Boldness
Sweating was never something he particularly enjoyed.
Clothes clung damply to the skin; the sheen of perspiration left everything sticky and unpleasant. And yet, once the sticky, stifling sensation gave way to the clean rush of washing it all away, the coolness that followed was refreshing enough to make the whole ordeal almost worthwhile.
After finishing his morning training, Shiron rinsed the sweat clean and changed into a soft, fluffy bathrobe.
"That's better."
With a sharp yank he threw open the bedroom window, a faint flush still coloring his face. Pleasant heat rose from his body while the air outside—still insisting it was winter—teased the fine hairs along his skin. He was just starting to savor that lazy, languid feeling when—
"Young Master. That insolent bald man wishes to see you. What shall I do?"
A voice edged with uncharacteristic sharpness came from behind him. Ophelia. Normally she would have spoken in that soft, gentle tone of hers, but today something about her felt distinctly off.
Shiron turned, eyes narrowing.
"…Ophelia. Didn't I tell you last time? Don't call him bald. Try again—say that my uncle is asking for me."
"Hugo wishes to see you, Young Master."
"…Better. But don't say that in front of him. I won't be able to handle the fallout."
"Understood, Young Master."
Ophelia beamed with sunny innocence. Shiron frowned and let out a low groan.
At least Yuma and Encia know how to pretend a little…
Ever since yesterday's declaration that he would become a hero, Ophelia's attitude toward Hugo had grown markedly freer. He had warned her once, then again, but clearly Hugo's habit of ordering Shiron about—despite being neither the Hero nor the family head—had not sat well with her. Shiron sighed and left it at that.
Still… what does Hugo want?
He shrugged off the bathrobe and opened the wardrobe. The goal was an outfit that was neat without looking overdressed. When meeting one's elders, appearances mattered. Not to demand recognition for the effort, but to show that one intended to face the other with respect.
Whatever Ophelia might think of him, Hugo was worth that much to Shiron.
"Shall I fix your hair as well? Perfume, perhaps?"
Ophelia, already helping him dress, asked lightly. She had already guessed the frame of mind with which he intended to meet Hugo.
Shiron checked himself in the full-length mirror, adjusted a few things, then shook his head.
"That'll do… Do you know where Uncle is right now?"
"The central drawing room on the first floor."
"Busy man."
Following Ophelia's directions, he arrived at the first-floor drawing room and found Hugo filling an entire sofa. The unexpected part was that Yuma stood at his side.
The spacious room was fragrant with black tea. Yuma set a tray of refreshments and teacups gently on the table.
Shiron did not sit immediately.
"Come, sit."
Permission granted, Shiron took the sofa opposite Hugo as though he had been waiting for the word. Hugo smiled faintly at the gesture.
"How is the body?"
"Fine. It's nothing worth fretting over."
Shiron reached for one of the sweets as he answered. His hands, already callused, still showed ugly cracks where the morning's training had reopened half-healed wounds. He made no effort to hide them.
"Haha. That's right. A man should treat wounds like that as if they were nothing."
Hugo laughed heartily, clearly pleased by the boldness.
That slippery look of his—he's the spitting image of his father as a boy.
Yet Hugo knew perfectly well that Shiron had displayed the wounds on purpose. In a positive light. Even that part of the boy he found endearing.
He lifted his teacup and studied Shiron over the rim.
There the boy sat, eating sweets without the slightest hesitation in Hugo's presence. Judging by that alone, he looked for all the world like an innocent child.
But Hugo would never mistake Shiron for an ordinary child.
The succession ceremony had been only yesterday. Shiron's unexpected actions had left a powerful impression on everyone present—Hugo included.
A warm smile returned to Hugo's face as he set the cup down.
"I asked to see you because I have a proposal."
"What sort of proposal?"
Shiron sipped his tea as a palate cleanser and met Hugo's gaze.
"I would like to take you and your younger sister into my household."
"…You're asking us to leave Dawn Castle?"
"Does the idea put you off?"
"No… I don't dislike it. It's just… rather sudden."
Shiron glanced up at Yuma standing nearby, but she only continued to smile.
"It's only natural to be taken aback. You're being asked to leave a place and people you've grown attached to."
"…I suppose so."
Shiron lowered his face at an angle Hugo could not see. A smile had already crept onto his lips. A whole pumpkin vine had just rolled into his lap, and he was still processing the surprise.
Lucky break.
The sudden offer could only be welcome news. The best piece of equipment Dawn Castle could offer him right now was a single Holy Sword. The imperial capital, where Hugo's residence stood, held far more to gain.
And training had stalled anyway. Swinging an iron club all day long was starting to feel like a waste of time.
As though finishing his deliberations, Shiron slowly raised his head.
"So we'd be going to the capital?"
"That would be the case."
"Then I'll give it a try. A hero ought to play in bigger waters, don't you think?"
Shiron nodded with a deliberately playful expression. Hugo burst into a hearty laugh at the boy's easy cheek.
"You're not going to miss the servants?"
"…Then would it be all right if I brought two of them along?"
"Ho. So there's someone who's caught your eye."
"I just think two would be a suitable number."
In his mind Shiron pictured two particular figures.
"Think it over carefully. The capital is quite a distance from here."
Coming right when he had been feeling restless about one thing after another, the timing could not have been better. Shiron savored his tea with a cheerful face. The pleasant prickle of things falling into place ran across his scalp.
"That reminds me. Speaking of the servants—there is something I wish to confirm."
"?"
"Before the succession ceremony, you gave Yuma and the other servants advance instructions, did you not? That even if you failed, no one was to intervene."
"Pfft—!!"
In that instant Shiron sprayed the tea he had been holding in his mouth.
Yet not a drop reached Hugo. Shiron intercepted the flying liquid with his teacup.
"Cough! Cough!"
"Young Master, are you all right?"
Yuma patted his back firmly. Shiron shot her a sidelong glance.
Yuma, you didn't tell him, did you?
I did not.
The exchange passed entirely through their eyes.
Hugo propped his chin on one hand, looking thoroughly amused.
"Quite the shock. Learning that I know something I shouldn't."
"…Not particularly."
Shiron thumped his chest a few times as he answered.
When the hell did he find out?
Hugo stroked his chin with satisfaction while Shiron wiped his mouth with the napkin Yuma offered.
Snap!
Yuma clapped her hands once, and the disordered table restored itself as if time had rewound. Magic.
"Then I trust we may continue the conversation."
"…Please go on."
"Well then… where shall I begin?"
Hugo laced his fingers and leaned forward. The sofa creaked under the shift of his weight.
"If you went so far as to give advance warning… did you, by any chance, already know you would sink beneath the ice?"
"…I knew."
A clean, unhesitating answer. A smile spread across Hugo's lips because of it.
"Prophecy."
"……"
He did not even need to probe. Hugo had already gained certainty from Shiron's reaction just now.
"So you have awakened the power of Prophecy after all. When? Ordinarily one must complete a separate ritual after the coming-of-age ceremony before the power of Prophecy can be obtained. Yuma—is any part of what I said incorrect?"
"None, my lord. The Young Master's situation is exceptional."
"……"
"Is that so…"
Yuma answered with a smile; Hugo, by contrast, wiped the humor from his face. A shadow settled over his features.
The power of Prophecy was not something a child of Shiron's age was meant to possess. Knowing the future brought more harm than good, depending on the bearer.
Others might think differently, but at least that was how Hugo saw it.
"When did it begin?"
His voice as he asked again was oddly high.
"What was the catalyst?"
"……"
Whoa, this guy just got worked up out of nowhere.
Shiron sensed the conversation sliding in a strange direction.
What shone in Hugo's eyes was unmistakably something like interest. Shiron found it thoroughly unwelcome. Excessive attention was already more than enough from the maids alone.
How do I get out of this…
His mind spun rapidly.
Hugo could not possibly know that Shiron was a transmigrator. Unlike Glen, Hugo—who was neither family head nor anything of the sort—could not even glimpse fragments of the future.
In any case, Shiron was certain Hugo would not harm him. He knew the man's nature, and he had Yuma as insurance right beside him.
Still, he needed to choose carefully here.
He could flash the Holy Sword and muddle through, but that would leave Hugo's questions unanswered. Fresh questions would simply follow. The longer the conversation dragged on, the easier it became for logical gaps to appear.
Then, in that brief span, a flash of inspiration struck.
He could not afford to delay any longer. Shiron opened his mouth.
"It started the day my sister beat me unconscious…"
He had decided to throw Lucia under the carriage. Or rather—not quite. He was only speaking the truth, after all.