The Little Tyrant of the Orphanage (1)
Mirdin Madam, the Gibraltar family's tutor, was frankly bewildered by the new task assigned to her.
"You know better than anyone the backlash from sending that Sezar heir to us. The margrave warned us, and he was right."
"I understand you sent Ethan out of goodwill and sympathy. But as for sending Sezar himself—surely you, Madam, know better than anyone what they were saying in the capital. What was it again? That he'd committed a capital offense and begged for mercy. That he hadn't meant to besmirch the Gibraltar name. That they could kill him if they must, but please spare his children. He knelt, tears streaming down his face. How did he survive that?"
"Mirdin Madam is an irreplaceable talent. Father."
Grey Gibraltar.
"Spare her. But she must take responsibility. That child beyond children, more monstrous than the margrave himself."
"If we frame it not as just dumping the kid on us, but as her performing 'educational volunteer service' for them, people won't gossip so much. Teaching Ethan Sezar and the other children for free— that should let her survive in high society. Thanks to young master Gibraltar, who's more 'noble' than anyone, she lived."
After that, Mirdin Madam practically lived at the Gibraltar estate, teaching the family's children and the orphanage kids. So she resolved to give her second chance at life her all. And now, in the second act of her career as the orphanage tutor, she faced her greatest challenge yet.
"...You're far more brilliant than I imagined. Mastering the basics already."
Mirdin Madam clicked her tongue in amazement at the white-haired girls seated before her.
"To achieve this in just four days of learning the kingdom tongue."
She'd heard they were orphans from the Empire. Naturally, they'd sworn a blood oath not to breathe a word, which was why she could teach here—but this level of talent was impossible for any teacher not to brag about.
"Lady Mente. Aren't the children just incredible?"
"Yeah, sure."
"I've never taught any children who picked it up faster than these. If only everyone were as smart as you all!"
Mirdin Madam's sounding board—and sacrificial lamb—was Lady Mente, standing guard in the same room.
"Lady Mente, language isn't something you pick up this easily, you know? Sure, kingdom and imperial tongues are similar in many ways, with straightforward grammar, but I never dreamed they'd all grasp it so well!"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure."
"Which is why, no matter what future these children pursue, I feel responsible for ensuring they can boldly voice their opinions and survive in this kingdom—"
"Madam Mirdin."
Dealing with the noblewoman's endless chatter tested Lady Mente's limited patience.
"Break time's over."
"Ah, right! Look at me. Time for the next lesson, then...."
Mirdin Madam glanced at the time, then swept her eyes over the Whites seated like statues.
"You've all learned so well today, so let's spend the rest of the time on this."
Scratch, scratch.
The girls' eyes sparkled at the imperial tongue scrawled on the blackboard.
"How to Survive in Gibraltar."
It was a bit rough and crude for girls to learn, but...
"To survive in this White Orphanage—no, Angel's Gorge—you must remember three things."
Despite their slightly clumsy imperial, the girls' ears perked up.
"One. Never insult the countess."
Scratch, scratch.
"The margrave loves the countess more than anyone. Sometimes, more than his own children."
The girls took up their quills, diligently copying the phrases from the board.
"One day, he mercilessly slaughtered long-serving retainers. It was the day she attended a capital party, and they failed to serve her properly, so she was humiliated."
The quills stopped. Some girls swallowed hard in disbelief, and silence blanketed the room.
"Two. Be loyal to the blood of Gibraltar. This is the countship, but the count's children are practically princes and princesses here."
Scribble, scribble.
The quills moved again.
"And finally... this is just my personal opinion, but..."
Mirdin Madam's face grew grave as she continued.
"Grey Gibraltar."
Drip.
"...Hm?"
The room froze. Just his name, and the girls stiffened, staring at her.
"Uh, well, you've spent the past week with him, so you must have some sense of 'his' temperament. Right?"
Nod.
Like dolls, the girls gravely nodded.
"Never provoke him. Especially not here in the orphanage. You don't need language skills. Keep that beauty of yours intact, and honestly, you could survive in the kingdom without knowing a word of its tongue."
Mirdin Madam spoke to them with utter sincerity.
"But in this orphanage, in this gorge, you must know young master Grey. His temperament, how he treats you all."
She sighed, steadying her breath.
"Think of him as the prince of this gorge. No— the tyrant."
Tyrant Grey.
"......?"
The golden-haired girl tilted her head blankly.
"Hehe, Prince..."
One silver-haired girl murmured dreamily, blushing and giggling to herself.
"......."
The green-haired one watched the others' varied reactions from the back, letting out a hollow chuckle.
A new prince—or princess—is to be born in Gibraltar. Blessings upon this new life.
She'd returned leisurely from the orphanage to the mansion at the knight's summons, hoping to celebrate the birth, but she couldn't help feeling a bit tense.
Will it be born properly?
Everyone worries the same. Childbirth always carries risks.
Miscarriage. Or the mother's death.
The former would be better. The mother wouldn't die.
There'd be grief for a while, ongoing even, but Gibraltar wouldn't crumble.
But the latter?
He wouldn't strangle the baby's neck or anything, but it wouldn't be loved for life.
The fourth wouldn't receive any love from Father.
As such, the atmosphere in the count's mansion was utterly tense.
"Y-Young master!"
"Malcolm. What's with the mood?"
"W-Well..."
"Father's in a foul mood, it seems."
Head butler Malcolm started to press a finger to his lips—
"What."
"H-Hiiik... N-Nothing...!"
He flinched in terror. Just one word.
"It's not like someone's died. Why does everyone look so grim?"
"Y-Young master...!"
"I know. I won't say such things where Father can hear. Not like I'm eager for him to."
With Mother enduring the pains of labor, stifling screams or cursing...
"Stay alert, but don't stand there like you're at a funeral. It's someone's birthday today, isn't it?"
In this situation, anyone who could grate on Father's nerves nearby would have to be truly mad.
"Loosen up those faces. Come on? Anyone'd think a ghost showed up."
And then—
"Y-Young master?"
"What."
"If even you look like that..."
"...Ah. Am I on edge too?"
Robert's words from behind finally clued him in.
"Guess I was the edgy one. Sorry."
That he was more on edge than Father right now.
But how could I not be? This never happened in the future.
The fourth hadn't existed in the future.
There was no reason for a fourth to be born in the first place.
A future where relations with Father hadn't improved but worsened.
Father won't do it, but a child appears? Life over that day.
Mother occasionally visited the capital, and Father used those chances to meet imperial contacts.
But that's all in the past now.
That future was gone.
Couldn't nip the bud, but snapped the stem clean off.
For three years, Mother hadn't so much as spoken to an outsider man, let alone gone to the capital.
Father worked so hard for her. Even hating it, he dutifully did his part for Mother.
Father had confined Mother to the bedroom, mansion, and orphanage.
No cuckoos here.
They'd shared every night, no possibility whatsoever.
The issue isn't cuckoos breaking eggs or snakes eating them—it's whether the chick can hatch properly.
He desperately hoped the child would be born healthy, but if not, the count's family would be hard to handle.
If someone died.
Better the mansion fall apart from Mother's death than—
"Oppa!"
Someone barreled into him from behind.
"You came!"
"Letar. Of course. Did you cry?"
"Uh, well."
He wiped Letar's teary eyes with his sleeve.
"Or did someone make you cry? Who. Noir? Or Ethan?"
"N-No! Ethan wouldn't! Ethan never makes me cry!"
Mention of Ethan, and Letar jumped back in panic.
"D-Don't say anything to Ethan. He's not a bad kid."
"I know. Then Noir?"
"W-Well."
"H-Hyung, y-you're here?"
Noir slunk forward from behind Letar, face sour.
"What happened? Speak."
"N-Nothing! She just said something weird."
"Weird?"
"That the youngest is definitely a girl."
"It's a little sister! Not a boy!"
"That's just what you wish. The youngest has to be a little brother. Definitely!"
"...Ha."
A laugh escaped him.
I'm worrying if it'll even be born, and...
Maybe he'd worried too much. For siblings too innocent to face harsh reality, he'd been too pessimistic.
"Wanna bet?"
"B-Bet?"
"H-Hyung? What's that out of nowhere...?"
"Letar wins if it's a sister. Noir if brother."
A simple bet. Assuming birth, just on gender.
"If Letar wins, I'll introduce you to the Whites at the orphanage."
"R-Really? Yay! I've never seen white-haired big sisters besides you!"
"Yep."
Letar had pure white hair. Unrelated to imperial blood.
Our side's colors are all over the place anyway.
Gibraltar children lacked consistency in hair or eye color. Hence naming by birth color was common.
Letar's white was Gibraltar white, not imperial. But similar to the Whites' white.
"Oppa, you hang out with those white big sisters lately?"
"Yeah."
"Pretty?"
"Pretty enough."
"Then introduce me to them!"
"Anytime."
"M-Me too!"
Noir suddenly shouted from behind.
"If I win, introduce me too!"
"...Why would you...?"
Oh no. He'd answered on regression-era reflex.
At least he'd swallowed "what, surrounding yourself with girls again?"—praise for self-restraint.
"N-Not just for me! The kids are curious!"
"Orphanage kids?"
"Y-Yeah! The trainee candidates keep asking me after glimpsing them!"
"Ah, got it."
Boys in peak puberty after three years training as Gibraltar knight reserves.
"Makes sense. They'd ask you, not me."
Nine (+2) white-haired, frail-looking beauties suddenly appearing before them.
"Want an intro?"
"Uh, um..."
"Or eat together? Set up a joint class?"
"...That'd be great."
What an honest kid. Hard to believe he shared blood with Father—straightforward and sincere.
Built a harem honestly and sincerely.
How many? Max nine, he recalled. Tired of women rotating through the mansion, he'd built a separate villa—only for group orgies there.
"Learn from your brother, Grey." Even the emperor said that once. Infuriating.
Considering that—
Thud, thud.
Familiar footsteps approached.
"Father?"
Father descended the stairs, face distant, entranced.
"......."
No way. Even with changed times, a nonexistent child wouldn't fail to—
"Grey."
"...Yes."
"Garnet, Ruby, Carnelian. Which name do you think suits?"
"......."
Correction. Father's entranced look wasn't from anxiety-driven madness.
"A daughter?"
"Yes. A girl."
The youngest was a sister.
"Red like me, down to the eyes."
Inherited Father's hair and eyes.
"What. Worried?"
"...Ha."
No way.
"Father."
"Your face was so grave. Thought someone died."
Was he joking now?
"Congratulations."
"Mm. Thanks."
"Letar. Good news. A little sister."
"Ah, y-yeah! C-Congratulations, Father!"
"...Mm."
Letar bowed deeply, and Father smiled faintly.
"But Noir, tough luck?"
"H-Hyung?"
"You wanted a brother."
"Th-That was...!"
He glanced at Father. Father shrugged it off—
"The fifth can be a boy, right, Father?"
"...Grey, you?"
"I'll tell Mother. That Noir wants a little brother."
Father scowled at Noir.
"F-Father, no, I don't hate that it's a girl, it's just..."
"......."
Noir couldn't meet his eyes.
"Everyone, applause for the celebration."
"........"
"The capital will send praises when they hear. Their love still burns bright!"
If only they knew Father's gaze was fixed not on himself, but Grey.
"To the enduring health and eternal love of the unbreakable Gibraltar count and countess."
Clap, clap, clap.
No matter how Father saw him, this was sincere. The fourth's birth proved history had changed.
"May your love burn so hot it sets the mansion ablaze."