The First Year
I had no choice but to follow Grandmother. It was a golden opportunity to solve the orphanage’s greatest problem—food—in one stroke. I never imagined I would be dragged off to the Freister family, yet… I couldn’t let such a chance slip away. I hesitated, of course. The younger siblings who would grieve if I left. …And Asena and Kirsi, whom I would inevitably meet. At first, I had no intention of going. But the moment Grandmother Liana brought up the matter of provisions, the scales tipped decisively. I still believe it was the right decision.
Through my conversations with Grandmother Liana, I learned several things. The Freister twins were eight years old—two years younger than me. …And they had recently lost their parents. I had expected as much. Every reader of Border Noble Academy would have. Unlike the other characters in the novel, Asena had been the head of the Freister family and its duke from the very moment she appeared. Most of the cast were children of noble houses, so it was only natural that they could never stand as equals to Asena and Kirsi. In any case, one thing was now certain: the twins had grown up without parents from an early age.
Once I received confirmation that they had lost their parents, something stirred in me. I felt a sense of kinship. They were just like me. That didn’t mean I suddenly liked them, but I began to understand them a little. Perhaps this was the moment they started to grow into those merciless, emotionless figures. Or maybe they had simply been broken from the very beginning.
The Freister estate lay in a remote region. After several days of travel south, a vast castle rose in the middle of the plains. I could now understand what it meant for a ducal house to live like the ruler of a small kingdom. This was my new home.
Countless maids bowed their heads, waiting for Grandmother Liana. Among them, a middle-aged butler named Tein approached and reported the twins’ current condition. After introducing me to him, Grandmother Liana said she needed to see the children and left for another part of the estate.
Tein accepted me without hesitation. I couldn’t read his true feelings, but his conduct was impeccable. Under his guidance, preparations began at once. Numerous servants washed me, cut my hair, and dressed me in new clothes. When everything was finished, I was led to a certain door. Beyond the slowly opening door waited Asena and Kirsi.
****
Our first meeting was far from pleasant. Grandmother Liana’s efforts to introduce me were in vain; Asena and Kirsi merely stared at me with lifeless eyes. They said nothing. Asena, the elder, had black hair and sharp features. Kirsi had silver hair and… a melancholy air. Both sat together on a wide bed. They looked so gaunt they might have been straw dolls. Grandmother Liana had claimed they used to be bright children, yet the girls before me were exactly the merciless, emotionless twins I had read about in the novel. I wondered if they were already beyond saving.
Then I noticed the pile of handkerchiefs beside the bed. In that instant, I understood how desperately they must have wept. They simply refused to cry in front of me. That meant they had not become emotionless machines after all.
I pulled myself together. I had been looking at them through the lens of the novel. Its images had been so vivid that I failed to see what was actually happening before my eyes. These children were simply grieving the loss of their parents. They had mourned for months until their bodies reached this state. Grandmother Liana had said they could rely on no one. There was no one of equal standing to lean on. The servants were too intimidated, and Grandmother Liana stood too high above them. The moment I saw the twins, I understood what she meant: I had to become their support.
Yes—children must always be treated with the utmost care. That had always been my belief. In truth, Asena and Kirsi would have risen again even without me. In the novel, they overcame their loss. The problem was how they overcame it. If they continued to rely on no one, they would inevitably become the villainesses I despised. That much was obvious.
I asked everyone to leave the room. It felt presumptuous for a commoner orphan to make such a request, yet as the new member of the Freister family, I could. Grandmother Liana and the others withdrew, leaving only the three of us.
I didn’t approach them in a way that would feel burdensome. They wouldn’t have reacted anyway. I simply kept talking. I introduced myself lightly, then spoke of the weather, the scenery outside, the birds flying past—trivial things, yet things that demanded attention. They gave no response, but I knew they were listening. I also told them fairy tales from my original world. Promising interesting stories if they cared to listen, I continued speaking alone. Arabian Nights. Aesop’s Fables. Traditional folk tales. Stories the children at the orphanage had loved. I couldn’t be sure they were listening, but I told them countless tales.
I helped them wash as well. If one remained filthy, the heart grew filthy too. They stayed still, like dolls, even when I wiped their faces. I cleaned away tear stains and sweat. At one point, Kirsi’s eyes seemed to turn toward me.
Feeding them was the hardest part. Getting children who showed no reaction to open their mouths was difficult. Yet I had more than enough patience, having survived the orphanage. I coaxed them with words, slipped in light jokes, and did everything I could to make them open up. In the end, I managed to feed each of them two spoonfuls. I credited the cook’s skill more than my own, but I still praised the twins extravagantly, trying to lift their spirits.
I repeated this every single day for many days. Gradually, the children began to allow me small gestures. I believed my ceaseless stories and the affection I poured into them played a part. When I entered, they didn’t greet me, but at least their eyes followed me. When I told fairy tales, their dead gazes seemed to regain a little life. When I told them to blow their noses while washing, they weakly went “hng…”—not for my sake, perhaps, but because they were uncomfortable. They now ate three or four spoonfuls instead of two.
Two months passed in this manner. The moment I stepped into the room that day, I sensed it would be important. Color was slowly returning to Asena and Kirsi’s eyes. Their rigid expressions began to move, and the doll-like girls were becoming human again. Asena stared straight at me, her gaze filled with frustration and a hint of anger. She was showing emotion. And, as expected, when I ignored it and continued talking about the weather, she shouted at me.
She told me to get out. That she couldn’t stand the noise. That everything I said was boring and she didn’t want to hear it. That she didn’t want a new family. That I should bring back her mother and father instead.
I had seen the signs of an explosion many times, but only now did it erupt. It was the first time I heard her voice. Kirsi wept silently beside her.
I approached without a word and took their hands. Asena shook me off and kept screaming, but I set aside my usual light demeanor and simply watched the sorrowful girl. I endured her curses and violence, waiting quietly. Gradually, the anger drained from Asena’s face, replaced by grief and despair. For the first time, both girls wept openly in front of me. I continued to pat their backs. These children had become important to me. Through my efforts, they had found a place in my heart. I wanted them to grow healthier with each passing day. The more I looked at them, the more I saw only children struggling in pain. These weeping girls—not the merciless figures from the novel—were the Freister twins.
I whispered to them as they cried. From now on, they could lean on me. I would support them. They only continued to weep, offering no other response. Yet from that moment, the children changed rapidly.
The next day, when I visited as usual, they asked my name. When I answered “Caiden,” Asena turned her head slightly, while Kirsi repeated the name under her breath. Now, whenever I brought a spoon to their lips, they opened their small mouths and accepted everything. As the atmosphere lightened, I offered more playful jokes. Asena always turned away, unwilling to show her expression, while Kirsi bit her lip to hold back laughter. I thought Kirsi’s smiling face was truly adorable. The fact that jokes now worked was a good sign. If they continued growing like this, perhaps I would never see the villainesses from the novel. The thought filled me with joy. Was it because I had already become their brother? Or simply the satisfaction of seeing two people happy? If these girls, who would have faced a cold future, could now live smiling lives because of me, then I would feel fulfilled.
These small, playful moments continued, and the twins gradually opened their hearts. Several more months slipped by. They grew visibly healthier. Since they accepted everything offered, their recovery was swift. Their hearts seemed to heal as well. The grief remained somewhere deep inside, but my constant, bothersome presence kept them from dwelling on it. No matter how much time passed, I cared for them with utmost devotion. They now left their beds and took walks several times. In the morning I would call, “Kirsi! Wake up and exercise! Asena! Open your eyes!” and throw open the windows to let in fresh air, stretching their legs to wake their bodies before beginning exercise. A healthy body houses a healthy mind, after all. At first they seemed reluctant, but with time they accepted the routine without complaint.
At lunch I would say, “Let’s try something a little firmer today. You can chew, can’t you, kids?” I worked to feed them healthier food. I no longer needed to spoon-feed them. Those were happy times for me as well; I, too, could eat more delicious meals. In the evening I would suggest, “Let’s go watch the sunset. We can get some fresh air. Kirsi, Asena, put on your outdoor clothes!” We went outside often. Each time, we discovered new scenery. The land where the Freister family resided was beautiful. The endless plains covered in greenery made my chest feel open, and the sun setting on the horizon moved me. Whenever the cool breeze carried the scent of fresh grass, every worry seemed to wash away. I wasn’t the only one. When I watched Asena and Kirsi resting in a daze, they too wore peaceful expressions, eyes closed as they enjoyed the wind.
At night I would say, “Good night, you two. See you tomorrow,” and gently stroke their heads. Asena and Kirsi now nodded with moist, girlish eyes before lying down to sleep. I would never forget the day Asena muttered gruffly, “You have to come tomorrow too.”
Thus, on the day marking one year since I arrived at the Freister estate, the children had fully recovered. They now left their beds completely and dined at the same table as Grandmother Liana. It was also my first time sharing a meal with her; I had always eaten with the twins. The twins apologized for the trouble they had caused during that time—two nine-year-old children offering sincere remorse. Grandmother Liana, maintaining her dignified demeanor, told them it was all right.
After the meal, the twins returned to their room first. Left alone with me, Grandmother Liana began to cry. She grasped my hand tightly with both of hers and thanked me with a vulnerable expression. Even I was moved by the sight.