Chapter 140
One day in the winter of his third year in the middle school division, Isaac spotted Cyril Ashley studying in the library and stopped.
If that had been all, he probably wouldn’t have spoken to him, but he was curious about the book Cyril had open.
Cyril was reading a book on magic—one geared more toward practical use.
"That's quite a difficult-looking book you're reading."
Cyril's shoulders jumped, and he looked up.
"Your Highness!"
Cyril even rose from his chair to greet him. Isaac stopped him with one hand and sat down in the seat beside him.
Isaac loved magic. Seeing a book on magic made his heart leap, and made him want to read and learn more. But his position wouldn’t allow it.
If he were here not as the second prince, but as Isaac Walker, might there have been a future where he studied magic alongside Cyril? Isaac shut away that impossible future and pasted Felix’s smile onto his face.
"Come to think of it, you chose Introductory Magic as one of your elective courses, didn’t you?"
"Y-yes! I’m honored you remembered."
Cyril’s lips twitched.
It was clear he was genuinely honored and delighted from the bottom of his heart.
Isaac didn’t keep track of every student’s elective courses. He did, however, always know the grades and electives of potential student council members, as well as the top students in each elective.
Cyril Ashley had been one of the top students in the middle school magic classes, if Isaac remembered correctly.
(The Ashleys are related to the Harveys, the family the 〈Star-Reading Witch〉 was born into... It’s a lineage prone to producing people with large magical reserves.)
Cyril was no exception; he was probably blessed with a large reserve of magic.
"What kind of magic are you good at?"
"My strongest attribute is ice."
"Oh? That’s a rare attribute."
At such a small comment, Cyril’s face lit up, and he struggled to keep his expression from breaking into a delighted smile.
From the moment he’d singled Cyril out as a candidate for the student council, Isaac had investigated his circumstances.
His former name was Cyril Wayne. He’d earned excellent grades at a local school, but had few friends because of his father.
He was serious and diligent.
He’d been isolated from those around him immediately after transferring to Serendia Academy, but apparently he’d gradually begun interacting with his classmates after the day Isaac intervened in his dispute with Elliot.
Since he had good grades, classmates who struggled with their studies sometimes relied on him.
(...Still, having Lady Claudia Ashley as his stepsister must make life difficult for him.)
Claudia was a brilliant young woman descended from the true line of the 〈House of Scholars〉, with enough knowledge to be called a 〈Walking Library〉.
Some people openly mocked Cyril by comparing him with Claudia. He probably felt inferior to her himself.
Cyril murmured,
"I hope to be of help to my adoptive father in the field of magic, where Claudia isn’t as skilled."
(...Hm?)
Isaac knew the grades of every student council candidate. Lady Claudia Ashley, Cyril’s stepsister, was among them.
Claudia’s magical reserves should be no less than Cyril’s.
More than that, Isaac had seen her reading books on magic several times.
"Lady Claudia isn’t good at magic?"
"Yes. That’s what she told me. She said she has no talent for practical magic, and that studying the theory is enough."
Just as Isaac began to suspect something, the pressure of the gaze he’d felt since approaching Cyril’s seat intensified.
Suppressing a wry smile at the gaze piercing his back, Isaac replied cheerfully,
"I see. You’re trying to help Marquis Hioone in your own way."
Cyril smiled bashfully, blushing all the way to his ears.
Isaac was gradually learning how to handle Cyril.
Cyril was happier when Isaac respected his desire to be of use to his adoptive father than when he praised Cyril’s own abilities. In that sense, the story of 〈Bion Who Brings Happiness〉 had apparently been remarkably effective.
"Having someone as capable as you around is a great comfort to me, as someone who will one day bear the future of this country."
Even Isaac thought his own words sounded hollow.
And yet Cyril was already looking at him with sparkling, adoring eyes.
One more push, Isaac thought, his heart cool.
"I have high hopes for you, Cyril Ashley."
"—Yes, Your Highness!"
Isaac said, "I’ll be going now," rose, and walked quietly between the library shelves.
Pretending to head for the exit, he circled around behind the shelves, where the owner of the gaze he’d felt all along glared at him with narrowed eyes.
"Did I say something unnecessary to you, Lady Claudia Ashley?"
"………………"
Claudia said nothing.
Her beautiful face, far too intense for a young girl, was expressionless, but Isaac could sense the quiet anger beneath it.
The reason was probably that he’d touched on Claudia’s talent for magic.
"You were hiding your talent for magic for your brother’s sake, weren’t you?"
At Isaac’s quiet question, Claudia’s expression broke, and she looked so anguished she might take her own life.
"...What an unpleasant misunderstanding. That makes me sound like some stupid little sister who, because she loves her big brother so much, pities him for suffering from an inferiority complex toward her, and hides her talent out of pity without even realizing it."
I didn’t go that far.
As Isaac struggled to find a reply, Claudia tossed her long black hair back and spat,
"...It’s just a pain. He always wants to compete with me."
Claudia muttered under her breath and didn’t look Isaac in the eye even once after she started speaking.
Her behavior was hardly appropriate toward the second prince, but she probably intended to insist it was all just a private mutter.
Isaac was certain that if he reprimanded her for it, she’d offer him nothing but the thinnest veneer of polite words as "Your Highness."
Claudia quietly slipped past Isaac and murmured,
"...You’ll surely regret saying you 'have high hopes' for him... He’ll do something reckless."
It was several months before Isaac understood what she meant.
It was when Cyril Ashley, pushing himself to the limit in his magical training, developed Excessive Magic Absorption Syndrome after a grueling regimen.
＊ ＊ ＊
"........"
Forced to stay in the hospital, Cyril rolled over in bed and clutched his pounding head. Chanting a spell, he pointed with a trembling finger at the basin beside the bed.
Ice created by magic clattered into the basin. Using up some of his magic that way eased his headache a little.
Even so, his whole body felt feverish, and it was painful just to sit up.
(I want to use up a little more magic...)
He began a slightly longer chant to make more ice, but lost control of his magic. The basin froze solid. He’d messed up.
(How long has it been since I developed Excessive Magic Absorption Syndrome...?)
His sense of the date had become completely muddled, but it felt like nearly a month had passed.
He shouldn’t be lying in bed here. He had to study. He wanted to improve his magic even more.
(My adoptive father had high hopes for me... His Highness said he had high hopes for me, too... I have to live up to them...)
The harder Cyril tried to live up to their expectations, the more he understood that he was only spinning his wheels.
He couldn’t catch up to Claudia in his studies, and when he tried to learn magic, he developed Excessive Magic Absorption Syndrome.
Even so, Cyril knew no way to keep going except to desperately give it his all.
(What if my adoptive father gives up on me like this...)
A chill ran down his spine with fear.
If Marquis Hioone gave up on him and cast him out of the Ashley family, where would Cyril go?
Cyril wasn’t sure his mother back home would welcome him.
—You’re not my son anymore, are you?
What if his mother said that to him?
Imagining his mother looking at him coldly, his insides grew heavy. His eyes burned. His head throbbed.
He sniffled and burrowed beneath the blanket. Then he heard a knock at the hospital-room door. It was too early for the doctor’s rounds.
He sluggishly peered through a gap in the blanket and saw Marquis Hioone approaching him at a brisk pace.
Cyril hurriedly tried to get out of bed, but Marquis Hioone stopped him.
"You mustn’t get up yet."
Marquis Hioone looked at the basin frozen solid and frowned. "It must be quite bad."
At that expression, Cyril completely panicked.
He was disappointed in me. He’d given up on me. I’d let him down. He was going to abandon me.
"—I’m so sorry!"
Cyril’s hair flying wildly, he clung desperately to Marquis Hioone.
"I’m all right now! I can go back to class starting tomorrow, and I’ll get first place in the year on the next exam, so... so..."
The words "Please don’t abandon me" always stuck in Cyril’s throat, impossible to say.
Even now, all he could do was open and close his mouth pathetically.
Marquis Hioone spoke to him in a firm voice.
"That’s not what you need. What you need now is proper treatment and rest. Your studies can come afterward."
Cyril panted raggedly, repeating Marquis Hioone’s words in his mind.
Then he tried to think through the feverish haze.
(...He hasn’t given up on me?)
"I’m sorry I was late coming to visit. I had to go to the capital to have this made, and it took some time."
Marquis Hioone took something small from his pocket and placed it in Cyril’s palm.
It was a gold filigree brooch set with a blue gemstone.
As he held it, he felt the unpleasant heat trapped throughout his body gradually fade.
"What is this...?"
"Is this your first time seeing a magic tool? Apparently, it absorbs and releases magic. I was told it responds to its owner’s attribute and releases it as a simple spell... I see, in your case it takes the form of cold air. I’m curious what it would have done with another attribute."
Magic tools were things ordinary people could never hope to obtain. They were so expensive that one could easily cost as much as a house.
Cyril immediately turned pale.
"I-I can’t accept this..."
"Why not?"
"I’m not... a person worthy of such a fine magic tool."
"'A person worthy'—that’s a difficult thing to define."
Marquis Hioone grunted thoughtfully and stroked his mustache with a finger.
Then he fixed his lapis-blue eyes on Cyril.
"What do you think a 〈Scholar〉 is? Someone who knows a great many things? A person of great learning and refinement?"
To Cyril, the word 〈Scholar〉 simply meant his adoptive father and Claudia.
But he felt that answering with his own understanding would be wrong, and faltered. Marquis Hioone spoke quietly.
"There are many definitions of a 〈Scholar〉, but... I believe a 〈Scholar〉 is someone who never stops learning."
Cyril looked up sharply, and Marquis Hioone gave him a single nod.
Then he gently folded Cyril’s fingers around the brooch.
"Your efforts to keep learning deserve to be rewarded. Think of this as proof of that."
He’d spun his wheels, failed to get the results he wanted, and caused trouble for others.
Was he allowed to be forgiven? Was he allowed to accept this brooch? Not all the anxiety weighing on his heart had disappeared.
Even so, one day, he wanted to stand tall and say he was a member of the 〈House of Scholars〉.
Cyril felt that strongly.
"You still have a long life ahead of you. Don’t rush. Keep learning at your own pace."
Cyril gripped the brooch tightly and nodded again and again.
The tears that spilled over dripped onto the hand holding the brooch.
Marquis Hioone placed a handkerchief in Cyril’s hand and spoke with a grave expression.
"Of course, I appreciate your efforts, but I’ll be giving you a thorough scolding afterward for overdoing it. My scoldings are long, so be prepared."
His adoptive father’s scoldings were long, but never frightening.
Even though it was supposed to be a scolding, he always went off on tangents, and before long they’d be discussing and analyzing how to improve things from then on.