Chapter 58: How to Care for a Child

Chapter 58: How to Care for a Child The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, its dying light painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and blood orange, when I finally reached the dormitory gates. The Academy’s towering spires cast long, skeletal shadows across the cobblestone paths, and their stained-glass windows glowed with the last embers of twilight, like the watchful eyes of ancient, sleeping beasts. I stepped into the cool, echoing silence of the hall, the heavy oak door closing softly behind me, shutting out the last vestiges of the day. My coat was dusted with dried leaves from my walk through the gardens, and my boots, still caked with the grime of the training grounds, echoed across the polished marble floor as I walked toward my quarters. The day had been a long, draining affair—a whirlwind of political maneuvering, veiled threats, and the constant, gnawing pressure of my own ambition. "Master," a soft, familiar voice called out, pulling me from my thoughts. Masha, my ever-efficient maid, stood by the entrance of my room, a silent, waiting sentinel. Her usual uniform was immaculate, her silver hair tied back in a loose, practical braid. Her eyes, usually so wide with a nervous energy, were calm and unreadable as always, her posture a testament to a quiet, unyielding strength I was only just beginning to appreciate. "Dinner is ready," she said, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet hall. "You may take a shower while I prepare the table." I nodded, a wave of weariness washing over me as I let the day’s tension roll off my shoulders. "Fine." By the time I returned, the steam from the hot bath still clinging to my skin and my hair damp against my neck, the dining table in my suite was already set. Two plates, two glasses, two sets of polished silver cutlery. She no longer insisted on standing behind me like some background figure, a silent servant in my solitary drama. We’d been eating together lately—not by her choice at first, of course. She had refused, her face a mask of horrified propriety, when I had initially suggested it. It was a breach of protocol, a violation of the sacred boundaries between master and servant. So I had forced the habit, a small, selfish act of rebellion against the lonely, echoing silence of my new life. And now? It felt almost normal. As I took my seat, Masha lifted the heavy, silver lid from the main platter, revealing a perfectly roasted slab of thunderbeast steak, its juices sizzling, surrounded by a colorful medley of steamed vegetables and a loaf of warm, crusty bread. A bowl of fragrant citrus broth steamed beside the platter, its scent a welcome comfort. "Tonight’s menu is simple," she said, her voice even. "But balanced. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You need to replenish your strength." I took a bite of the steak without comment. It was tender, perfectly cooked, and infused with a subtle blend of herbs that spoke of a surprising culinary skill. She sat across from me, folding her hands in her lap for a moment before picking up her own fork. Then came her observation. "You arrived late today, Master." I arched a brow mid-chew. "You keeping tabs on me now?" She gave a small, almost imperceptible pout. "Let me finish. I wasn’t accusing. I was just... informing." "Sounds like something a wife would say," I muttered, wiping my mouth with a napkin. Her eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I—what? No! That’s not—" I smirked, enjoying her rare moment of flustered vulnerability. "Relax. What happened while I was out?" She regained her composure with a practiced ease, her expression turning serious once more. "There were three visitors today," she listed calmly. "Rin Elvareth, Juliana Vance... and Lucielle Crimson. As usual." That got my attention. I set my glass down, the fine crystal ringing softly in the quiet room. "Rin and Juliana?" "Yes. They waited in the foyer for about twenty minutes. They didn’t state their purpose, but they seemed... concerned. Lucielle, however, stayed for over an hour. She always does." I leaned back in my chair, my brows furrowing in thought. Lucielle was expected—persistent, loyal, and traditional to a fault. Her daily, fruitless visits were a constant, painful reminder of a life I had left behind. But Rin and Juliana? "Those two are wildcards," I muttered. "I don’t like surprises from people like them." Masha let out a small, quiet sigh. "You should talk to your sister, Ashen. She’s your own blood. She comes every single day, hoping for just a glimpse of you. Do you know how she looks when I have to tell her you’re not here?" I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to know. "She leaves with tears in her eyes," Masha continued, her voice soft but insistent. "And she never complains. She never stops. You push her away, and yet she keeps coming back, day after day." I picked up my fork again, my appetite suddenly gone. "Guilt-tripping me won’t help, Masha." "She doesn’t do it to make you feel guilty," Masha replied softly, her gaze steady and unwavering. "She does it because she still sees you as her brother. The boy she used to protect." "...That boy’s gone." A heavy silence settled between us, thick with the weight of unspoken words and a shared, painful history that was not my own. Finally, I sighed, the sound loud in the quiet room, and changed the topic. "Do you have any sense of men’s fashion?" She blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. "Pardon?" "I need something formal. I’m attending an auction tomorrow evening." Her eyes lit with a flicker of curiosity. "With a friend?" I nodded. "Yeah." "You... you made a friend?" The surprise in her voice was genuine, and strangely endearing. "Shocking, I know." She tilted her head, a small, curious smile playing on her lips. "Who is it?" "Layla." Her eyes widened. "Layla Nowa? The Student Council President?" I nodded again. She stared at me, her mind clearly racing. "Is this... a date?" "Why does everyone assume that?" I muttered, a wave of irritation washing over me. "No. It’s not a date." "But you’re going to an evening auction, with a noble girl of her standing, dressed formally..." I leaned forward, my expression serious. "Masha. I am going with her for purely strategic reasons. She is a shield. Her status, her presence, will draw attention away from me. The item I intend to purchase is dangerous—possibly game-changing. I need to avoid suspicion, and I need to ensure I have enough financial coverage if the bidding gets out of hand." "Ah," she said, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze analytical. "So, you’re using her?" "I’m recruiting her," I corrected. She smirked. "Spoken like a true war general." "I’m fighting a war," I replied, my voice a low murmur. "It’s just not on a battlefield." "Well," she said, standing with a newfound sense of purpose. "I’ll prepare a set. Black velvet, perhaps, with a silver-trim overcoat. Understated but refined. It will command respect without drawing unnecessary attention." "Good. Make sure it fits the tone. Elegant, but... unapproachable." "Like you," she said under her breath. "What was that?" "Nothing, Master." As she began to clear the plates, she asked, "What time are you leaving?" "Tomorrow evening. The auction begins at sundown." She nodded. "Then I’ll have everything ready for you before then." I stood, ready to retreat to the solitude of my room. Just as I reached the doorway, I paused. "...Thanks." "For what?" she asked, turning to face me, a clean plate in her hand. "For the food. And for the clothes." She smiled, a genuine, warm expression that seemed to light up the entire room. "And for reminding you about Lucielle?" I didn’t respond. But I didn’t deny it either. The dishes were cleaned, the kitchen quiet, and the low, magical hum of the mana lamps buzzed softly across the high ceiling of the dorm suite. I leaned back on the plush lounge chair in the common room, my arms crossed, watching as Masha finished wiping the last of the silver cutlery with a near-ritualistic precision. She always moved like that—efficient, but never hurried. Not a single gesture wasted. Not even when she was irritated with me. "You’re meticulous as ever," I remarked, breaking the comfortable silence. She placed the soft, white cloth down and turned, her silver braid swaying gently. "Of course. If I don’t keep things in order, you’d live like a cave beast." "Harsh," I muttered. "I’m not that bad." "You left your mud-caked coat draped across a priceless, first-edition spellbook on the bookshelf," she pointed out, walking past me to return the cutlery to its velvet-lined drawer. "...It needed to air out." "And your boots are still caked in dried mud from the training grounds. The ’airing out’ excuse doesn’t apply there." I gave her a sideways glance. "You’ve gotten bolder." She looked smug. "Maybe. Or maybe I just stopped pretending you’re scary." "Tch." Masha poured herself a cup of fragrant, steaming tea and sat in the armchair across from me. A faint, comfortable silence settled between us, the kind that can only exist between people who are used to one another’s presence, who have seen each other at their best and their worst. "Are you nervous about the auction?" she asked, stirring her tea slowly. I thought for a moment. "No. Just calculating variables." "Mm." She took a slow, deliberate sip. "Do you expect trouble?" "Possibly," I said. "But not from the Academy. The other attendees... they may not be simple merchants." "You think the item you’re after will attract underground interest?" "More than that," I said, my voice dropping low. "If someone else there realizes what that sword truly is—its real origin—then I might not be the only one willing to kill for it." Masha set her cup down, her expression serious now. "Will Layla be enough to deflect that kind of suspicion?" "I’ll have to make her enough," I replied. "Besides, she’s not just a noble. She’s the current Student Council President. She’s built for these kinds of high-stakes appearances." Masha studied me for a moment, then a slow, knowing smirk spread across her face. "You do know how to choose your bait." I chuckled. "Harsh again. Are you jealous?" She blushed lightly, a faint, rosy color that was almost invisible in the dim light. "Me? Of that uptight ice princess? Never." I leaned forward slightly, my own smirk widening. "You just called her uptight. I think that’s the first time you’ve insulted someone who isn’t me." "Don’t get used to it," she said, standing up with her cup. "You’re still the primary target of my scorn." I stood as well, stretching my aching muscles. "Just be sure the outfit’s ready. I’d rather not show up looking like a third-rate merchant." Masha raised an eyebrow. "You’re not even second-rate yet, Master." I laughed softly, then turned to head to my room. "Goodnight, Masha." "Goodnight... Ashen." The use of my name, instead of the formal ’Master,’ lingered in the air between us. A soft, unexpected flicker of warmth stirred at the edge of my chest. But I didn’t turn back. The next morning came with a steady, insistent knock on my door. I pulled myself from the sheets and opened it. Masha stood there with a freshly pressed uniform folded neatly over her arm, her hair already tied back, her eyes sharp and clear as ever. "Breakfast is ready," she said. "And your council uniform is pressed." "Appreciated." After a quick wash and a slightly-too-formal breakfast, I dressed and walked with her toward the dorm exit. Just as I stepped out into the cool morning air, she handed me a sealed scroll. "What’s this?" "Your official authorization to leave the Academy grounds for the auction," she said. "I delivered your request to Layla’s personal maid last night, and they expedited the response." I nodded, impressed by her efficiency. "Efficient." "You’re welcome," she said, bowing slightly. "Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone," I added, a teasing glint in my eyes. She rolled her eyes. "Please. I’ll be celebrating the silence." The Academy was alive with a vibrant, chaotic energy when I arrived. Banners, bearing the crests of the various noble houses and student factions, had started to go up, their bright colors a stark contrast to the ancient, gray stone of the Academy walls. Small groups of students practiced intricate choreography in the garden spaces, while others sparred under the watchful eyes of their instructors. The cultural fest was more than just a party; it was a political showpiece of immense importance. Nobles, merchants, foreign dignitaries. All watching. I walked the central path, wearing the deep navy and gold trim of my student council uniform. Heads turned as I passed. Some students bowed their heads in respect. Others whispered behind their hands, their eyes a mixture of fear, awe, and envy. "Look, that’s Ashen..." "The Phoenix Summoner..." "Didn’t he go toe-to-toe with Rin and win...?" "Is it true he’s attending the festival with three different girls on three different days?" I ignored all of it. Gossip didn’t matter. Only power did. Inside the classroom building, the hallways were bustling with students rushing to their next lecture. I stepped into my classroom just as the instructor was finishing attendance. "Crimson," the professor said, her voice dry. "Barely on time again." I gave a half-hearted salute. "It’s still ’on time’ if I’m not late, isn’t it?" She sighed, a sound of profound weariness. "Take your seat." As I walked to my place, Sasha waved from her desk, a tiny, shy smile on her lips. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes lingered on me a little longer than usual. Eren leaned over from the seat behind me and whispered, "You really going with three girls to the fest? What are you, a harem protagonist?" "Jealous?" I whispered back without turning around. Noora smacked Eren’s arm and glared at both of us. "Focus. The Headmaster is visiting today for evaluations." Sasha leaned over slightly. "You remembered to bring your authorization scroll, right?" I nodded. "Got it this morning." She smiled, a look of genuine relief on her face. "Good. I’ll be waiting for updates after the auction. Don’t get stabbed." "If I do," I said dryly, "I’ll make sure to bleed on someone deserving." The lecture began shortly after, but my mind drifted, my thoughts a thousand miles away. Today would be quiet. Tonight would not.