Chapter 𝟙

The Way Our Family Survives

Franz, my little brother, had run away from the academy he attended.

Thankfully he returned home, but upon his arrival, the family’s amicable tea hour suddenly became overcast and grave.

“It’s nothing,” Franz said. “I just missed home. I wanted to see Hertz too...”

My little brother, who was 15 this year, tried to act as casually as possible, but he wouldn’t meet the eyes of any family members.

Our mother smiled wryly, trying to clear the air.

“Yes, of course. You’ve been far away from home for long enough.” She turned to her husband, Marquess Vesta. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

His frown didn’t budge, and when he spoke to Franz, his voice was cold.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but leaving without consent is not a good thing. Go back immediately.”

When Father said that, I was probably the only one who noticed my brother’s gaze waver wildly. Franz did his best to keep his jaw from trembling, and he spoke with much effort.

“Father! L-let me stay a little while. I-I’m worried about Hertz’s health. I-I can also take care of some unfinished business while I’m here...”

The stony look on my father’s face was quite the sight.

“The steward has been taking care of that cat just fine,” he said. “Don’t worry. I will send a messenger bird to Kratie Academy with any news.”

He then stood up, as if he had nothing more to say.

“F-Father! I won’t stay long. Please...”

Though Franz had been reduced to begging, our father turned away callously. That was when I saw it: Franz stood up with my father, and his twiglike wrist, previously concealed by his uniform sleeve, came into view.

It was blue with bruises.

Noticing my gaze, Franz quickly pulled down his sleeves and tried to hide his injuries.

His hands were shaking.

If I said nothing, Franz would be sent back.

At Kratie Academy, he would continue training to be a knight—just as planned.

And then disaster would befall our household.

“Franz, would you take off your uniform for a second?” I asked. I set my teacup down and turned to him. My gaze was as caring as an older sister’s should be.

“Kyla? W-why?” Franz backed away, his arms guarding his chest.

I held onto my cup and eyed the servants standing by at the door. They immediately strode over to Franz.

“Excuse us, young master.” They bowed to him and began removing the top part of his Kratie Academy uniform.

“Take off the shirt and everything,” I requested.

“No! No! Stop!”

Franz protested, but the servants weren’t listening.

Marquess Vesta and his wife were aghast when their son was finally naked from the waist up.

His body was covered with bruises and wounds.

Some bruises were fresh and bright red—likely inflicted yesterday—and some were purple. Some contained old blood that had welled up beneath the skin. These were pitch black.

Other cadets had done this to him. The bullying he was experiencing seemed to be worse than ever before.

“Oh my goodness! Franz!” screamed my mother.

She began to sob, shocked by the sight of his injuries.

“What are all these wounds?” demanded an enraged Marquess Vesta. “Who did this to you? Tell me which damned house they’re from! Out with it!”

Franz said nothing. He simply shook his head.

“How dare they treat my son like this!” Marquess Vesta yelled, gnashing his teeth. “I am going to Kratie this instant.”

Franz fell to his knees.

“P-please don’t. Father, I beg of you.”

Our father scowled.

“Boy... why didn’t you summon Schuette? This wouldn’t have happened if you’d used it!”

Franz was unable to speak. He hung his head like a sinner.

“Enough, dear! Can’t you see he’s already hurt?”

Mother pulled the slim Franz into her arms and cried.

The truth had come to light—the heir to the House of Vesta was being bullied by his fellow cadets at an academy.

Fathers sighed. Though he’d quit smoking a while ago, he lit a cigarette.

If not for my timely intervention, the wounds on Franz’s body wouldn’t have been revealed, and my parents would have remained clueless about the bullying. Franz would’ve spent the night here at home like nothing had happened before bracing himself and returning to Kratie Academy.

At least, that was the future I knew, but that couldn’t be allowed to happen—not for Franz, not for my family, and not for myself.

I recalled a moment in the comic and seized it, ready to attempt my second intervention of the day. The fear of what was to come made my heart race.

“Father! Mother!” I exclaimed. “I have something to tell you.”

They turned to face me. I stood, picked up Franz’s clothing, and draped it over him. I couldn’t stand to see his bruised body for so long—it made my heart ache.

“I don’t think Kratie Academy is the right place for him,” I said, articulating myself clearly with deep breaths. “You know him. He’s the scholarly type. He won’t make a good knight.”

“Kyla, I know what you’re trying to say,” my father replied, already trying to dismiss me with a sigh. “However, he is the heir to our house, and Kratie Academy is the empire’s official educational institution, managed directly by the empire. Any heir must graduate from there if they are to inherit a family title.”

I knew you’d say that. But I’m not about to give up.

“The Guardians—the imperial knight order—have produced many female knights thus far. There have been many in our house as well. That means I can do it too.”

This was a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was true that some of the knights in the House of Vesta had been females.

“Kyla, one must be trained from an early age to be a knight. You’ve never even held a sword.”

He was right. I, Kyla Vesta, had never learned swordplay in all my seventeen years—or even gripped one in my hand, for that matter.

I nodded.

“That’s true. Kyla Vesta was not trained to be a knight.”

At least in this life.

I turned to my little brother.

“Franz, you tell Father straight. Do you want to be a knight or a scholar?”

My father’s penetrating gaze locked on Franz, and the timid boy was immediately overwhelmed.

I prodded him on the side and whispered, “Franz, try to remember what I told you before.”

I’d been telling him this one thing for about three years—ever since I’d been transported into this world.

“Do you really want to be a knight like Father wants?” I asked. “Sometimes you’ll have to kill. You don’t like violence, do you?”

Franz was the sort of person who seemed to prove the theory of innate human goodness. For years, I’d kept reminding him of his nature—of what he truly wanted. This desire was buried deep inside him, and it was something he’d always repressed in the comic.

I decided to remind him.

“You like to watch birds in the forest. Didn’t you say it was your dream to study wild birds? You want to read books all day. There are plenty of subjects you want to study. I thought you wanted a peaceful life?”

Franz’s lips trembled imperceptibly.

“Go after the kind of life you want.”

Franz had never disobeyed our parents. He was a good boy. He loved his family and had plenty of empathy. He felt gratification when he helped the weak.

That nature was what, in turn, had made him weak. He had never once been able to fight back against those who tormented him in the comic.

“Oh, Father, I...”

Our parents were looking at his mouth as he spoke.

“A-as she says... I want to be a scholar. I... can’t bring myself to be someone who hurts people.”

“Franz...”

It had taken a great deal of courage for someone like Franz to say this out loud. I smiled, and though Franz was shaking with fear, he still seemed relieved. He was finally looking them in the eye.

In truth, I hadn’t dared to try to change fate or manipulate the future until Franz had returned. I’d only whispered those sweet suggestions in Franz’s ear for three years out of pity. It was sad that he was applying himself to a pursuit that didn’t suit him, all for the sake of his family. I’d just wanted to show him that he had other options.

I’d thought that would be enough.

But the sight of the bruises on his body had changed my mind. If things continued along the predestined trajectory I already knew about, Franz would be subjected to even worse torment. And my family—me included—would walk down the path to destruction.

“And let me repeat myself. Father, I want to be a knight,” I said firmly. “Have I ever demanded anything against your will before?”

Neither Mother nor Father had anything to say to this.

I sorted through the memories of Kyla Vesta, which I possessed. Kyla had always been the responsible, mature first daughter—a benevolent, kind sister who’d always put her little brother first.

Both the siblings had been weaklings.

“I... I had no idea you wanted it that badly. But Kyla, you’ve already had your coming-of-age ceremony. It’s too late to choose a new path for yourself.”

My father looked troubled now.