I had just turned two years old and was sitting at a small desk. Well, small for adults—but still too big for a two-year-old. Honestly, I must've looked ridiculous, like a kid playing make-believe. But in reality, I was reading. Specifically, some beginner books designed to teach children how to read and write.
I was starting to get the hang of the writing system in this world. It wasn't entirely different from English in some ways, but learning a new language from scratch without any reference materials was exhausting. There are no books here that say, "Here's how to convert this language into English," because, well… English doesn't exist here. Still, I was making decent progress, mostly thanks to the spoken language, which I already understood perfectly.
"Young Master, I brought you a snack to eat," came a calm voice.
"Thank you, Sebas."
The man entering the room was Sebas, one of my mother's personal servants. He looked exactly like the grandpa you'd imagine in a fairytale—white hair, white beard, and a dignified posture. He was probably in his 50s, but his sharp movements hinted at a certain… precision.
When my mother married and moved into the Serene household, she brought a handful of trusted servants with her. Sebas and Rita were among them. And for some reason, my mother asked Sebas specifically to take care of me. Of course, this arrangement becomes a problem later on... but there's no point thinking about the game's plot right now. First, I need to save my mother. I'll worry about the story once she's safe.
For now, I needed to stay focused. Learning a whole language by the age of two was insane, even for me, but I had no choice. I had to take full advantage of how quickly a young mind can absorb information.
"If I may ask, Young Master," Sebas said, setting the snack tray down, "how is it that you weren't startled by me this time?"
"Hm?"
He was right. For the past few weeks, every time Sebas entered the room, I'd been startled. He moves with the kind of silence only someone with a certain type of experience can manage. But this time, I stayed calm. Of course, he noticed.
"It's because of that," I said, pointing at a small mirror I had wedged between two books on my desk. It was angled to reflect the doorway perfectly.
Sebas raised an eyebrow, then gave me a small nod of approval. "I see… That's an ingenious idea."
"Thanks?"
"Did you come up with this by yourself?"
Uh-oh. That's definitely not something a two-year-old should be able to figure out. Time to pull out my trusty excuse.
"I saw it in a picture book!"
Perfect. If I'd said it was in a regular book, he might've questioned how well I could read. But with picture books, it's easier to play dumb.
"Is that so? Could I take a look at this book?"
Shit.
"Ah... I don't remember where I put it..." I said, trying not to look suspicious.
Sebas gave me a curious glance but didn't press further. "I see. That's a shame. I hope you enjoy your snack, Young Master. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me."
"Sure! Thanks, Sebas."
With a slight bow, Sebas left the room. Dodged that one... again. He's been unusually persistent lately. Maybe I should mention it to my mother. Then again, it's probably nothing serious.
From what I've gathered, kids in this world don't start learning to read, write, or do math until they turn five. So it's understandable that everyone is a little weirded out by me trying to do it at two. But I don't have much of a choice. In my past life, I was awful at writing, even though I could speak multiple languages. I relied on software to fix my mistakes—even in my native language.
I've always been more of a math guy anyway. Luckily, it's easy to play dumb when it comes to math. Whenever my mother or the servants try to explain something basic, I just mess up on purpose. If they knew that a two-year-old had knowledge centuries ahead of this world's mathematical understanding... yeah, that wouldn't go over well.
As for my current goal? I have to learn how to read. My mother will probably give birth to Clarisse in a year or two, and I need to figure out exactly what went wrong during childbirth in the game. There are medical books in the library—if I can learn to read well enough, I might be able to diagnose the problem myself.
And if I can't figure it out? I'll try to play the "child prodigy" card. If I can draw enough attention to my mother's pregnancy, I might be able to convince them to get a capable doctor to monitor her closely throughout the whole thing.
I know it sounds ridiculous. And honestly, it might not even work. But it's the best plan I've got right now.
Some nights, I lie awake trying to think of better ideas—anything else I could do to keep her alive. But no matter how hard I try, I come up empty.
I just have to make this work.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Sebas Cortez's Perspective
Today, Miss Mylene asked me to take on the role of Alexio's constant guardian. I can understand a mother's concern—wanting to protect her child from harm. But Alexio isn't her biological son, a truth known only to a handful of us servants.
Most of the staff assume that Alexio is the product of an affair—that Sir Rubens strayed and brought home the child as a result. But only a select few of us know the real story: Alexio is the son of Rubens's older brother, Karios.
The official story claims that Karios, his wife Mitia, and their newborn son were killed by mercenaries, supposedly out of hatred toward Mitia. But the truth is far worse. The Serene family itself ordered the assassination—petty vengeance against a man who gave up everything for love.
When Rubens learned of the plan, it was too late. He alone knew where Karios had gone into hiding, and he rode as fast as he could, taking a few loyal servants—myself included—with him. But when we arrived, the sight that awaited us was one of devastation.
Karios lay dead. His servants, slaughtered. In the midst of it all stood Mitia, barely alive, holding a bloodied sword in one hand and a newborn child in the other.
She had given birth mere hours ago, yet fought off the attackers all on her own. Monster was the only word that came to mind.
As she stepped over the bodies she'd butchered, she walked toward Rubens. For a moment, I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes—a man who had fought countless battles was afraid that even if we all fought together, we wouldn't stand a chance against her.
But then she dropped her sword and hugged the child with both arms. Her tenderness erased the fear in Rubens's heart. His eyes welled up as she kissed the baby's forehead and handed him over.
"Karios said you would come," she whispered. "It seems he was right."
Rubens took the child in his arms and felt a pang of panic—the baby was cold, almost lifeless. What disturbed him even more was the eerie silence. The child didn't cry at all. Not even once.
"His name is Alexio," Mitia whispered with a faint smile. "It's the name we chose together."
"Alexio..." Rubens echoed softly.
"He hasn't fed yet... I'm sorry, but I won't be able to help with that anymore."
Rubens's eyes drifted to her chest injuries. Deep gashes exposed her bones—wounds so grievous it was a miracle she was still standing. How was she even breathing?
"But he'll be fine..." she said softly. "He's our son. He'll become the most powerful man in this world, and..."
She fell silent. And just like that, she was gone. Her lifeless body remained upright, as if she were still gazing at the child in Rubens's arms.
I've never been able to forget that image. How could someone so powerful exist? And would Alexio inherit her strength—and her fate?
When Rubens brought Alexio back to the mansion, Miss Mylene took him in without hesitation. She raised him as if he were her own flesh and blood, even though she knew the truth. Every day, she fed him, changed him, and sang him to sleep. There were times when she kept him on her lap for hours, cradling him without a care for anything else.
Perhaps because of her own tragic past, she grew deeply attached to Alexio.
However, Alexio's silence during his first year worried the entire mansion. He never cried, not even once. His delicate features made him look like a porcelain doll, and his calm demeanor melted the hearts of every servant. One maid jokingly suggested dressing him in girls' clothes. Mylene, after a moment's hesitation, dismissed the idea... but she and Rita still couldn't resist doing it a few times later, giggling over how adorable he looked.
When Alexio finally spoke his first words after turning one, Mylene broke down in tears, hugging him tightly. The event became a celebration in the mansion, with servants lining up to hear the boy's sweet, velvety voice. He obediently repeated the same word over and over for everyone, charming the entire household.
Then, one day, Rita screamed for help, and I rushed to her immediately. We found Alexio unconscious, burning with a fever and drenched in sweat. Mylene was frantic. After a few tense hours, the boy woke up, seemingly fine. But the first thing he asked was...
He wanted to learn how to read.
By the time Alexio turned two, he was showing signs of being... unusual. Every day, he locked himself in his room, surrounded by books, and only Mylene could get him to come out. It became part of my routine to bring him snacks during the day.
When I entered his room without making a sound today, the sight before me was almost comical: a two-year-old baby sitting at a desk far too big for him, surrounded by books. Most were simple children's books, but a few were much more advanced—some even on medicine.
The other servants thought Alexio was just playing smart, grabbing random books after being praised for wanting to learn to read. But I had my doubts.
"Young Master, I brought you a snack to eat," I said as I entered.
"Thank you, Sebas," he responded immediately, without even looking up.
How did he know I was here? For the past few weeks, I had been sneaking in to observe him, and every time I did, the boy would jump in surprise and scramble to hide whatever he was reading or writing. I admit, I enjoyed his reactions—it was amusing. But this time, he didn't even flinch.
"If I may ask, Young Master," I said, "how come you weren't scared by my presence?"
His eyes widened for a moment, and then he pointed toward the desk.
"It's because of that," he said.
I followed his finger to a small mirror, tucked neatly between two thick books. From its position, the mirror gave him a clear view of the door without needing to look up.
"I see... It really is an ingenious idea," I said.
"Thanks?"
"Did you think of this by yourself?"
"I saw it in a picture book," he answered smoothly.
"I see. Could I read this book sometime?"
"Ah... I don't remember where I put it..."
"Hmm. That's a shame. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me, Young Master."
"Sure! Thanks, Sebas."
I left the room, my mind swirling with thoughts.
How could a child this young come up with such a solution? The idea itself was simple, but the thought process behind it—hiding the mirror so it wasn't obvious—was far too advanced for a two-year-old.
And the way he revealed it to me wasn't for show. He must have realized that if I could enter unnoticed, others could too. The mirror was a precaution.
This boy...
He might truly become a monster, just like his mother.