Some time later, Michael found himself observing Madame Wright as she guided Melody through her piano lesson. The young girl was quite advanced, but it was clear that there was a considerable gap between her and the teacher.
Each note she played—while accurate—lacked the grace and fluidity of Madame Wright's playing.
Of course, Michael wasn't surprised.
Time seemed to drag on as he stood nearby. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he felt the discomfort of standing for so long.
"Young Michael, could you fetch us some tea?" Madame Wright's sing-song voice reached his ears, snapping him from his thoughts.
"Of course," Michael replied, relieved to have something to do.
He made his way to the kitchen to brew a batch of tea, using his rudimentary chore magic to heat the pot of water. With his higher-quality mana, the water boiled faster than he was accustomed to.
As he watched the water bubble, overflowing from the ceramic pot, his mind wandered.
I need to learn more about magic…
Magic had always fascinated him, especially as a child. But he had resigned himself to the fact that he would never experience its wonders, given his initial weakness as a mage.
Michael had thought he had accepted his fate—accepted his weakness. But after receiving a second chance, he realized that wasn't the case. Only after ascending did his true feelings surface.
A bitter taste filled his mouth. The one person he most wanted to share his newfound power with was his mother—the only person who had truly understood him. But now, that was impossible.
While he was treated well at the Winterborne estate, there was one thing that no one could ever know: his true identity. More importantly, the fact that he had once been the weakest white-ringed mage.
Michael wasn't naive; he knew the real reason for his current treatment was his so-called potential. Sure, Lord and Lady Winterborne were kind, but would their kindness have extended this far if he still wore a single white ring?
The answer was clear.
Nobles—even the virtuous ones—had their own motives. Everything they did was measured by what benefits it could bring. Michael understood this all too well.
Lord Winterborne was no different. In their first dinner together, he had offered Michael a place within his family, essentially adopting him, with the intention of grooming him as a successor.
The lord needed an heir, a male with strength to consolidate the family's power.
In noble circles, no matter how powerful the women were, it was still a patriarchal society. Women were married off to other noble houses, never the other way around.
So when Michael had rejected the offer, Lord and Lady Winterborne had scrambled for alternatives, eventually offering him work and a place to stay. It sounded noble on the surface, but when Michael thought about his current role as Melody's personal butler, he began to have doubts.
Melody's attitude had completely changed since the other day. There is no way they aren't plotting something, he thought silently.
He recalled Madame Wright's question, asking if they were betrothed. While it might have sounded like a playful jest, Melody's reaction had been unexpected.
The old Melody would have likely scoffed at the suggestion and denied it with a fiery anger.
Is that what they're planning? To marry me into the family through Melody?
It made sense.
Since he was no longer a noble, Michael had no established family name or household—at least by noble society's standards. If he were to marry Melody, it would mean marrying into the Winterborne house.
The Lord would secure his powerful mage, while still keeping his daughter in the family.
The realization of this theory sent a chill down his spine.
How could I have been so stupid? Michael scolded himself, his fists clenching tightly.
Back at the Aurelius household, he had been too weak and insignificant to be used as a pawn. But that didn't mean he wasn't aware there were moves being made in both the light and the shadows.
His weakness had also kept him from being seen as a threat. Ironically, the one thing he'd always hated about himself had ended up saving him.
"I think the water is boiled," a feminine voice called out, laced with amusement.
Michael flinched, his head snapping toward the sound. "Ah, yes. Forgive me, Madame, I was daydreaming," he admitted, apologizing.
"It's no matter," she replied dismissively, her footsteps drawing nearer. "I haven't seen you around the estate before. Are you newly employed?"
"Yes, I was fortunate enough to be taken in by the lord and lady," Michael said, collecting the pot and teacups and placing them on a wooden tray.
"Mmm, Mary and Brian are very kind. You're quite lucky," she added. "Miss Melody seems to have taken a shine to you as well," her voice laced with a subtle teasing, her intentions obvious.
If it had been before his revelation, Michael might have felt embarrassed. But not now. He simply turned to her with a small smile. "Shall we have tea in the garden?"
"Sure," Madame Wright replied, "but wait a moment."
The woman leaned over and grabbed a ceramic pot, placing it onto his tray. "Melody has quite the sweet tooth. It's better to bring the sugar cubes along."
"I'll keep that in mind for the future."
The two returned to find Melody playing a piece, her sheet music propped up in front of her. The strokes sounded a little mechanical, but it was still pleasant to the ear.
Upon their arrival, she turned, her blue eyes briefly meeting Michael's before she looked away evasively. That simple action only strengthened his suspicion that his theory was true.
After setting the wooden tray on the outdoor table, Michael worked on steeping the tea leaves, though his mind was far from focused. It was only after hearing the music stop that he remembered what he was doing.
He poured the tea into two separate cups as Melody and Madame Wright sat down before stepping aside, as a butler should.
Madame Wright was the first to sip her tea, her expression impassive. But Michael caught the slight twitch of her lips before she set the cup back down.
Melody, on the other hand, placed six sugar cubes into her tea, one after another. Michael couldn't help but stare incredulously. Then, the girl gracefully lifted the cup to her mouth, tasting it.
"PFFFT!"
The tea was spat straight out, a disgusted expression quickly overtaking her face.
Here it comes…
Michael watched her carefully, waiting for the anger to follow. But after a few moments, it didn't come. The girl set the cup down silently, then dabbed her lips with a napkin.
Seeing this, Michael's frown deepened.
"Was the tea not to your liking, Melody?" he asked, his tone carrying a feigned concern.
"I-It's fine… Just a little bitter," she replied meekly.
That reaction alone was enough to confirm it—at least in his mind. Whatever plans the lord and lady had, Melody was in on them. Michael's heart hardened as he walked up to the table, collecting the teacups.
"My apologies. It seems I steeped the tea for too long. I'll make a fresh batch," he said, quickly leaving the area.