Allen sat at his desk, the sheet of paper listing the names from the Teleport Incident lying before him.
He wasn't looking at the desk, though—his gaze was turned to the window.
On the sill stood a song dove, white-bellied and black-backed.
It had come cloaked in the night.
Allen watched it for a while, listening to its "song."
He pressed his fingers to his temple, then looked back down at the paper.
The candlelight wavered.
The ink was clear.
Where the name "Hilda" had once been written, it had been crossed out.
Now, her name sat beneath those of Roxy and Sylphy.
He had already decided—he would save the woman who, to his body's original self, was his mother.
And the truth was, this wasn't a new addition.
It had been written three months ago.
Some day, after his relationship with Eris had steadily warmed, and after Sylphy had been invited several times to take tea with her alone—
The decision had simply come naturally.
In the original story, his memories of Hilda had always been… thin. Like a sheet of paper.
But she wasn't like that. She was warm, kind, and gentle—the sort of person one instinctively wanted to draw close to.
And once that thought had taken root, he'd written her name down.
Yet—
It was worth noting—
Even now, he couldn't decide if this had anything to do with his Silent Sword returning to form.
Because three months ago, with daily practice, he'd already seen signs of recovery.
And writing her name had come after that.
Later, in sword lessons, he had mentioned the Silent Sword to Ghislane. Her conclusion—Allen's regained sharpness was due to skill honed through steady training, compensating for what he'd lost in raw talent, and had nothing to do with his "stagnant" desires.
Allen frowned at Hilda's name.
So my earlier assumption was wrong? Saving Hilda isn't tied to my dulled sword-heart? Then… is this all just because I can't respond to Sylphy's feelings?
The smoky letters appeared before his eyes.
[Oh? Is that what you think?]
Isn't it?
The letters danced.
[Of course not~]
Allen shook his head, refusing to humor the system that always butted in when he thought about such things. His gaze narrowed.
Hilda…
If I'm right about today—
She may have already realized that "I" am her child.
When it came to noble etiquette, my later corrections must have seemed too deliberate. And my earlier hasty explanation was full of holes.
But she didn't call me out on it.
Allen's eyes lowered to her name.
After a long moment, he pulled open a drawer and took out another sheet of paper.
Three lines were written there:
Respond to Hilda's expectations — (blank)
Respond to Sylphy's expectations — (blank)
Respond to Ghislane's expectations — Light Sword.
Silence stretched.
Allen sighed, ruffling his hair roughly.
The system's smoky script reappeared, pulsing with amusement, ready to say something—only to be waved away by Allen's hand.
He turned his head toward the door.
It was utterly still.
After a moment, Allen slid all the papers back into the drawer, locked it, and stood.
He crossed the room to the door.
His hand closed on the knob.
Creaaak.
The door opened.
Outside—no one.
——
One minute earlier.
Sylphy stood outside Allen's door.
Her fingers hovered just five centimeters from the wood.
After a moment, she silently shook her head and drew her hand back.
Lowering her gaze to her bare feet, she padded down the carpeted hall toward her own room.
Scenes from the evening flickered through her mind—faces, words, feelings—
Until they froze on Hilda's gentle, airy words:
"Good night, Allen."
She stopped, a chill seeping up from her soles.
She was no longer standing on carpet.
She turned her head.
Instead of her own door, she faced a staircase, its steps covered with a runner.
Sylphy blinked, then glanced back—
The hallway stretched deep behind her.
Somehow, she had wandered to its end, where there was no carpet.
She looked again at the stairs—
And this time, didn't hesitate.
She climbed.
Dim light from the sconces cast soft shadows; the Boreas estate was hushed in the night.
Only her own footsteps broke the silence.
It wasn't long before she reached the fourth floor.
A familiar path.
She had walked it countless times over the past half year—
The route to Hilda's bedroom for an evening tea invitation.
Her thoughts drifted as she turned down the corridor.
Ahead lay a covered walkway; beyond it was the residential wing.
Hilda's room was the first around the corner.
This was the Boreas family's private domain—so much so that even Eris, Sauros, and Philip's bedrooms were on different floors, each with adjoining rooms for their beastfolk maids.
Space was one reason; "privacy," as Hilda had once put it with a smile, was another—though Sylphy had never quite understood what she meant.
She also knew that sometimes Sauros slept in a room atop the high tower, while Philip often stayed in his study.
Would Lord Philip be in his bedroom tonight?
Sylphy stopped just short of the corner.
She sighed and shook her head.
What am I doing? Even if Lady Hilda said I could come to her anytime… visiting this late is too abrupt.
She turned to leave—
Clink.
She froze, turning her head sharply.
Distant, but clear—the sound of something breaking.
From Hilda's room.
Without hesitation, Sylphy sprinted toward the corner—
Only to halt suddenly.
Standing in the hallway ahead, by the stairs, was Lill the cat-eared maid.
She turned her head toward Sylphy, tail flicking.
Sylphy stiffened. She began to turn away, to pretend she'd seen nothing—
When Lill spoke.
"Miss Sylphy?"
"Ah? I… I was just—"
Sylphy turned fully, fumbling for an excuse—
But Lill lifted a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.
The air stilled.
Sylphy blinked in surprise, not yet sure what Lill meant—
When she heard it.
From the bedroom ahead, faint but unmistakable—
Raised voices.
Bang.
Something else hit the floor.
Shattered.
(End of Chapter)
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