Entering Society (1)

It had been a month since I forged a new bond with the children. Once again, winter had dyed the world in a blanket of pristine white. Outside my window, nothing but a snowy expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. The snow fell relentlessly, piling so high that one could barely find a place to step.

Inside my cozy room, the fireplace crackled softly. Using the burning wood as my personal ASMR, I gently swirled my teacup beneath my nose.

It should have arrived by now.

Inhaling the aroma that tickled my nose, I recalled the telegram I had sent to the Holy Order four days ago. The contents were none other than the GIK protocol—a method of managing cardiac conditions using insulin.

There's still a severe lack of cardiac medication in this world.

In this era, the only drug known to protect the heart was digitalis. A world without nitroglycerin, diuretics, or beta-blockers. In a place like this, even the GIK protocol was something to be profoundly grateful for.

I need to synthesize other medications soon.

However, in the twenty-first century, the GIK protocol had long been removed from myocardial infarction guidelines. While it did offer cardioprotective benefits, the inconvenience of having to administer it via IV drip was simply too great. With advanced technology, managing heart disease was as simple as popping a pill. Why go through the hassle of an IV? As a result, GIK therapy had become obsolete, reserved almost exclusively for pre-operative cardiac surgery.

Come to think of it, back in the twenty-first century, it was a procedure only used in cardiothoracic surgery and emergency medicine.

Internal medicine had so many superior drugs that they never bothered with GIK. On the other hand, cardiothoracic surgery didn't have that many variations to choose from. I was almost envious.

I was busy chewing over my twenty-first-century medical knowledge when—

Knock, knock.

The polite rap on the door snapped my consciousness away from a modern general hospital and back to the reality of this fusion-punk world.

"Young Master, a letter has arrived."

"Come in."

The door opened, and the head butler, Wilhelm, stepped inside carrying a silver tray. A single letter rested upon it.

"It arrived via the Merkur Merchant Guild."

"The Merkur Guild?"

I checked the letter with a flutter of anticipation. Did the Holy Order reply already? It was highly possible. Director Shun had built up so much goodwill with the Holy Order that they doted on him quite a bit.

Maybe before next spring, the protocol will... Ah.

But the moment I saw the envelope on the tray, my disappointment was palpable. It wasn't from the Holy Order. The Holy Order always sealed their correspondence with wax bearing the crest of their respective sect. The letter on the butler's tray, however, was bound with a simple string.

Who sent this?

The lack of a wax seal meant the sender wasn't a noble. That left either Wangcho or one of my scholarship students. I checked the sender's name written on the envelope.

From: Ayla & Valeria

Ah.

It was the sisters. Our potential Saintess—or rather, the heroine of a romance fantasy novel—and her older sister.

They wrote to me already.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

Before the heavy snows began, I had sent my scholarship students a bank draft to help with their heating bills. Unlike the Limbus Pit, Civitas Square had excellent heating infrastructure, meaning almost no one froze to death. Still, that didn't make the cost of fuel any less of a burden. So, I had sent them a small sum for fuel along with a note telling them not to catch a cold. This letter was clearly their expression of gratitude.

So this is why people play Daddy Long Legs.

I carefully untied the string. As I pulled the paper out, something fluttered down with it. It was a pressed flower. Though its edges had faded to a light brown, it still retained its white petals.

A daisy.

How precious. In a world devoid of a true sun, sending a pressed flower carried a profound weight. Even more so if the sender had cultivated it themselves. I placed the pressed daisy on the corner of my desk and unfolded the letter.

I set the letter down. From the handwriting to the content, the stark contrast between the sisters' personalities was glaringly obvious. If Ayla's writing practically dripped with the emotional sensitivity of an 'F', Valeria's letter resonated with the clear, logical rationality of a 'T'. Not that either was bad. The difference was simply amusing.

I placed their letters on the desk and fell into thought for a moment.

Did the original Daddy Long Legs actually write back in the novel?

I wasn't sure. I had never been an avid reader of classic literature. However, I knew the grammar of web novels all too well.

I definitely have to reply, right?

If you don't, the genre always drifts into angst and tragedy. I picked up my pen and began scratching away at the paper.

The contents were simple. I sent Ayla words of encouragement, assuring her that she would undoubtedly awaken her holy power. To Valeria, I replied that if she needed more reference materials, I could procure even the rarest texts for her. Naturally, I made sure to tell them not to study too late and to watch out for colds.

I folded the letter and melted wax over a candle flame. Red wax dripped onto the envelope, and I pressed my seal into it. In the center of the crow emblem, the scribbled name "Shun" was stamped.

I had originally wanted to use "Schnabel," but because the full name wouldn't fit inside the seal, I had compromised with "Shun." Because of this, more people in the world knew me as Dr. Shun rather than Dr. Schnabel. Since there wasn't much of a difference anyway, I didn't bother correcting them.

Time to send it.

However, there was an important detail to keep in mind: I must never send it directly, but always route it through the merchant guild. This was because, in the eyes of the public, Director Shun was a self-made commoner who had risen from the dirt through sheer effort. At least, that was how my scholarship students saw him. And that was why the children held onto hope. If I work hard, I can become like him. I can be judged by the path I walk, not the place of my birth.

There was absolutely no benefit in revealing to those children that I was a noble by birth and hadn't actually needed to struggle that hard.

An idol is most beautiful when they remain an idol.

Of course, the logic of this misunderstanding-prone world would probably handle most issues on its own. Still, I intended to keep my identity hidden as much as possible to keep the children motivated. Naturally, the fact that playing Daddy Long Legs was quite entertaining also played a part.

Folding the letter neatly, I rang the bell on my desk. Ding.

"You called, Young Master?"

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

"Understood."

"Ah, and one more thing." I gave the butler a wink. "Keep this a secret from Freya."

"...Haha. Indeed, the young lady might become rather jealous. I shall keep it quiet."

The butler accepted the letter. His wrinkled hands carefully held the envelope as he departed the room.

Dinner time arrived. In stark contrast to the raging blizzard outside, the dining room of the Nihilit household was as cozy and warm as ever. The entire family gathered around the table. At the head of the table sat my father, Hendel, with my mother, Rinie, beside him. Opposite them were myself, Freya, and Eri. Our youngest sibling, Freed, sat in his high chair, flailing his tiny arms.

Tonight's menu consisted of venison stew, roasted potatoes, and winter squash soup. I hadn't cooked it. I had been so busy with a certain line of research lately that I simply lacked the time to prepare dinner.

"Mmm..." My father furrowed his brow as he looked over the dishes, casting sideways glances at me. "...Did they not say we received a shipment of venison, Julian?"

What was this? What was he trying to say? Surely he wasn't disappointed that I hadn't cooked?

No way. That can't be it.

Both my mother and father generally disliked me cooking. They claimed it would be a demerit in the noble marriage market. So, there was no reason for Father to be anticipating my cooking. Besides, since I had been sneaking in and out of the kitchen lately, he shouldn't even have known I was the one who usually made those dishes.

"Have you been that busy lately?"

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"Yes, Father. I have."

"...I see."

There was a distinct trace of disappointment in his voice, but I decided to chalk it up to my imagination. The meal proceeded in silence, save for the clinking of cutlery.

"Julian." Father spoke just as I finished about half of my soup. "How old are you this year?"

It was a sudden question. But since fathers' questions were often out of the blue, I answered calmly without missing a beat.

"I am fifteen, Father."

"Fifteen. Right. Once the snow clears and the New Year passes, you will be sixteen."

I could already predict where this conversation was heading. Even as I anticipated his conclusion, I patted my mouth with a napkin, pretending to be oblivious.

"And once another year passes, you will be seventeen."

"..."

"By then, it will be time for you to find a fiancée."

I knew it.

Imperial nobles typically sought out a fiancé at the age of seventeen. It wasn't because of any child protection laws—after all, in a world that ran children in factories, child rights were practically nonexistent. It was simply because seventeen was the most practical age. By law, noble children began learning magic at twelve. It took three years to master the basics, bringing them to fifteen. Another year was spent mastering their family's secret magic, making them sixteen. However, if they tried to get betrothed immediately, they wouldn't have any time to establish themselves in high society. Thus, they took a year to make their debut and appeal to potential suitors, leading to betrothal at seventeen. While some betrothed later depending on the circumstances, the vast majority of nobles settled things at seventeen.

"I know this might catch you off guard. I was betrothed to your biological mother when I was your age, after all."

"..."

I nearly choked on my food. A piece of lore I had forgotten suddenly flashed through my mind. Father Hendel's first love hadn't been Mother Rinie, but my biological mother. However, because Father Hendel failed to learn the family's secret magic and couldn't inherit the title, their engagement had fallen through. My biological mother had been a healing priestess—a clergywoman without a noble title. If the two of them had married, they would have been demoted to commoners, so they had parted ways.

...But was it really okay to bring that up at the dinner table? I doubted Mother Rinie would appreciate it. I glanced at Mother, who sat beside him. Contrary to my expectations, her expression remained perfectly serene.

"Julian, don't worry. I'm perfectly fine with it now. Your father chose me in the end, so what does the past matter?"

Well, you certainly didn't act that way when I was younger... I almost blurted out.

"Ahem. I spoke out of turn. In any case, at your age, you must begin preparing for betrothal."

"Yes, that is true."

"Especially if you are to marry in as a son-in-law. This period will be more critical for you than anyone else."

That was true. To reiterate, sixteen was the age when noble children's names began circulating in earnest within the marriage market. If I didn't actively market myself now, I might end up being pawned off to an older spinster who had missed her prime.

Good merchandise always sells out early.

There was a reason nobles didn't drag their feet and settled things by seventeen.

However, I didn't harbor any particular resentment or anxiety about being married off as a son-in-law. I still had a whole year left. Within that time, I could simply achieve something grand enough to avoid marrying into another family altogether. Even if I did marry in, I might meet someone compatible. There was no reason to view betrothal as an entirely negative prospect just yet.

No need to get anxious before then.

I was chewing on that peaceful self-consolation along with my food when—

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"That makes no sense!"

Clack! Freya slammed her fork down.

"Brother is the one who cured the Devil's Disease. Why should he have to bow his head and marry into another family?"

"Freya."

"I don't understand. Brother isn't someone who should just be married off as a son-in-law. Curing the Devil's Disease should be enough to establish a brand-new noble house!"

Freya's eyes, clear and sharp as glacial ice, locked onto Father. Father let out a bitter chuckle. He glanced at Mother as if asking for her assistance. Mother nodded gently and spoke in his stead.

"Freya, I understand why you are upset. But this is how noble society works. Your father went through the same thing."

"Father did too...?"

Beside Mother, Father nodded with a wry expression.

"Your father also married into the Nihilit family. Before our engagement, he was a fairly renowned knight-errant. He had reached the 3rd Tier using nothing but his Battle Aura."

"What? Father did?"

"Yes," Mother continued her explanation. "Freya, if merit and achievements alone were enough to make someone a noble, as you say, then many knights in the Empire would have titles. Yet they remain commoners. Do you know why?"

"I... don't really know."

"A noble title requires more than just raw power. It demands two additional qualities: permanence and progressiveness."

Indeed. That was the core of it. Noble privileges stemmed from their duties. A house had to protect the Empire generation after generation, meaning their capability to do so had to be passed down. That was permanence. And merely passing it down was not enough. They had to grow stronger as they did so, because magic beasts and the Main would not wait for them. Thus, with each passing generation, the family had to become a greater asset to the Empire. That was progressiveness. Only to those who proved both qualities would the Empire grant a title. Whether it was Battle Aura, magic, or medicine, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the standard remained the same.

"Reaching the 3rd Tier in Battle Aura like your father is an incredible feat. However, there was no guarantee that his mastery would be inherited by his children. The Empire could not be certain that his offspring would be as strong as he was."

Father hadn't founded a martial school, nor had he proven that his talent could be inherited through blood. Thus, while his personal ability was proven, both permanence and progressiveness remained unverified. That was why Father lacked a title of his own, and why he had married into the Nihilit family to make up for what he lacked.

"Families with secret magic are different. Even if they are weak in one generation, history has proven that they can rise to greatness again in the next, or the one after that. That accumulated history is the proof of permanence, and the deepening of their secret magic over generations is the proof of progressiveness."

"...But Brother's medical treatments can be passed down through him."

"True. He has practically proven permanence. However, progressiveness has not been demonstrated. Since there is no precedent of anyone becoming a noble through medicine, no one knows if medical treatments can truly progress over generations."

"Then how is he supposed to prove it?"

"By marrying, having children, and having those children prove that his medical science can evolve."

"...That's ridiculous."

"Whether it makes sense or not, that is the nature of a title." Mother set her spoon down for a moment. "Freya, do you know why nobles are so obsessed with marriage?"

Freya furrowed her brow. "...To inherit the title?"

"Half-correct. But to be more precise, it is to utilize a loophole."

"A loophole?"

"Ability, permanence, and progressiveness. Proving all three on one's own is practically impossible. That is why nobles use marriage to fill in the gaps."

Mother cast a brief glance toward Father.

"Look at your father. He had plenty of ability but couldn't prove permanence or progressiveness. Meanwhile, the Nihilit family possessed permanence and progressiveness but lacked raw ability. When we married, the Empire recognized that the Nihilit family now possessed all three."

Simply put, it was a system of tag-team fraud. Do you have ability? YES. Do you have permanence? YES. Do you have progressiveness? YES. Okay, you get to keep your noble title. The Empire was rather lenient about how organically those three elements actually functioned together, which made this loophole highly effective.

"It is the same for Julian. He has ample ability, and since he can pass down his medical knowledge, he has permanence. The only thing he lacks is progressiveness. That is why we intend to send him to a family with a proven track record of progressiveness."

"..."

"He is not bowing his head to enter their house; they are merely exchanging what they each require."

At those words, Freya lowered her head. "But... he cured the Devil's Disease..."

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

"It's nothing..."

Freya listlessly poked at an innocent potato with her fork. Father, who had been quietly observing her, spoke up.

"Freya, marrying in as a son-in-law is not inherently bad. Have you ever seen me being looked down upon in this house?"

"N-no..."

"Indeed. It is not always a terrible position."

He was right. Marrying in didn't mean one was doomed to walk on eggshells for the rest of their life. As Father's case demonstrated, there were plenty of instances where a married-in son-in-law still took the title of family head. Ultimately, the Nihilit family had desperately needed Father's combat prowess. In other words, as long as you were competent enough, you would never have to live at the mercy of others.

"Even if your brother marries into another family, I cannot picture him living under anyone's thumb. He doesn't even care about my opinion these days, wandering outside all the time."

"..."

When you put it like that, you make me sound like some kind of delinquent.

Father ignored my silent protest and continued.

"So do not worry. We worry about Julian just as much as you do. I will make sure he is never paired with some witch of a sister-in-law that you dread, Freya."

A hint of Father's signature dry humor slipped into his final words. The table fell silent for a brief moment before Mother let out a muffled chuckle.

Freya remained silent for a while. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, her eyes cast down at her plate. The roasted potato she had been stabbing slowly slid off the tines of her fork. Gradually, her expression softened, and she gave a small nod. Then, she suddenly muttered to herself, "Wait. If progressiveness is the issue, then someone with the potential for secret magic..."

Freya turned her head. Her gaze landed on Eri, who sat just past my shoulder.

"...Huh?"

Eri, who had been struggling with all her might to spear a baby potato with her fork, felt the gaze and looked up. Her eyes met Freya's.

"What?"

"No... just... Sister, don't you have any thoughts on this?"

"What thoughts?"

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

"Sorry. I wasn't listening."

Freya let out a soft sigh. "Haa... never mind. Just stay healthy, Sister." She shook her head in defeat.