The first words his maternal grandmother says to him are, “You’re so dark and burly. How are you supposed to find a husband?”

Joril glances at his mother and shrugs his shoulders with unbothered guilt. His mother pinches the bridge of her nose, “Help my son, mother. He needs to get married.”

“Get some rest first. I’ll do my best after you’ve rested enough.”

In the following days, Joril bathes twice a day and hides from the sun. His grandmother corrects his burly postures and habits. He also receives a new haircut to hide his burnt scar. His grandmother sends him to the town hall everyday to practice dancing with the other omegas of age for the incoming spring festival.

There he meets a candlemaker’s daughter. She is short but has a friendly face. She says to Joril, “I hope to get married after the spring festival. How about you?”

“No. Not really. Do you have someone in mind?” 

“Yes,” she nods proudly. “The grandmaster of the academy’s grandson. So don’t you dare seduce him.”

“Okay.”

“Good … By the way, why don’t you hope to get married? You are much older than the rest of us. If you are too picky your youth will eventually leave you, you know?” 

Joril chuckles, “Maybe that’s what I want.”

“You’re so odd. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t want to get married.” She touches up on some powder, “Should we get going? Break is over.”

They return to the courtyard and practice the routine a few more times before calling it quits for the day. 

When they come out of the town hall, Joril’s grandfather waits for him. He smiles and stretches out an arm for Joril to hold.

“Grandfather, you’re early today. I thought I would have to wait a while for you.”

“It’s because I have something to ask of you.”

“Yes?”

The old man stays quiet for a moment then asks, “Would you like to visit the academy with me tomorrow? I’ve been invited as a guest but your grandmother wants this opportunity for you to see some good gentlemen. What do you say?”

Joril frowns.

“I’ll drop you off here tomorrow and be on my way to the academy. She doesn’t have to know that you won’t go with me to the academy.”

Joril laughs and leans on his grandfather’s shoulder as they walk back home. And as soon as they step into the house, his grandmother rushes to ask, “You’ll go with your grandfather to the academy tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” his grandmother sighs a breath of relief. “I prepared some clothes and jewelry for you tomorrow.”

“Joril, help your mother in the kitchen.”

Joril goes into the kitchen where his mother is rolling dough. She has yet to notice him, so he goes behind and hugs her.

“Oh! You scared me! Wash your hands and help me … You need to start acting like an adult, Joril. Soon, you'll be expected to be in charge of the kitchen by your in-laws.”

Joril presses his face on his mother’s back, “Even if I get married, I’ll stay as your child forever. I know you’ll miss me the most if I go, so let me stay a child in your presence.”

Rosennette sighs, “Go wash your hands and help me watch the stew on the stove.”

After washing his hands, Joril sits by the stove watching the pot stay the same. Then his mother sounds, “Your grandfather told me to not worry about you so much. He said that you’re too smart to get married. I think he forgot how happy he was when you were born.”

“Mother, I’m not the only one who can give you grandchildren,” Joril replies jokingly while watching the flame flicker and the charcoal crack. 

She sighs again, “You’ll understand your mother when you have adult children of your own.”

The next day, his grandmother wakes him up early, dresses him in white, dusts his face with powder, and sends him along with his grandfather. They stop at the town hall, and the candlemaker’s daughter is standing in the front waiting for them with a good dress of her own.

“Joril, let me go to the academy with you. We’re friends aren’t we?”

“But I’m not going.”

She wears a playful expression, “I’ll tell your grandmother that you didn’t go to the academy with your grandfather.”

“My grandson, I think we’ve been blackmailed.”

“So it seems, grandfather.”

The three arrive at the academy. Students would glance at them and make chuckling noises, expressing their opinions. Comments made here and there mostly address Joril, a young burly man their age dressed in elegant clothes and covered in powder. Also, the girl with them is cute.

In the headmaster’s office, they’re greeted by an elderly man and two young students. The elderly man smiles as soon as his eyes lay onto the candlemaker’s daughter. With a satisfied sigh, he says, “Why don’t my youngest son and eldest grandson show your granddaughter and her friend around?”

Joril’s grandfather glances at them, “Go take a look around. Enjoy the scenery since you’re here already. Run back here if anything happens.”

When Joril nods, the candlemaker’s daughter also nods. They leave with the headmaster’s youngest son and eldest grandson. Once they’re far enough away, the candlemaker’s daughter pulls at the youngest son’s arm, “Miss me?”

“Yes.” He looks at his nephew, “We’ll be going this way. Show him around, will you?”

“Uncle, where are you taking her? Grandfather said she’s mine,” the grandson grabs the son’s collars. 

“Both you and father are idiots. Your wife is him. This one is mine.” He pulls the hands at his neck away and takes the girl with him. The couple pinch each other’s buttocks and go their merry way.

The young scholar balls his fists and stares at Joril with much anguish. It is written all over his face how much he dislikes Joril because he could easily pick up a random person on the street more befitting of his type. 

“You can go wherever you want. I’ll stay here until my grandfather is done speaking with the headmaster.”

Joril forces a smile and nods repeatedly until the young scholar goes away. 

He leans against the white beams with ivy climbing all over, making it a lush corridor. And the sun shines peacefully down in rays as the dust dances without music but with the tune of the gentle breezes. He sighs, finally by himself again. 

Into the distance, groups of students often walk past. Sometimes they notice him and other times they don’t. 

Joril recalls in his first life when he studied to become an official. He was just like these young scholars, dedicated and studious: often forgetting that life is more than reading a book or listening for wisdom. 

Well, this is hindsight.

It is in the afternoon when the headmaster and his grandfather walk out of the office, surprised that Joril is there by himself. 

“Are you hungry?” His grandfather pulls his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come get me? You must’ve been so hungry.”

“Only a little bit, grandpa.”