Hiruko's mind raced, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Mina's piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. He needed to buy time, to gather information without revealing his colossal ignorance. Confessing was unthinkable, and making up a story about the fall felt like walking a tightrope in a hurricane. Deflection. Yes, deflection.
He managed another awkward, strained smile. "Strangely? Perhaps. My head still feels a bit... muddled. But enough about my clumsy misadventures." He tried to inject a hint of forced cheerfulness into his voice. "More importantly, what brings you to the estate, Mina? I know you're always so busy with your... studies." He trailed off, hoping the vague implication of her brilliance would prompt her to elaborate.
Mina Rosewalt, with her fiery red hair and unnervingly perceptive gaze, didn't let up easily. Her initial concern was giving way to an almost scientific observation of his unusual behavior. "My studies are hardly a secret, Lukas. I was preparing for the Imperial Academy entrance exams, as you well know." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air – as the real Lukas would know.
Hiruko's internal alarm bells screamed. Imperial Academy? Entrance exams? This was another piece of the puzzle, and it confirmed his hunch: Mina wasn't just 'smart,' she was a prodigy. The way she spoke, the subtle air of confidence, it all pointed to someone exceptional.
"Ah, yes, the Academy," he mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant while frantically searching his memory for any scrap of information about this institution. He found nothing. "I hope your preparations are going well. I'm sure you'll do splendidly." He desperately hoped his generic compliment sounded natural.
Mina's gaze sharpened, and a hint of sadness, or perhaps disappointment, flickered in her eyes. "They are," she said, her voice a little softer now. "But it's not the same without our regular study sessions, is it? We haven't had one since... well, since you started attending the North Gate School."
The words hit Hiruko like a thunderclap. North Gate School. The name conjured images of something far less prestigious than an 'Imperial Academy.' A school for peasants, he'd thought. And then Mina's earlier comment echoed in his mind: "You've been acting strangely ever since you got back from the riding academy. First, you start keeping a journal, and now this."
He quickly pieced it together: Lukas, the noble heir, was somehow attending a less reputable school. Why? His "poor skills and knowledge," his "fear of disappointing and bringing down the family name." The journal entry about Tristan, about feeling like he was drowning, suddenly made perfect, heartbreaking sense. Lukas struggling to meet the Tross family's expectations, possibly sent to a different school to hide his shortcomings from the elite circles. And Mina, his close friend, knew. Heck, Everyone knew except Hiruko.
The weight of this revelation pressed down on Hiruko. The real Lukas was living a double life, a life of desperation, and Mina was privy to it. He wasn't just fooling a family; he was fooling a friend who understood the nuances of Lukas's struggles. He had to be incredibly careful. Any misstep, any casual display of academic prowess, any failure to show the expected 'poor skills,' and Mina would know.
"The North Gate School," Hiruko repeated, trying to sound thoughtful, as if lost in memory rather than sheer panic. "Yes, well, it's... certainly different, isn't it?" He managed a weak chuckle, desperately hoping that 'different' was ambiguous enough to pass for what Lukas might say. His heart was a frantic drum in his chest. Mina was a far greater threat, and potential ally, than he had ever anticipated.
Mina's sharp gaze softened, the concern returning to her eyes. She took a step closer, reaching out as if to steady him, but stopped herself just short of touching him. It was a gesture of familiarity and restraint that made Hiruko's heart ache for the real Lukas.
"Oh, Lukas, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice filled with genuine regret. "I shouldn't have been so direct. You've had a terrible fall." She looked him over, her eyes scanning his face. "Please, don't worry about the exams or anything else. Just rest. I'll tell Clarissa you're doing better."
Hiruko managed a grateful, albeit wobbly, nod. "Thank you, Mina. You're a good friend." The words felt strange on his tongue, but they seemed to have the desired effect.
She gave him a small, sympathetic smile before turning and walking away, her fiery red hair a vibrant contrast to the austere hallway. He watched her go, not moving until she was a faint silhouette at the end of the hall, disappearing around a corner.
Hiruko let out a long, shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was safe, for now. He had successfully deflected the conversation, but the knowledge he'd gained was both a boon and a terrifying new challenge. He wasn't just impersonating a rich heir; he was impersonating a troubled, insecure young man. And a girl named Mina knew all about him.
He needed to find a way to learn more, and he couldn't rely on luck or awkward questions forever. He had to be proactive. He turned back toward his room, the grandeur of the mansion no longer feeling impressive, but suffocating.
The door clicked shut behind Hiruko, severing his fragile connection to the outside world and the harrowing encounter with Mina. The opulence of the room, once a source of awe, now felt like the ornate cage of a trapped beast. The polite retreat had bought him time, a precious, fleeting commodity he could no longer afford to squander. To merely survive was not enough; to truly fool the Tross family, he had to become Lukas Tross, and to do that, he needed more than vague impressions. He needed the man's soul, his secrets, his most guarded thoughts. The hunt for answers was on.
His hands, no longer trembling with a stranger's fear but with a newfound determination, moved to the grand mahogany desk. He systematically emptied its drawers, a ritual of discovery. Quills, inkpots, and brittle parchment lay scattered, but it was the bottom drawer that held the key to his quest. A small, locked box, its surface polished smooth with age, sat nestled in the corner. Despair flickered, a brief, cold flame. A lock implied a key, and a key was a thing he did not possess. But then, a flicker of light caught his eye—tucked cunningly inside an inkwell, a diminutive, skeletal key lay waiting. The ingenuity of the hiding place spoke volumes about the boy who had to conceal his life even from his own family.
With a soft, metallic click, the lock yielded. Inside, a second, thicker journal lay bound in worn leather. This was not a public chronicle but a private confession. Hiruko's hands shook as he turned the first page, the elegant script of the real Lukas Tross a ghost of a life he now inhabited. He devoured the words, each entry a raw, unfiltered glimpse into a soul torn between two worlds.
The early pages were a litany of frustration. The deep-seated humiliation of attending the "North Gate School," his gnawing envy of Tristan's effortless brilliance, the crushing weight of his father's disappointment. The entries were filled with a palpable sense of inadequacy.
But then, the narrative shifted.
"North Gate is not what Father thinks it is," one entry read, the handwriting loosening, the words holding a genuine warmth. "The students there... they're so different from the noble children. They're really nice and kind. We botched a spell in class today and Kaelen fell right into the mud, and we all laughed for an hour. No one cares about my family name there; they only care if I'm a good friend."
Hiruko felt a jolt of understanding, a sharp, empathetic pain. The North Gate School wasn't just a punishment; it was Lukas's sanctuary. It was a place where he could shed the gilded armor of the Tross name and simply be himself. This explained the kindness his classmates showed him, their shared laughter and camaraderie. Lukas was not a social outcast; he was a boy who found solace in the warmth of common people.
This new revelation made the subsequent entries all the more painful. A later passage described a royal carriage's passing. "They looked at us like we were vermin. One of the royal brats, Prince Alaric, sneered when he saw me. He recognized the Tross crest on my uniform. Even here, I can't escape it. They all think I'm a disgrace."
The picture was now complete. The Tross family lived a lie to protect its legacy. Lukas lived a double life, a noble among commoners, a disgrace among his peers. The journal was more than a record; it was a testament to his quiet struggle. His quest, Hiruko realized with a profound shift in his own understanding, was no longer just about survival. It was about honoring the memory of a boy who was trapped between two worlds. He was an outsider in both, a noble among commoners and a failure among nobles. Hiruko could use his own life experiences and skills to help Lukas's memory, to succeed where he couldn't.
With a new sense of purpose, Hiruko placed the journal back to the box,locked it and returned it to the place it belongs,Lukas tross's drawer and went about his evening ritual. He meticulously laid out Lukas's school uniform—a surprisingly plain, dark blue tunic made of sturdy wool, a stark contrast to the luxurious silks he'd found in the armoire. On the left breast, a subtle, but clear, silver thread embroidered the Tross crest: the same stylized stag head he'd seen on the velvet tunic. He ran a thumb over it, feeling the intricate stitching. Even here, at a school meant for commoners, the mark of his noble status clung to him like a shadow.
He placed his clothes on a chair and began to prepare for the night, a task that felt both alien and familiar. As he washed his face with cold water from the basin, his reflection stared back at him—the face of Lukas Tross. But in the depths of his eyes, a flicker of something new, a hardened resolve he'd never had as Hiruko Nagasaka, was beginning to take shape.
He thought back to his own school days in Tokyo. The endless cramming for exams, the suffocating pressure to get into a good university, the silent competition among his peers. It was a pressure he knew well, but it was a different kind of pressure. Here, it wasn't just about grades; it was about survival, about family honor, and about living up to a legacy he hadn't asked for.
He understood why Lukas had sought refuge at the North Gate School. His own memories of school were a blur of fluorescent lights and bland lunches, but he also remembered the small moments of genuine connection. The quiet jokes with a classmate, the shared frustration over a difficult problem, the camaraderie that came from being on a team. Lukas had found that in a place where no one cared about his family name, where he could just be a person, not a failure.
As he finally lay in the immense bed, the soft blankets feeling like a heavy shroud, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the coming day. He was a fraud, a ghost in another man's body. Tomorrow, he would walk into the North Gate School and face people who knew Lukas better than he did. He would have to act the part of an awkward, underachieving noble, while secretly planning how to master the very skills Lukas struggled with. The stage was set, and the curtain would rise with the morning sun. His quest to fool everyone had just begun, but he had a deeper, more personal mission now—to redeem the name of Lukas Tross.