You Are Allowed to Be Angry
Contrary to all expectations, life at the ducal estate grew more peaceful by the day.
Havelian was by no means a warm family member, but he was an exceptional teacher. Whenever Lefonya hesitated—unaccustomed to the very concept of asking questions during a lesson—he would notice immediately, lean in, and ask what was giving her trouble.
Back when she was being trained in the quarters provided by the Pope, confessing ignorance had earned her a severe beating or days of starvation, but Havelian was nothing like that.
"Why are you so afraid of asking?" he had told her. "Asking questions is a virtue. Pretending to understand just because you're too proud to admit ignorance is what's truly foolish. If you don't know, ask. Then you learn."
A cordial stranger.
That was precisely the boundary Havelian kept with Lefonya. When she grasped a difficult concept, he offered praise, but he never stroked her hair or called her affectionately by name like Felens did. His demeanor was purely that of an instructor toward a student. Oddly enough, that made Lefonya feel at ease. There was no need to constantly guard her heart or fight off doubts born of overwhelming affection.
Furthermore, just as Felens had claimed, Havelian truly was a genius. There was nothing he did not know.
Calling him "Teacher" no longer felt foreign.
Havelian possessed a voracious appetite for knowledge himself, often sitting beside Lefonya to study his own materials while supervising her work.
"Teacher, what is that?"
"Last winter, a severe blizzard froze over the estate's crops and livestock, leading to critical food shortages among the people. Father is already making preparations for this coming winter, but I am looking for more effective solutions. Watch carefully. It never hurts to know these things."
"Okay."
At night, when everyone had fallen asleep, Lefonya would pull the duvet over her head and call Rudeum's name over and over, but he never appeared.
What a liar.
He had told her he would come whenever she called. Wondering if an invisible spirit might be lingering nearby, she had even whispered, "Spirit?" but received no answer.
You said you needed me.
Was it really acceptable to neglect someone you claimed to need so desperately? Just as she was contemplating whether she should seek Rudeum out herself or concoct an excuse to send an official invitation, the peace shattered on an otherwise ordinary day.
Slam!
"What did you just say?"
Trouble had finally arrived. Havelian, who rarely displayed even a flicker of emotion, slammed both palms onto his desk and rose to his feet.
"Sit down, Havel," the Duke of Craitan said calmly.
"Where did you say the fire was?"
Havelian's face hardened with a terrifying chill. His crimson eyes blazed with fury, burning like the relentless pillars of the Fire Demon. "Do you have any idea what that bedroom meant?"
Having only just learned that the bedroom Lefonya had stayed in—the very room prepared for the true young lady of House Craitan—had burned to ashes, Havelian ground his teeth so hard they creaked. "How could you let anyone in there? Of all places..."
"...When I called off the search party, I had already resolved to empty that room and let her go."
"You knew full well what that place meant to us, Father!" Havelian roared, his voice laced with venom. "Knowing what was kept inside... how could you ever give it away? How?!"
Lefonya remembered the first time she had set foot in that bedroom. It had been filled with an invisible, overwhelming love. Sunlight flooded the space at all hours so that it was warm and free of chill, and not a single speck of dust drifted through the air. Countless toys carved by master artisans rested on the shelves, and the floors were padded with thick, plush rugs so a toddler learning to walk wouldn't be hurt if she fell. In every single corner touched by human hands, one could see the tender anticipation for a child's future.
"That bedroom was meant for my sister. Mother and I prepared and decorated it with our own hands!"
"..."
"Not only did you give it away to someone else, but it all burned down?" Havelian's voice trembled with sheer disbelief. Throughout their time together, the stoic young man had never shown any weakness, yet the mere mention of his lost sister was enough to completely unravel him. "If she returned... if my sister ever came back, Mother and I wanted to show her everything we had poured our hearts into. You know that!"
At Havelian's desperate words, the Duke of Craitan lowered his eyes, wearing the bitter guilt of a convicted man. The Duke had lost both his beloved wife and an infant daughter who had not even lived to see her first birthday. In the eyes of his two sons, he had lived as a sinner ever since.
"If that... were possible, I would have found her long ago," the Duke murmured. His tone was devoid of warmth, but his voice shook beneath the surface.
What must the Duke have felt when he found Lefonya dying in that very room?
I shouldn't have burned down the bedroom.
Back then, Lefonya had offered a brief, careless apology to a faceless young lady and set everything ablaze solely for her own survival. Had she known just how precious that room was to this family, she might have chosen another way.
...Chosen another way? Get a grip. Lefonya bit down hard on her lower lip. She was an infiltrator who had snuck in to steal their family heirloom, a fugitive clinging to this house just to escape the Pope's clutches. Playing the saint was a laughable luxury. Her only job was to scheme and survive, clutching onto this life by any means necessary.
Just then, Felens, who had been standing silently behind her, reached out. A broad, warm palm settled gently atop Lefonya's head. He did not cover her ears or blindfold her eyes, yet his large hand felt sturdy and comforting, like a roof sheltering her from a torrential downpour. Lefonya let the tension drain from her body, quietly leaning back against Felens.
"Havel. It is time to let her go," the Duke said.
"And when, exactly, does that time come? Does searching halfheartedly until a decade slips by mean it's suddenly time to give up?!"
"We must accept reality. Only when we accept it and let her go... can my daughter finally rest beside her mother."
"You should have at least asked for my permission! If you were going to let another person into that room—!"
"Had I told you, would you ever have agreed?"
"..."
"Tell me, Havel. Would you truly have given your permission?" The Duke's voice fell to a trembling whisper.
Silence hung heavy between the two men. Overwhelmed by grief and fury, Havelian buried his face in his trembling hands. The day House Craitan lost both the Duchess and their newborn daughter had marked the beginning of every tragedy that plagued them.
"...It's all because of that child," a dark, chilling voice echoed across the room. Through the gaps in Havelian's fingers, his crimson eyes gleamed with sharp, unrestrained hostility. "Father giving up the search for my sister, that child taking over her bedroom, and the vassals burning it down in protest—it's all that child's fault."
Facing the crimson glare piercing through his fingers, Lefonya simply stood her ground, taking in every ounce of his wrath. His gaze, dripping with bitter condemnation, held unmistakable hatred toward her.
"And despite that... Father, Felens... even I..."
"..."
"We were all smiling and laughing along with her. Entertaining the foolish hope that she might change the dreary mood of this estate." A self-deprecating laugh tore from his throat. "Completely blind to the fact that she was stealing everything from us—not just our family, but everything."
A sharp pang struck Lefonya's chest. She lifted a small hand and gently rubbed at her sternum, feeling as though she had swallowed a mouthful of thorns.
"Father. Do we even have the right to laugh and be happy?" There was no answer to Havelian's miserable question. "We failed to protect Mother... we couldn't even protect a tiny baby sister. Do we still deserve to be called the Guardians of the Empire and Aura Masters?"
"..."
"What have we ever done right to deserve laughter?"
Havelian spoke as though the crushing gloom that had swallowed their house should never be lifted. His hollow, dazed eyes turned back toward Lefonya.
"Right. You did nothing wrong. What fault could a mere five-year-old have?"
"..."
"Even so, I resent you."
Her entire body prickled as if pierced by thousands of needles. She should have been accustomed to such words by now, yet they still cut deep.
Behind her, Felens hurriedly moved his hands to cover both of Lefonya's ears. But he could not block out the vivid, unmasked hostility burning before her eyes.
"I loathe myself for hating a five-year-old child, but I cannot stop."
Lefonya read the movements of Havelian's lips. The brutal training she had received from the Pope to ensure missions could proceed even if she lost her hearing allowed her to decipher every word, whether she wanted to or not.
"Ha. A sister? Don't make me laugh."
In that single breath, she felt the fleeting warmth they had built over the past few weeks shatter, regressing into a distance far colder than when they had first met.
"You can never be my sister."
Having drawn a merciless line between them, Havelian turned on his heel and stumbled out of the study with unsteady steps.
"Fonya."
The Duke of Craitan rose from his seat, walked over, and pulled Lefonya's small frame into a tight embrace.
"You did nothing wrong. Even without you, the time to let go would have arrived eventually. So do not blame yourself. In truth, you are the one who finally gave me the strength to let her go, so I should be thanking you."
The Duke cradled her securely against his chest, as if shielding her from all the cruelty the world had to offer.
"Havel is simply immature. He is terrified that accepting you would be a betrayal to his lost sister."
"..."
"Every single day, he came to my office boasting that you were a genius. He made a terrible fuss, insisting that sending you to the Imperial Academy with peers your age would be dreadfully boring and that we had to hire a private tutor immediately. He carried the test paper you solved in his coat pocket everywhere he went, showing it off to anyone who would listen... That is why that foolish boy is lashing out like this. It is never your fault. Havel is entirely to blame."
"...Okay. I understand," Lefonya murmured softly.
"No. Do not understand him, Fonya."
"Huh?"
"That is Havel's own burden to bear; there is no reason for you to understand it. Why should you? Don't try to make excuses for him. You get angry right back."
She was allowed to be angry too?
Lefonya, who had instinctively prepared herself to endure his resentment and accept it as her due, blinked up at him in utter bewilderment.
"Havel was the one who treated you poorly first, so of course you have every right to be furious. The next time you see him, feel free to yell at him or ignore him completely—just let yourself be angry. You are allowed to do that, Fonya. Because you did nothing wrong."