Beyond the Great Wall (4): Aisha's Interview
Aisha's chatter had come to an abrupt halt the moment it was time for her private interview. Her expression turned hesitant, evasive somehow, her hands neatly folded in her lap with perfect propriety. And then there was the sylph, glaring daggers at me as if to say, 'What the hell are you? Why are you killing my girl's vibe?' Total disaster.
How was I supposed to handle this precious little one? After some agonizing thought, I plopped down casually in the seat next to her.
"Hic!"
Aisha flinched in surprise, her body jerking slightly. An interview, huh. There was no such thing as a bad precious child in the world. Especially not Aisha—she wasn't truly rotten; she'd just been abused since childhood, twisted into this shape by it. I wasn't a therapist, so how the hell was I supposed to conduct an interview and unpack all that?
I racked my brain for similar "interviews" I'd done before. The first one with Aisha had ended quick because she was too tense. Expanding to my past life, the only real one that came to mind was with my high school homeroom teacher in my senior year.
'You really gonna apply to history with those grades? You sure about that?'
'Yes, I really want to do history.'
'You gotta think about what you wanna do later. Got some academic ambitions? Planning on grad school, PhD and all that?'
'No idea.'
'...Then why history of all things?'
'Just 'cause I like history. Not many jobs use majors these days anyway.'
After that, I'd rattled off a bunch of explanations. Teacher sighed once and just called my parents. They'd known I was a history nerd forever, so they half-heartedly tried to dissuade me out of courtesy, but my sister pushed for me to do what I wanted.
Anyway, I couldn't apply that experience here. Yeah, approaching it like that would be a disaster.
I turned to look at Aisha. She avoided my gaze, eyes downcast, hands demurely clasped. How was this the sunshine girl tagged as the heroine in the novel?
When I read it as a book, she was frustrating in the early parts, but not this bad... I wanted to grill my sister about it if she were here. Isn't this straight-up social anxiety disorder? But I couldn't exactly question a sister who didn't exist, so after a moment's deliberation, I spoke up.
"How's life here treating you?"
"Y-yes, Your Grace. Thanks to your personal attention..."
"Good to hear."
Conversation stalled out. An awkward silence descended immediately. Damn it, Aisha. At this rate, we wouldn't get anywhere. How was I supposed to break the ice in this painfully stiff atmosphere?
I thought calmly. What did those parenting shows from my past life say? I desperately tried to recall the expert's advice, but gave up when nothing came. Screw it. It was already awkward—what's a little more? I let go of the tension, deciding to just go natural. As naturally as possible, whatever happens, happens. I opened my mouth.
Aisha's body trembled faintly. It was instinctive, beyond her control. Maids she saw daily or familiar faces like Roena were fine. But Estiang—the very man who'd brought her here—wasn't that familiar yet.
A gracious lord...
His face was an iron mask, impossible to read. Aisha stole a sidelong glance at him. And right now, with that same inscrutable expression, Estiang spoke softly.
"Getting along with the others?"
"...Y-yes. Everyone's been so kind. Thanks to them, I'm managing well."
Aisha clenched her fists without realizing. Good. This time, she'd managed without shaking too much, getting her words out properly.
"You and Knight Roena seem close."
"...Probably because we're around the same age. She's been looking out for me a lot."
"Same age?"
"Knight Roena's two years older than me, like a big sister..."
It felt like making excuses, but she couldn't help it. It was etched deep into her body. Everything Aisha had felt in her short life boiled down to the same thing. Scornful stares. Servants in the Leste Duke's household gossiping openly, their insults loud enough to cut like knives—despite her being a duke's daughter in name. It had been that way since she'd become aware of the world.
"Environment shapes a person, after all."
Estiang murmured as if seeing right through her. Caught off guard, Aisha flinched again. The staff here had all been kind to her. Treating her like a proper noble lady, polite and considerate. It gnawed at her, creating a profound dissonance.
I'm just a filthy bastard child...
Filthy bastard. A scarlet letter, branded indelibly upon her.
I'm an idiot. Useless.
Realizing it anew, a wave of pathetic helplessness crashed over her. Estiang had called her a spirit mage, said he needed her. Yet here she was, fumbling through a simple conversation, proving just how worthless she was—failing to live up to his expectations.
"Pathetic..."
The whisper escaped her lips, faint as a breath, barely audible.
Estiang looked down at her bowed head, as if he'd caught that tiny murmur.
"Don't worry."
"...Pardon?"
"Don't worry about a thing."
Estiang's voice was low but firm, resolute.
"You're my vassal now. Here, no one can treat you carelessly."
"..."
"In the Leste Duke's house, the duke's word was law. This is different. Here, my word and will is the law."
Better to be direct and promise clearly than beat around the bush, he'd decided.
"And I swear, in Berg, no one will treat you like they did in Leste. I'll make sure of it."
"..."
His words rippled softly through her chest like a quiet echo. No one would ever treat her that way again.
"If you've spent your whole life in a narrow cage, the world outside has to be terrifying. A frog at the bottom of a well can only see that sliver of sky."
"Then..."
"When I first suggested you come here, didn't I promise? That the world is wider than you knew, the sky broader and brighter."
"...Your Grace."
"Your ability to command spirits will be useful to me. No point lying—I needed you as a spirit mage."
Estiang continued matter-of-factly. Aisha's body began to tremble uncontrollably. His unexpected response made even Estiang's eyes flicker faintly. But the words were out; no taking them back. He pressed on steadily.
"You have a gift that can benefit so many. I don't know what treatment you got in Leste or what they said to you. But this is Berg. Forget it all."
"..."
Aisha bit her lip.
"Here, no one can say those things to you. Instead, people will rely on your abilities and cheer for you. I'll make it happen."
"Does Your Grace... really believe that?"
Aisha asked timidly.
"Yes."
"...Can you promise?"
"I promise. I'll make it so."
His unwavering answer called to mind a conversation with Roena. Whenever Estiang came up, Roena's stoic face would soften—like a girl her age, with that ticklish, fresh emotion peeking through. A vague hunch she'd had suddenly made sense.
Blinking back tears, Aisha replied in a small voice.
"...Thank you, Your Grace. I'll believe you."
Her neatly folded hands fidgeted slightly. She wanted to grab his gloved hand, hook pinkies in a childish promise. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled: What would his hand feel like? The warmth when their pinkies linked?
Lacking the courage to act, she just wriggled her fingers. Then, as she fought back her tears, Estiang's flat tone pierced through.
"All right, Aisha."
Her body jolted like an electric shock.
Aisha.
"Ah!"
Her fidgeting hands flew to her chest, clasping together. How long had it been since someone called her by name? Her mother—who she could barely remember—had given it to her. Until now, she'd only been "filthy bitch," "lowborn slut," "disgusting bloodline." The politest was "Leste lady," but "Aisha"? She couldn't even recall the last time.
"Hic..."
The moment her name was spoken, the dam broke. Tears poured uncontrollably from her blue eyes, streaming down her pale cheeks. She shook, emotions overwhelming her.
"Uh, um."
No intent to sob aloud, but it happened. Seeing Estiang's troubled face through her blurred vision, Aisha buried her face in his shoulder.
Sudden contact. Estiang flinched as if infected by it. His eyes shook like an earthquake in his pupils; his hands hovered uncertainly.
"...Aisha?"
To soothe her, he awkwardly extended an arm, patting her back.
"Waaah, sob, hic..."
Aisha wailed even harder. Estiang scratched his head with his other hand.
This isn't working.
No sign of calming. He kept stroking her back helplessly. Turning his head, he caught eyes with passing servants in the hall. They looked mortified, as if witnessing something forbidden, bowed deeply, averted their gazes from the terrace, and hurried off.
"...Aisha."
"Hic, s-sorry, I'm sorry, Your Grace."
Her apologies slurred through sobs, but she didn't lift her face—instead clinging tighter. Estiang gave up, patting her back gently. He had no idea what rumors this would spawn.
Piiiik!
The sylph, who'd been hovering quietly, protested shrilly, as if offended by the serious talk.
Aisha mumbled.
"...No, Sylph. That won't do."
Clutching Estiang's collar like she wouldn't let go, her words made the sylph freeze.
Pip, piiiik.
Shocked, the sylph drooped too. Whether from Aisha's heightened emotions or something else, who knew. Aisha's cheek, pressed to Estiang's shoulder, flushed pink.
"Haa..."
A faint, almost giddy sigh escaped her.