Not long after Michael had finished his meal, a figure entered the servants' quarters, his back as straight as a spear. Each step seemed to thunder through the room, silencing the chatter in an instant.
An eerie stillness descended over the once lively room as the servants turned their attention to the newcomer, the tension palpable in the air.
Michael, his head bowed in contemplation, didn't notice anything until a shadow fell over the table in front of him.
He slowly raised his gaze, meeting the piercing eyes of Vaughn, the head of the estate. The older man's olive skin and white-trimmed beard framed his face as he fixed Michael with an intelligent stare.
"What is this?" Vaughn asked, gathering the bundle of parchment from the table.
"Research…" Michael muttered.
Without a word, Vaughn unfurled the stack, beginning to read the contents. His expression remained impassive as his eyes skimmed the pages.
"I see." He replied simply.
Then, in a sudden burst of heat, the papers ignited in Vaughn's hand. Michael flinched as the carefully crafted notes that had been his guide turned to ash before his eyes.
What the hell!? Does he want me to fail?
Before Michael could sink deeper into despair, Vaughn casually dusted his hands off and spoke again.
"Follow me. We'll be meeting with the Lord and the young miss soon." His voice was firm, giving no room for disagreement. He turned on his heel and began walking back the way he came.
Despite the older man's short stature, Michael quickly found himself jogging to keep up with the guy. Yet Vaughn's pace seemed as if it was steady and unhurried.
Without a word, Vaughn led him through the winding halls of the manor, eventually stepping out into the back garden. Servants, upon seeing the head of the estate, quickly resumed their work, but Michael could feel their pitying gazes on him as they passed.
It didn't help his already fragile mental state.
They soon arrived at their destination—a well-constructed white gazebo. In its center sat a round table, laden with a teapot, fruits, and light morning fare.
Two figures were already seated at the table, both familiar to Michael.
Lord Winterborne, dressed in a dark blue suit, sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping his tea. The morning sun streamed in from the side, casting a warm glow on him.
Opposite him sat the figure Michael had been dreading—his new master.
Miss Melody, dressed in a light blue and white dress, her hair tied in a single braid resting over her shoulder, was savoring a spoonful of cake. Her back was perfectly straight as she enjoyed the morning treat.
A wave of dread surged through Michael at the sight of her. Part of him longed to turn and run, but he knew that wasn't an option.
In order to achieve his distant goal of finding his mother's killers and making them pay, Michael knew he had to do more than just grow stronger. He needed to build connections. The Winterborne estate offered him an unparalleled opportunity—magic tutoring from a genius mage, free of charge.
And, with the backing of his tutor and Lord Winterborne, he might even gain entry into a reputable mage academy when he turned thirteen.
Many would sacrifice everything for even one of these opportunities, let alone all of them.
Just three years… he reminded himself.
"Ah, Vaughn, Michael, you're here," Brian said, flashing a confident, charming smile.
Melody, who had been bringing a spoonful of cake to her mouth, froze for a moment, almost dropping it onto her dress. She recovered quickly, resuming her actions.
Michael noticed this, though he wasn't sure how to interpret it.
"My lord, Miss Melody," Michael said, bowing in proper servant etiquette, while Vaughn merely nodded his head briefly in greeting.
"I trust you've had time to recover from your… previous meeting?" Lord Winterborne said, his gaze shifting between his daughter and Michael.
Michael flinched but quickly stepped forward, bowing deeply. "I apologize for my behavior yesterday, young miss. I hope we can use this opportunity to start anew."
He realized the lord had given him the chance to apologize by bringing it up first, in his presence. This would make it easier for Melody to accept the apology, leaving her little room to punish him later.
However, it seemed he had misunderstood something.
"Raise your head, young Michael," the lord's voice was stern, causing a jolt of surprise.
Not daring to disobey, Michael quickly lifted his head, casting a puzzled glance toward Lord Winterborne.
"Tell me, who taught you chore magic as you grew up?"
The question only deepened his confusion. After a moment of thought, he couldn't find a reason to lie.
"It was my mother…" he said, a small, wistful smile forming on his lips. "It took me over a year to master the incantations, but she was so kind and patient with me."
"If it wasn't for my lack of talent and comprehension…" His voice trailed off, his thoughts wandering back to his mother.
Unbeknownst to Michael, Melody shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. His words seemed to strike a chord deep within her.
"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Lord Winterborne said, nodding in approval. "I would have liked to meet her."
Michael nodded, grateful for the lord's kind words.
"Michael…"
A soft voice called to him, barely a whisper. He turned, surprised to see Melody standing now, her head lowered as she fidgeted nervously.
"Y-Yes, young miss?" he asked, a touch of awkwardness creeping into his tone.
She stood there for a while, thickening the already uncomfortable atmosphere.
Just as Michael was about to ask the lord what was wrong with his daughter, Melody raised her head. A trail of wet tears streaked down her cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry for insulting your mom!" she cried, her blue eyes glistening like ripples upon the surface of a lake. "Please forgive my impertinence…"
Her vulnerability was both unexpected and pitiful. Even without knowing her for long, Michael could feel her sincerity radiating towards him.
But only one word came to his mind.
Huh?