Powerless Mage - 2
When I first arrived at the Desmont family, Darbarb said to me,
"You're the little punk who beat my daughter with his fists, huh?"
"..."
"Looks like you can handle a fight. No one her age can beat Olivia."
At the time, I was scared out of my wits. Not just any mage—a grand mage. And the villain who'd make an enemy of the empire over his daughter's death. Facing a monster who could lop off my head just for smacking his kid around? The intimidation was beyond imagination.
Now he just looks like a doting dad, but back then, I was overwhelmed by the aura radiating from Darbarb.
Gulp.
But then.
"You're hired as her guard. Housekeeper... we'll see. It's tough for a kid to handle Olivia alone, after all."
Darbarb of the Desmont family was more straightforward than I'd expected. His only flaw was being a hopeless daughter fanatic. Outwardly and in ability, he was the perfect noble.
"I want to get hit too."
"Pardon?"
"Skip the snacks today. Then I might get a shot in."
"...?"
Darbarb told me, as I sat on the sofa in his study as a child, that there was one crucial thing to remember when serving the Young Lady—or any noble, for that matter.
"What was your name again?"
"Ricardo, sir."
"Sounds pretty irreverent."
"The Young Lady named me."
"Excellent name. I should ask her to name me too..."
Sigh...
"Right, Ricardo. Olivia—no, nobles in general."
"Yes."
"They make their words reality. Even if it's not true, if they set their mind to it, nobles can make it so."
"So, are you changing your name, my lord?"
"...I misspoke."
Darbarb's advice wasn't wrong. The Young Lady.
"Brat!"
She was the type to always keep her word.
"Who's your daddy, punk?!"
*
The Young Lady's voice, politely inquiring after an unnamed child's parents, echoed through the alley. The kid in fancy clothes clamped his mouth shut at her question. Touched by the concern, perhaps—he widened his eyes once, then started tearing up.
The Young Lady didn't let up. Being a kid herself, she poured out insults with shameless gusto.
"Brat! Where's your daddy?!"
"He's around!"
"Bring him here!"
"I said he's around!"
"So bring him, you brat!!"
"Hic..."
Don't cry, kid. You're making me panic.
I forced an awkward smile at the child who'd been bragging about his dad moments ago. This was getting dicey. As a somewhat level-headed adult, I felt like I'd done something I shouldn't. I placed a hand on the Young Lady's head—mid her high-level debate—and said,
"Young Lady."
"Hm?"
"Looks like he really doesn't have one."
"Huh?"
"Look at him."
..I said he does! Dad's just super busy, so he can't come!
The Young Lady stared at me, baffled.
"Huh? Ricardo, he's crying."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"You said he doesn't have a dad."
"Yeah."
"He must not, or he'd be crying like that."
"No way. He was bragging about his dad like crazy. I thought he was the emperor or something and got scared."
"That scared you?"
"Yeah."
"What about a regular noble?"
"I'd wipe out their whole family."
"Oh... you've matured a lot."
"Hm."
"Anyway, people without one brag the most. That's probably why he's crying."
The Young Lady peered into my eyes and asked,
"But Ricardo doesn't have one, and you don't brag."
You punk.
Caught off-guard by her unintentional burn, I made a teary face like the kid and stared at her.
"I'm gonna sulk."
"Nooo. I'll starve without you."
"Then I won't."
"Hm."
Fair enough.
I nodded, shaking off the hurt. Letting the Young Lady starve was dangerous—not because I was thinking about my treasure pouch or anything.
I ruffled her hair as I nodded.
Sniff.
So... why's this kid crying now?
I kindly asked the sniffling leader of the pack, shoulders shaking, head down.
"Hey, kid."
"..."
"No dad, huh?"
Couldn't hold back my curiosity. Being polite, I asked the one who'd bragged first.
"I do...!"
"Then why cry?"
"You guys said I don't have one!"
"Your sentences are so short."
"Shut up, you commoner!"
"Oh?"
I rolled up my sleeves and stepped toward him. Time for some tough love. The moment to teach this innocent child about harsh reality.
"Ricaaaardo."
The Young Lady grabbed my collar with a serious face, holding me back. Surprised, I tilted my head. Her temper was hotter than mine—stopping me was weird. Normally...
Brat! Let goooo!
Young Lady! Hold it together!
Waaah!! Eek! Hiiik!
...she'd lose it and go berserk.
But she gripped my sleeve, face serious, and said,
"Ricardooo."
"Yes."
"Maybe the kid's right."
"What do you mean?"
"Just make him gone."
"Who?"
"His dad."
"Ah!"
I flicked her forehead at the clever answer and nodded. Smart solution from the Young Lady, but a quick apology could end this without escalating...
"Waaah! I'm telling my dad on you guys!"
Should I kill him?
I'm still young at heart. This is pissing me off.
Suppressing my emotions, I said to her,
The Young Lady always prioritized efficiency.
"Young Lady."
"Hm?"
"You apologize too."
"Hm."
She nodded and plopped down on the ground, bursting into tears like she couldn't be outdone.
"Waaah! Daddyyy! Daddyyy!"
Proving her backup was the world's strongest with Sword Master-level performance.
Today, I was proud to be Desmont.
"Waaah!"
About ten minutes of who cries loudest showdown later, the overwhelmed kid went "Uh... uhh?!" in horror, ending the eardrum-shattering battle. Thrilled like watching Sword Masters clash, I clapped in awe and stepped between them.
This should satisfy her. Her hobbies—picking fights, brawling, looting—were all covered.
"Young Lady."
"Hic?"
"Time to go?"
"Don't even know who her dad is yet."
"That's why he won't say. He doesn't have one."
"Oh...!"
She nodded and waddled over to him on short legs. His followers had backed off, realizing she was no ordinary nutcase, looking deflated.
The Young Lady pointed at him.
"Hey!"
"..."
The unnamed kid trembled but nodded at her call.
"Don't be too sad. No dad."
"...I do."
She pointed at me and nodded.
"Ricardo doesn't either."
"...?"
"So, cheer up."
Feeding him twice? Betrayed by the Young Lady. But her mature encouragement moved me enough not to scold. Not wrong, either. The old her would've said, "Bring everything you've got, and maybe," while robbing him blind. This was progress—I teared up at her growth.
"Just pay for the ice cream."
She's all grown up.
The kid glared, fists clenched, unmoved by her kindness—pure murder in his eyes.
"...No money?"
"..."
"Ricardo. What now?"
"Yeah."
His lips twitched. Like he was about to say a forbidden name, he gulped and exhaled repeatedly before slowly opening his mouth.
"You know who my dad is?"
"How would I? I forget my own dad's name."
"Really?"
"No."
He gritted his teeth and spat at us.
"My dad's..."
"..."
"Wolf..."
The moment his father's name was about to spill.
"Young master!"
Urgent footsteps echoed from the alley's end. An elderly voice, followed by three sets of young knight boots. I gently pulled the Young Lady behind me and whispered,
"Young Lady."
"Hm."
"Looks like the kid has a dad after all."
"Hm?"
I eyed the approaching old man.
"Recognize that crest?"
Eagle emblem of the western powerhouse family. She nodded at the badge on his chest pocket.
"Hm. Eagle."
"Yes."
I glanced at the kid and muttered,
So you're that man's son.
Wolfgang.
I smiled bitterly at fate's cruelty.
Wolfgang Louis.
Mihail's biological father.
The man who killed Mihail's mother.
And I'd met power-mad man's son.
And then.
"It's fine. My dad's tougher."
The Young Lady wasn't scared.