For an entire week, I tried to escape this comfortable—but stiflingly cold—house.
Every single attempt failed.
Marcus Holivan had made it very clear to the guards: the younger son was not to leave the estate. That left me with no choice but to look for alternative ways out.
That came with its own problems.
Sandra Holivan's suffocating overprotection, combined with Marta shadowing me everywhere, made it impossible to be alone. Even at night, someone would occasionally check in on me. The only thing I could do was wander under the pretense of "taking a walk," scanning every inch of the estate—the manicured flower gardens, the golf grounds, the orchards filled with all kinds of fruit trees.
But despite the vast territory, I couldn't find a single weak point in the tall stone wall surrounding the estate.
Time was running out.
And my desperation was growing.
In three days, the man who could uncover the truth would arrive—and I wasn't convinced the Holivan family would forgive this… unintentional deception.
"You still haven't found your enrollment documents?" Mr. Holivan asked over dinner.
"No, Father."
"I expected as much. Your former tutor will arrive tomorrow with copies. You're expected at the academy in ten days, and I trust your… mental issues won't become a source of embarrassment for this family."
"I'll do my best, Father," I said evenly.
In the short time I'd spent here, I'd already learned one thing: you don't argue with Marcus Holivan.
After that conversation with Theodore, I rarely saw him. The elder son spent most of his time working with his father in the study.
I found myself drawn instead to the servants.
At first, they were wary of me—but that began to change after I found the kitchen and awkwardly asked for sandwiches. Slowly, the atmosphere softened. Now, whenever I had a moment, I spent it there.
And it was there I learned why they'd been so cautious around me.
No one said it outright—but they often mentioned how much I had changed since losing my memory.
From what I gathered, Alan hadn't exactly been… pleasant.
He got into trouble at school—trouble he usually caused himself. At home, he behaved like a spoiled brat with a silver spoon in his mouth.
He despised anyone beneath him. Looked down on the staff. Was responsible for more than one dismissal.
The same at school—he abused his status and wealth.
The only one who could rein him in was Marcus Holivan—but he rarely paid attention to his troublesome son, leaving everything to his mother.
Sandra, on the other hand, spoiled him endlessly—turning a blind eye even to the worst of his actions.
Including driving a classmate to suicide.
I learned that from a few articles online.
Of course, no one openly accused the son of such a prominent family—but I had no doubt Alan had been involved.
At this point, I wasn't even surprised someone might have pushed him into the pond.
Maybe even one of the servants.
Though I hadn't noticed anything suspicious.
I decided not to dig any deeper.
I wasn't planning on staying here anyway.
I'd even considered asking one of the staff to help me escape—but I didn't have time to figure out who I could trust. I was almost certain such a request would be reported to the master of the house within minutes.
I was returning from another walk—another failed attempt to find a way out—when I spotted a stranger.
Guests were rare here. And when they did come, they went straight to Marcus's study.
But this man was sitting in the living room.
"Hello, Alan," he said with a strained smile, rising to his feet. "Lady Holivan, as always, you look wonderful."
"Thank you," she replied politely. "Teacher Start, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow."
Teacher?
So this was the man bringing Alan's academy documents.
"I had business nearby," he said, "and decided not to delay. I brought the copies today. I take it Alan didn't mention it?"
"There's been… an incident," Sandra said carefully. "Alan has temporarily lost his memory, so he wasn't able to pass the documents along. I apologize for the inconvenience."
"How terrible… losing your memory…"
"Don't worry," Marcus said, stepping into the room. "The issue will be resolved in a few days. It won't interfere with his studies."
For some reason, a bad feeling crept over me.
The teacher shifted nervously, clutching an orange paper envelope in both hands.
"Well… about that," he began hesitantly. "You see, Alan… he… it's better if you read it yourself."
He handed the envelope to Marcus.
The longer Marcus read, the deeper the crease between his brows became.
Then he threw the envelope onto the table—and fixed me with a furious glare.
"You worthless brat! You weren't accepted into the academy?! In this family, every seer has studied there! You pathetic little—"
"Mr. Holivan," the teacher interjected carefully, "I understand your disappointment, but this isn't the right—"
"You're dismissed!" Marcus snapped. Then, turning to me: "See him out. Then get to my study. Now."
He turned and stormed off.
Sandra went pale, her trembling fingers gripping my hand.
I gave her a faint, sad smile and gently freed myself.
Maybe I wouldn't have to find a way out after all.
Maybe that furious man would just throw me out himself.
I walked the teacher to the exit in silence, then hesitated before deciding to accompany him all the way to the front door.
Anything to delay facing Marcus.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that," I said, extending my hand.
"So memory loss changed your personality too?" he scoffed—but took my hand anyway.
A bracelet hung from his wrist—large beads, elegant, completely out of place with his formal suit.
My gaze lingered on it.
Before I realized it, I reached out and touched one of the beads.
"Sorry—" I began, pulling back—
But he grabbed my hand.
"Touch it again," he said, suddenly serious.
I hesitated, then pressed my finger to the bead once more.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the bracelet lit up.
One bead after another, like a string of holiday lights.
My eyes widened.
"Incredible," he breathed, releasing my hand.
The light faded instantly.
"What… was that?" I asked.
"That bracelet is used to test the gifted," he said. "I was evaluating a girl nearby for academy recruitment—that's why I had it with me. But this… this is unbelievable."
"What do you mean?"
"Usually, no more than ten beads light up," he said. "You lit all twenty-four. You'd have had a brilliant future—if you hadn't been born an aristocrat."
"…What?"
"Forget it. People like you aren't meant to have abilities. If you don't want to disgrace your family, never use them."
"And if I do?"
He looked at me—first puzzled, then incredulous.
Then he laughed and shook his head, as if I'd said something absurd.
"Did you hit your head too?"
"No," I said, confused. "The doctor said there's no physical damage."
"Then how can you talk about this so casually?"
"I don't understand… at all."