My parents arrived two days after I entered the royal capital.
Not dramatically.
Not with fanfare.
Just… normally.
The guards at the inner gate straightened the moment Amane stepped down from the carriage.
"Swordmaster Amane. Lady Alisa. Welcome back."
Father nodded once. "Still alive, I see."
"…Yes, sir."
Mother sighed. "You don't have to scare them every time."
"I do," he replied calmly. "It keeps standards high."
I stood there watching this like an outsider.
They fit here far too easily, I thought.
Mother noticed me first, of course.
"Rio."
That was all she said before pulling me into an embrace. Not frantic, not panicked—just firm, grounding.
"You didn't even send a proper letter," she muttered.
"I sent one," I protested. "It just… didn't include every detail."
"That's what worries me."
Father stepped closer, hands folded behind his back, eyes scanning me head to toe.
"…You're standing straighter," he said.
"That's your takeaway?"
"It's a good one."
Despite myself, I smiled.
We were escorted inside without delay. Servants greeted my parents by name. No one stared. No one whispered. This wasn't their first time here—and it showed.
Once seated, the inevitable happened.
"So," Mother said, folding her hands neatly. "Tell us what actually happened on the road."
I told them.
Not like a heroic tale.
Not like a disaster either.
Just the facts.
An attack. Poor timing. A situation that couldn't be ignored.
Father snorted halfway through. "Let me guess. By the time the story reached the capital, you'd single-handedly wiped out an army."
"…Apparently," I admitted.
Mother pinched the bridge of her nose. "I knew it."
"You're fine," Father concluded. "A little unlucky. A little stubborn. Sounds about right."
That's it? I thought. No lecture?
Mother sighed. "I don't like it. But I understand."
That unsettled me more than anger would have.
---
Later that day, King Edward received us privately.
Publicly, it was formal. Proper bows. Proper distance.
Privately—
"Still throwing your son into trouble already?" the King said, arms crossed.
"I didn't throw him," Father replied. "He walked in."
"Just like you used to."
"I survived."
"Barely."
"That's survival."
Mother cleared her throat pointedly.
The King smiled faintly. "Lady Alisa. Still keeping him in line?"
"I try," she said politely. "Results vary."
Father shrugged. "I'm disciplined. Just not obedient."
"You were never obedient," the King said. "That's why you were useful."
Their exchange went on like that—five, maybe six lines. Short. Familiar. Easy.
I stood there quietly.
So this is what childhood friends look like after becoming a king and a swordmaster, I thought.
Annoyingly normal.
---
The ceremony was announced the next morning.
I stood still while servants adjusted my clothes, resisting the urge to tug at the unfamiliar fabric.
"This is excessive," I muttered.
"You look like you're attending your own execution," Tesselia said from behind me.
I turned. "You enjoy this far too much."
"You're wearing noble attire," she replied. "It's rare to see you this uncomfortable."
"That's because I am uncomfortable."
She leaned against the wall. "Relax. It's just a ceremony."
"That's what worries me."
She smiled—briefly. "You'll survive. Probably."
---
The court was already full when I entered.
Rows of nobles. Controlled murmurs. Measured glances.
King Edward sat upon the throne. Queen Valeria beside him, composed and commanding. Queen Isolde slightly behind, her expression warm but watchful.
I knelt when ordered.
The King stood.
"Rio," he began, voice steady, unhurried. "You acted during an incident that threatened civilians within this kingdom's borders."
Simple. Direct.
"You did not escalate the situation. You did not pursue unnecessary conflict. You prevented loss."
A murmur spread.
Then—
"Your Majesty."
A noble stepped forward. Bowed.
"While commendable, surely such actions warrant recognition, not elevation."
Another voice followed. "This is a single incident."
"A dangerous precedent."
The objections were… restrained. Controlled. But clear.
I stood there, heat creeping up my neck.
This is getting awkward, I thought.
The King raised one hand.
Silence.
"You are correct," he said calmly. "This is not about a single incident."
The nobles stiffened.
"This is about reliability," he continued. "About judgment. About knowing when power is used—and when it is withheld."
He scanned the room.
"If any among you believe noble titles exist solely to reward heritage, you misunderstand their purpose."
No shouting. No anger.
Just authority.
"For that reason," he said, "Rio is hereby granted the title of Count, under direct authority of the crown."
The hall went still.
Count?
I forgot how to breathe.
That wasn't… ceremonial.
That was real.
"Do you accept?" the King asked.
I knelt automatically.
"I… accept."
Applause followed. Polite. Uneven.
My mind lagged behind my body.
---
The ceremony ended without further incident.
I didn't feel victorious. Or honored.
Just… heavy.
Later, I requested an audience with the King.
Alone.
"Your Majesty," I said, bowing. "May I ask something?"
"You already are."
"…Why a title?"
He studied me. "You think it unnecessary."
"I think it's sudden."
"Sudden for you," he corrected. "Not for me."
I frowned. "Then this wasn't about the road incident."
"No," he said simply. "That was the final confirmation."
"Confirmation of what?"
"That you can be trusted with weight."
I clenched my jaw. "And if I didn't want it?"
"You would still carry it," he replied calmly. "Because you are already standing where titles matter."
I hesitated. "Because of Tesselia."
"Yes."
I exhaled slowly. "You're deciding my future."
"I'm aligning it," he said. "There's a difference."
I didn't see it.
---
That evening, we gathered together—royalty and family alike.
The atmosphere was… lighter.
Queen Isolde spoke kindly with Mother. Queen Valeria questioned Father with sharp interest. The King laughed once, quietly.
Tesselia sat beside me.
"You're sulking," she said.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
I glanced at her. "Did you know?"
She hesitated. "…I suspected."
"That makes one of us."
She frowned. "You're upset with me?"
"I don't know who I'm upset with."
She crossed her arms. "Welcome to my world."
I scoffed. "You make it look easy."
"It's not," she replied. "I just don't argue every time things move without me."
I met her gaze. "Maybe you should."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked away. "You'll adjust."
That's what everyone keeps saying, I thought.
---
That night, I stared at the ceiling long after sleep should have come.
Count.
A title meant to grant authority.
Yet all I felt… was how little control I had over where my path was heading.
And that, somehow, unsettled me more than any battle ever had.
---