Chapter 26: She (13)

It had already been two years since I left Penrin Village with my teacher.

For all that time, I had struggled to find you.

I once asked my teacher to look into every man around my age, only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be told, “Aria... if you keep searching like that, won’t you end up finding him only when you’re old enough to die of old age?”

So, after some compromise, we decided to start with noble sons instead.

Whenever I had time, I traveled across the empire, taking in the scenery and meeting people along the way.

Sometimes I went to see a viscount’s son in the capital, thinking he might be the one I was looking for.

Other times I visited a count’s son in another city, wondering if he might be you.

But you were never there.

My teacher sifted through information for me in the gaps between her own duties, but once I followed those clues and met the men in question, it was easy enough to see that none of them were you.

Some were so taken with my appearance that they proposed on the spot, and others, drawn in by the name Hopenberg, tried to make connections through me.

Even that alone was enough to convince me they weren’t you.

The you I knew... the you who had always shown me only your best side... I believed you would never act on desire just because of someone’s looks or status.

And so, two years passed.

By then, I could act naturally enough to pass for any other noble girl.

My heart was still the same as ever, but I had decided to accept reality and keep moving forward, little by little.

I had grown used to the affection of the manor’s butler and maids.

They always worked for my sake, and they treated me with such kindness that they seemed to truly think of me as family.

So I let my walls come down faster than before.

I didn’t want to repeat in Hopenberg Manor the same mistake I’d made with my mother and siblings in Penrin Village.

Sometimes I smiled at them.

And sometimes, when the bitterness in my heart slipped through, the butler and maids who saw my smile would look at me with quiet sympathy.

Even so, I was changing, little by little, truly growing as a person.

I had learned how to wear a false smile in the company of nobles.

At the social gatherings my teacher urged me to attend, I put on a mask for the young ladies and young lords who approached me.

And whenever retainers came to the manor, or nobles from other houses paid a visit, I met them with that same smiling face.

Once I stepped away from those settings, my expression would harden again.

But my teacher only smiled and said that was enough.

Before I realized it, I was living not as Seo-ah Lee, but as Aria.

Or rather, as a Hopenberg before I was anything else.

All the while, I still held you tightly in my heart.

That was how I lived, like a noble of the empire.

Even as I longed for the past, I could feel time moving forward.

As I drew closer to adulthood, the baby fat had faded from my face and left me looking more womanly.

And my height had grown until I was nearly as tall as my teacher, so that by now I could stand face-to-face with her.

After training in magic from childhood and practicing still more after that, I had already been recognized as a proper Mage.

Just like in my previous life, I had wealth and talent.

Only you were missing.

That was why I tried so hard to find you.

I... I was still missing you.

Even now, I still ached with longing and grief for you.

If I was ever going to marry at all, I thought it would be for you alone.

So I felt it instinctively.

I believed that somewhere in this world, you existed.

My memories of you were still vivid no matter how much time passed, and I had never forgotten them while living as Aria Hopenberg.

I still loved you.

I wanted to meet you again, absolutely, and see myself fall in love all over again.

The spring of my fifteenth year.

Without you, it was still a lonely life.

********

The garden was lush and green.

It was still spring, and the cold wind still swept through it, so the flowers had not yet bloomed; only tiny buds showed here and there.

In the center of that garden, I stood looking at the flowerbed, where only green leaves had sprouted so far.

...

When would summer come?

I wanted summer to hurry here, so that flowers would blossom all at once in this place.

The hibiscus I loved, and that you had come to love because of me.

I was waiting for those flowers to fill this garden and dye it red.

In that way, I once again stitched together the things of this world with the memories you had given me.

I turned over thoughts that someone else might have called nothing more than stubborn attachment.

“My dear disciple, do you like those red flowers that much?”

Then my teacher’s voice reached me.

When I looked back, she was walking toward me with her usual smile.

“Should I just plant those flowers all through the garden? Would you like that even more, my disciple?”

As she came closer, saying something playful yet sincere, I let out a quiet laugh.

“...It’s okay. Things are more precious when there’s only a little of them.”

Just as I preferred receiving one flower from you at a time over seeing a whole bed of them in bloom.

A little was better.

Anything in excess was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never truly good.

My teacher nodded at my answer.

“Is that so? Still, if you really want it, I could do that for you, so just say the word anytime.”

“Yes. Just the offer is enough, thank you.”

“Heh, you’d think my disciple would be used to this by now, but you still thank me for the smallest things.”

At her gentle smile, I smiled back.

She nodded in apparent satisfaction, then spoke as if she had only just remembered something.

“Ah, that reminds me. You received another letter today.”

My teacher said a letter had arrived.

I received a great many letters as the young lady of Hopenberg.

After my teacher formally placed me in the position of heir, all sorts of letters came to me, from marriage proposals to invitations to banquets.

But among them, there was only one letter my teacher ever handed to me herself.

My mother’s letter.

So I stepped toward her and held out my hand.

“...Please, give it to me already.”

“Pfft. Looking at you, I’d say my disciple is still adorable. Here, take it.”

Seeing my impatience, my teacher let out a snort of laughter and drew the letter from her bosom.

It was the familiar envelope.

I took it and ran back to the manor.

“Aria! Don’t forget, you have to give me a reply by the end of today!”

My teacher’s voice followed after me, but I had no time to answer.

I wanted to read the letter and write back right away.

The moment I got to my room, I tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside.

The now-familiar clumsy handwriting came into view.

My heart pounded hard.

I read the letter like that.

Only after reaching the end did I finally let out the breath I had been holding.

...

It was full of errors, and yet I could feel the love inside it.

The handwriting was rough and crooked, but the affection my mother had poured into those lines was flawless.

My mother...

She had learned to read and write at such an advanced age just so she could exchange letters with me.

She said she studied using the Empire Common Language dictionary I had left behind when I departed.

When I first received her letters, I hadn’t even been able to make out what they meant.

But as we kept writing to each other, she slowly improved.

I could see the traces of her effort.

She said she studied every night so she could write to me.

After working the fields and returning home with her weary body, she always studied her letters before sleeping.

She wrote that she was finally happy to be able to send me a proper letter.

My mother’s letters, written in those shaky, laborious strokes, had filled my drawer before I knew it.

They were the traces of the two years my mother and I had shared through ink and paper.

And I...

I looked at my mother’s letter again.

For all the misspellings that filled it, my mother had never once gotten my name wrong.

And never once had she failed to write the words that said she loved me, or that I was precious to her.

So I wrote her reply.

By now, I handled my pen with ease, tracing elegant letters across the page.

Unlike my mother, I wrote in a refined hand, without a single mistake.

But I wanted the feeling inside it to be the same.

I wanted my mother to read my letter and feel the affection I held for her.

The paper I sent to my mother was, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always, blurred by tears.