, slap her cheeks, berate her. Her curses and violence went too far sometimes, earning Father's confinement.
The vodka and cigars he'd given her "for stress" ruined her completely. Her last pride shattered in that audience match.
Nothing left.
Father treated Bell like she didn't exist. Isabella drifted away, eventually leaving home.
Meanwhile, Tanya gazed at the starry night sky, removing her cigar and exhaling smoke.
"Hoo... Shouldn't have given her that junk."
She stared into the dark heavens.