Year 105 of the New Calendar—deep within the beating heart of the Central Continent.
~Federation of Gaïa, Babylonia City. A shining jewel of civilization, where towering spires of glass and steel reached for the heavens, and streets gleamed with the glow of advanced magic-tech.
At the far western edge of this grand city, the biggest metropolitan city in the world lay a domain that seemed to exist in a world of its own—the territory of the Roschild family.
Their estate was vast, easily comparable to a small city. At its center stood the main mansion, sprawling across kilometers of land. Behind it, rugged mountains rose like guardians of stone, while a lush, man-made forest stretched outward, carefully sculpted yet brimming with natural beauty.
Surrounding this sanctuary of power was a fortress-like wall, tall and unyielding, radiating both majesty and intimidation. And at its front stood the gate—an enormous construct of black iron. Upon its surface blazed the emblem of the Roschild family: a crimson phoenix, wings unfurled as if ready to ignite the heavens themselves.
This was the House of Fire. A lineage renowned across generations, famed for producing flame-wielders of unmatched talent—warriors whose flames had once shaken battlefields and scorched legends into history itself.
At the back mountain, in the middle of a wide open field, a young man lay sprawled beneath the shade of a massive tree. A piece of straw dangled lazily from his lips as he rocked it side to side. He wore light gray pants and a simple white shirt, a silver ring glinting faintly from his right ear. His hair, a curious mix of gray and white, caught the sunlight like strands of silver. His skin was smooth, his features pleasant—handsome enough to turn heads, though not excessively so. This young man was none other than the second son of the Roschild family's main branch: Leo Roschild.
With his eyes closed, Leo continued to toy with the straw between his teeth, basking in the warmth of the summer breeze that brushed gently against his skin.
"Ahh… what a perfect summer day. If only I had a big-breasted older sister type here to nurse me, giving me a lap pillow while wearing nothing but shorts that show off her toned, pale thighs… Hah! Just imagining it is enough to make me melt!"
Yes, this young master was not just a little perverted—he was thoroughly, unabashedly so.
But before his fantasies could spiral further into forbidden territory, a voice cut through his daydream.
"Leoooo! Where are you?"
It was the sweet, melodic voice of a young girl—so sweet, in fact, that one could easily picture an equally charming face to match.
"Guh!" Leo's body jerked in surprise. He spat out the straw and pushed himself upright, revealing a pair of dazzling crystal-blue eyes. For a moment, he glanced toward the source of the voice… only to flop back down onto the grass, this time adopting a new pose, as if trying to look casual and unbothered before suddenly changing again as he remembered something.
A few minutes later, the owner of the voice finally arrived, panting heavily.
"Huff… Huff… Here you are, you jerk!" snapped the young girl whose hair embodied the very definition of pink.
She was ready to scold the boy who had made her run all the way here, sweat dripping from her brow. But the moment her eyes fell on his strange posture, her irritation vanished, replaced by dread. His head lolled to the side, his arms sprawled limply against the ground—it looked almost as if something terrible had happened.
"L-Leo?!" Her heart skipped a beat as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him. Carefully, she lifted his head and rested it on her lap, right above the hem of her skirt.
"Speak to me, Leo! What's wrong?" she pleaded desperately.
What she got in return was not the silence of a dying boy… but a sudden resurrection. Leo's eyes flicked open, his hands moving just enough to lift the edge of her skirt—just to sneak a peek underneath.
"Kyaaaah!" A shrill cry rang through the mountain field.
"Oho! Blue lace panties today, huh?" Leo declared, face smug and utterly satisfied with his discovery.
"You damn pervert, dieee!" The pink-haired girl jumped up, spun in midair, and aimed a furious dropkick at his head.
Leo rolled aside with ease, grinning all the while.
"Die! Dieee!" she shouted, unleashing a flurry of strikes as she chased him mercilessly.
"Oi, oi, Rina—are you seriously trying to kill your future husband?" Leo taunted, dodging leisurely with a teasing smile.
That single line made Rina freeze mid-attack. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she panted, glaring daggers at him.
"H-Hmph! Who would ever want to marry you?" she shot back, puffing her cheeks in defiance.
Leo chuckled, pointing at her as if he had just uncovered a grand truth. "Heh. Saying that while blushing and refusing to look me in the eye… You're not fooling anyone. I believe the Easterners have a word for this—'Tsundere!'"
"Y-Y-Y-Youuu—!" Rina's face turned even redder as her embarrassment morphed into rage. With a furious yell, she lunged after him again.
And so, the field echoed with their voices as Leo dodged and Rina chased him in circles. For anyone watching, it was clear—this kind of chaos was nothing new. This was their usual.
Their antics went on for a while before the two finally ran out of steam. Back beneath the shade of the great tree, they sat side by side, backs pressed against its sturdy trunk, panting lightly as the summer breeze rustled the leaves above and set the grass swaying in a gentle dance.
"You're as energetic as ever," Leo remarked with a half-smile.
"Hmph! Don't talk to me, pervert," Rina shot back with a sharp harrumph.
She was dressed in a crisp white blouse, its ruffled collar and pleated placket lined with delicate golden buttons that gleamed faintly in the light. The sleeves ran long, ending in frilled cuffs, while a vivid red bow tie sat neatly at her throat, knotted with care. A high-waisted skirt of deep black flowed to her thighs, its hem pleated and layered, accentuating her youthful figure. Her porcelain-like skin seemed to glow in contrast to her clothes, while her modest chest—just enough to draw attention without being overbearing—hinted at the beauty she was quickly growing into.
Her eyes, the same gentle pink as her hair, carried both warmth and stubbornness. Soon to turn fifteen, she was already blossoming into a striking beauty.
Her name was Rina Ellis—one of Leo Roschild's childhood friends, the one who had spent the most time at his side, and the girl he secretly cherished the most.