Entering High Society (1)

It had been a month since I forged new bonds with the children. As always, the world had been painted white. Outside the window, there was nothing but a vast, snowy expanse. The snow was falling incessantly, leaving not a single inch of ground untouched.

Inside the room, the fireplace crackled warmly. Using the sound of burning firewood as my own personal ASMR, I swirled my teacup beneath my nose. They should be arriving soon. As I inhaled the scent that tickled my nostrils, I recalled the telegram I had sent to the Church four days ago. The content was none other than the GIK protocol—a treatment for heart disease using insulin.

This world is still lacking in cardiac medication. The only drug in this era with a heart-protective effect is digitalis. In a world without nitroglycerin, diuretics, or beta-blockers, even a GIK protocol is something to be grateful for. I need to hurry up and create other medicines.

Of course, in the 21st century, the GIK protocol had been phased out of myocardial infarction guidelines. While it had heart-protective effects, the inconvenience of having to administer IV fluids for every single patient was simply too great. When technology advances and you can manage heart disease with a simple pill, why would you bother with an IV drip? As a result, the GIK protocol had become a procedure used only for pre-operative cardiac care.

Come to think of it, in the 21st century, it was a procedure only performed in thoracic and emergency medicine. Internal medicine had plenty of other superior drugs, so they rarely used GIK. Thoracic surgery, on the other hand, didn't have many variations to work with. I’m envious.

I was ruminating on my 21st-century medical knowledge when—

Knock, knock.

At the sound of the door, my consciousness returned from the general hospital of the 21st century to the reality of this fusion-punk world. "Young Master, a letter has arrived."

"Come in."

The door opened, and Wilhelm, the butler, entered carrying a silver tray. A single letter lay upon it. "It arrived via the Merkur Merchant Guild."

"Merkur?"

I checked the letter with a fluttering heart. Had the Church already replied? It was entirely possible. Director Shun had stacked so much favor with the Church that they were quite fond of me. Perhaps the guidelines will be implemented before next spring... ah.

However, the moment I saw the envelope on the tray, I couldn't hide my disappointment. It wasn't a letter from the Church. The Church typically sealed their letters with wax stamped with the seal of each diocese. But the letter on the butler's tray was sealed with string, not wax.

Who sent this? Well, seeing as it was sealed with string rather than wax, it wasn't a noble. That left either Tao Chen or one of my scholarship students...

I checked the sender written on the envelope.

Aha. It was the sisters, Ayla and Valeria. Our potential Saint, or perhaps a romance fantasy heroine, and her older sister. They sent a letter already.

The corners of my mouth curled up on their own. Before the heavy snows began, I had sent a promissory note to the scholarship students to help with their heating costs. Unlike Limbus Pit, Civitas Square had decent heating facilities, so few people froze to death. But that didn't mean fuel costs weren't a burden. So, I had sent a small amount of money for fuel along with a letter telling them not to catch a cold during the winter. This letter appeared to be their thank-you note.

So this is why people play Daddy Long Legs.

I carefully untied the string. As I pulled out the letter, something slipped out with it. It was a pressed flower. The edges were slightly browned, but it was a flower with white petals. It’s a daisy.

Such a precious thing. In a world without a sun, sending a pressed flower like this is an act of special significance. Even more so if they had grown it themselves. I placed the pressed flower in the corner of my desk and unfolded the letter.

Below Ayla's handwriting, the penmanship changed. Unlike Ayla's round, bubbly script, this was sharp and straight. It was Valeria's handwriting.

I set the letter down. From the handwriting to the content, I could tell just how polar opposite the sisters' personalities were. Ayla's letter was dripping with F-type sentimentality, while Valeria's letter was clearly defined by T-type rationality. It wasn't that one was particularly bad; it was just interesting to feel the difference.

I placed both of their letters on my desk and thought for a moment. Did Daddy Long Legs write back in the original story? I wasn't sure. I wasn't the type to read classic literature diligently. However, I was well-versed in the grammar of web novels. I should probably write back, right? If I don't, the genre tends to drift toward the "depressing" side.

I picked up a pen and scratched away at the paper. The content wasn't anything special. I sent Ayla a message of support, saying she would "definitely awaken her holy power," and told Valeria that if she needed more materials, I would find and send her the ones that were hard to come by. I naturally included a note telling them not to study too late and to be careful of colds.

I folded the letter and melted the wax over a candle flame. Red wax dripped onto the envelope, and I pressed my seal into it. In the center of a crow drawing, the letters "Shun," written as if scribbled in haste, were imprinted. I had originally wanted to use "Schnabel," ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but I couldn't fit all those letters into the seal, so I had to compromise with "Shun" (Schn). Because of this, more people in the world knew me as Dr. Shun than Dr. Schnabel. Since there wasn't much difference between the two, I didn't bother correcting it.

Shall I send the letter now? But there was one important thing here. It wasn't that I sent it directly, but that it must go through the Merchant Guild. This was because, in the public's perception, Director Shun was a "dirt spoon" who succeeded through hard work. At least, that's what the scholarship students believed. That was why the children held onto hope. That they, too, could become like that if they worked hard. That they could be evaluated by the path they walked, not where they were born. In front of such children, nothing good would come from revealing the fact that I was a noble from birth and that it didn't require that much effort.

Idols must remain idols to be beautiful.

Of course, most of the problems would be handled by the grammar of the "misunderstanding" genre on their own. Still, I intended to hide my identity as much as possible so that I could continue to motivate the children. Of course, the fact that playing "Daddy Long Legs" was fun also played a part.

I folded the letter neatly and rang the bell on my desk.

Ding.

"Did you call, Young Master?"

"Please send this letter to the Merchant Guild. The recipient is written on the envelope."

"Understood."

"Oh, and." I winked at the butler. "This is a secret from Freya."

"...Haha. Indeed, the Young Lady might get jealous. I understand."

The butler took the letter. His wrinkled hands carefully grasped the envelope as he left the room.

*

It was time for dinner. Despite the heavy snow outside, the Nihilit family dining room was as cozy and warm as ever. The entire family had gathered at the table. Father Hendel at the head, Mother Linier beside him. Opposite them were Freya, Eri, and me. And our youngest, Freed, waving his arms in his high chair.

Today's menu was venison stew, roasted potatoes, and winter squash soup. I hadn't made it. I had been so busy with a certain research project lately that I didn't have time to cook in the evening.

"Hmm..." Father narrowed his brows as he checked the menu. He glanced at me sideways. "...I heard venison came in, didn't I, Julian?"

What was this? What did he want to say? Don't tell me he was disappointed because I didn't cook? Nah. That wouldn't be it. Neither Mother nor Father liked me cooking. They said it was a disadvantage in the noble marriage market. So, there was no way Father was waiting for my cooking. In the first place, I had been sneaking into the kitchen lately, so there was no way he would know I had cooked.

"Are you that busy these days?"

"Yes. I am."

"...I see."

He seemed visibly disappointed, but I decided to think it was just my imagination. The meal proceeded. For a while, only the sound of cutlery echoed.

"Julian."

Just as I was halfway through the soup, Father opened his mouth. "How old are you this year?"

It was an out-of-the-blue question. But since fathers' questions like these are usually out of the blue, I answered without panicking. "I am fifteen, Father."

"Fifteen. Yes. Once the snow stops and the New Year passes, you'll be sixteen."

I could predict where the end of his sentence was heading as soon as I heard it. While anticipating the conclusion, I wiped my mouth with a napkin, pretending I hadn't guessed.

"And once next year passes, you'll be seventeen."

"..."

"When that time comes, you should start looking for a fiancé."

I knew it. Nobles of the Empire generally look for a fiancé when they turn seventeen. It wasn't because there was a law against it before then. In a world where children were worked in factories, what kind of child human rights were we talking about? It was simply because that was the most appropriate time. Nobles usually start learning magic at twelve. It takes three years to grasp the basics, making them fifteen. Then, another year passes as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they learn secret magic, making them sixteen. However, if they try to get engaged right then, they don't have time to appeal to high society. So, they take one year to appeal to society, making them seventeen. In some cases, they might get engaged later, but regardless, most nobles get engaged at seventeen.

"I know it might be a bit overwhelming. I was engaged to your birth mother when I was your age, too."

"..."

I almost choked when I heard that. A setting I had forgotten had surfaced. Father Hendel's first love wasn't Mother Linier, but my birth mother. But because Father Hendel couldn't master secret magic and couldn't inherit the title, the engagement was called off. My birth mother was a healer priest, meaning she was a member of the clergy and had no noble title. If the two of them had married, they would have been demoted to commoners, so both of them had walked different paths.

...But was it okay to say that at the dinner table? Mother Linier wouldn't like that. I glanced at Mother, who was sitting next to Father. Contrary to my expectations, Mother's reaction was calm.

"Julian. Don't worry. Mom is fine now. Your father chose me in the end, so what does the past matter?"

Well, you weren't like that when I was young. ...I almost said that.

"Ahem. I said something unnecessary. Anyway, now that you're of age, shouldn't you be preparing for an engagement?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Especially if you are going in as a matrilocal husband, this period is more important for you than anyone else."

That was true. Again, sixteen is the age when the names of noble children begin to be mentioned in earnest in the marriage market of this world. If I didn't actively sell myself in the market during this period, I could end up being sold to an old maid who had missed her marriage window later on. Good goods are sold early. It wasn't for nothing that nobles didn't hesitate and got engaged at seventeen.

However, I didn't harbor any particular dissatisfaction or worry about the situation of being sold off as a matrilocal husband. There was still a year left. I just had to achieve an accomplishment that would prevent me from entering as a matrilocal husband by then. Even if I did enter as one, I might meet a partner who suited me. So, there was no reason to view the engagement negatively from the start.

I don't need to be too anxious until then. I was mumbling such peaceful self-consolation when—

"That doesn't make sense."

Clack!

Freya said, putting her fork down roughly. "Brother is the one who cured the Devil's Disease. So why should Brother have to bow his head and enter another family?"

"Freya."

"I don't understand. Brother isn't someone who should just enter as a matrilocal husband. If he cured the Devil's Disease, couldn't he start a new family?"

Freya's glacier-like, transparent eyes turned toward Father. Father gave a bitter smile. Then, he looked at Mother as if asking for understanding. Mother nodded and spoke on his behalf.

"Freya. I know why you're angry. But this is noble society. Your father was the same."

"Father, too...?"

Beside Mother, Father nodded with a bitter expression. "Your father also entered the Nihilit family as a matrilocal husband. Before I was engaged to her, I was a fairly renowned knight-errant. I was someone who reached the 3rd Class just with aura."

"What? Father was?"

"Yes."

Mother continued the explanation. "Freya. If you could become a noble just with merit or achievement, as you say, there would probably be many knights in the Empire who could become nobles. But they don't become nobles. Do you know why?"

"I... don't know."

"A noble title requires not only power but two other things. Permanence and potential for development."

Yes. That was the core. A noble's privilege stems from duty. A family must protect the Empire for generations, and therefore, the ability to protect it must be passed down to the next generation. That is permanence. And just passing it down is not enough. It must become stronger as it is passed down. Because magical beasts and demons never wait. Therefore, as generations pass, the family must be able to become a greater force for the Empire. That is potential for development. The Empire grants titles only to those who have proven these two things. Whether it's aura, magic, or medicine, the standard is the same.

"Reaching the 3rd Class with aura like your father is a great feat. But there was no guarantee that that level would be passed down to his children. The Empire couldn't be sure that the father's children would be as strong as the father."

Father didn't create a school. He had never proven that his talent was passed down by having children. So, while he had proven his ability, neither permanence nor potential for development had been proven. That was why Father had no title, and to make up for that deficiency, he had entered the Nihilit family as a matrilocal husband.

"Families with secret magic are different. Even if they are weak in the current generation, they have proven through history that they can reach that level again within the next generation, and the one after that. That accumulated history is proof of permanence, and the fact that the secret magic deepens as generations pass is proof of potential for development."

"...But the treatment method can be passed down through Brother."

"That's right. Permanence is almost proven. But potential for development hasn't been proven. Since there has never been a precedent for becoming a noble through a treatment method, no one knows the potential for development of the treatment method."

"Then how do you prove that?"

"By getting married, having children, and having those children prove it. That the treatment method can develop."

"...That's ridiculous."

"Whether it's ridiculous or not, that's what a title is." Mother put down her spoon for a moment. "Freya. Do you know why nobles are so obsessed with marriage?"

Freya narrowed her brows. "...To inherit the title?"

"Half right. But to be more precise, it's for the sake of a shortcut."

"A shortcut?"

"Ability, permanence, and potential for development. Proving all three of these alone is realistically very difficult. So nobles fill in the missing parts through marriage."

Mother glanced at Father for a moment. "Look at your father. He had enough ability, but he couldn't prove permanence and potential for development. And the Nihilit family had permanence and potential for development, but lacked ability. So when we got married, the Empire recognized that the Nihilit family possessed all three."

To put it simply, they were cheating with tags. Does he have ability? YES. Does he have permanence? YES. Does he have potential for development? YES. Okay. You maintain your noble title. It's a shortcut they can use because they look a bit loosely at how organically those three elements work.

"Julian is the same. He has enough ability, and since he can pass down the treatment method, he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠has permanence too. The only thing lacking is potential for development. So we are trying to send Julian to a family where potential for development has been proven."

"..."

"It's not bowing your head and entering; it's exchanging what you need with each other."

At those words, Freya bowed her head deeply. "Still... it's the Devil's Disease..."

"I'm fine, Freya. Thank you for being angry on my behalf."

"It's not that..."

Freya poked at the innocent potato with her fork. Father, who had been watching her quietly, spoke. "Freya. And being a matrilocal husband isn't always a bad thing. Have you ever seen me being ignored in our house?"

"Ah... no..."

"See. Being a matrilocal husband isn't always a bad thing."

That was correct. Being a matrilocal husband doesn't automatically mean you live a life of being looked down upon. Rather, as you can see from Father's case, there are plenty of cases where a matrilocal husband takes the title of head of the family. This was because the Nihilit family needed Father's combat power. In other words, if you are good at what you do, you won't have to live your life looking at others' eyes wherever you go.

"Just because your brother enters a family, I don't see him as someone who would live his life looking at others' eyes. Lately, he doesn't even look at my eyes and goes out all the time."

"..."

You say that, but it makes it sound like I'm doing something reckless. Father ignored my silent protest and continued. "So don't worry. As much as you worry about Julian, we are worrying too. I won't let Julian be tied to a witch-like sister-in-law that you're worried about, Freya."

Father's characteristic dry humor was slightly embedded in those last words. The dining table went quiet for a moment, and I heard Mother holding back laughter. Freya didn't say anything for a while. With her mouth shut tight, she kept her eyes on her plate. The roasted potato she had been poking slowly slid off the tip of her fork.

Then, her expression softened a little. Freya nodded slightly. Then, suddenly, Freya muttered to herself. "No, wait. If potential for development is the problem, then someone with the potential for secret magic..."

Freya turned her head to the side. It was Eri, who was over my shoulder from her perspective.

"...Hmm?"

Eri, who had been struggling to pick up a potato with her fork, felt the gaze and looked up. Eri made eye contact with Freya.

"Wha?"

"No... just... Sister, do you have any thoughts?"

"Thoughts ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about what?"

"Do you even know what we were talking about?"

"Sorry. I wasn't listening."

Freya sighed shallowly. "Haa, never mind. Sister, just stay healthy."

She shook her head vigorously.