Why is he here!
He looked much younger than the person I knew, but that was definitely Clerivan Pellet. His tall stature, his rigid posture as if his waist were in a cast, and his upward-tilted eyes. In Lombardi, there weren’t many people who could maintain such a proud attitude.
“What brings you here, Mr. Clerivan?”
My father looked equally perplexed, scratching his head. And understandably so—Clerivan Pellet was the one who oversaw the Lombardi trading guild, highly capable but extremely busy.
At least, that’s how he would be in the future, as far as I knew.
He was so busy that, while I worked beside Grandfather, I could count on one hand the number of times I had seen Clerivan properly.
“May I come in?”
“Of course, please do.”
My father, still in a daze, led Clerivan to the center of the drawing room, and I quickly lifted my book to pretend I was reading. I didn’t know why—I just felt I had to. I fixed my gaze somewhere among the dense text and instead pricked up my ears.
Clerivan glanced briefly in my direction, as if aware of me, then sat across from my father.
“Is there something you wish to discuss? Perhaps an urgent message for your father…?”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“I see… then—”
Even though Clerivan and my father were employees of the same household, my father’s demeanor toward him was completely different from when he treated Dr. O’Malley. From that alone, I could roughly guess Clerivan’s current position in the family. He was definitely someone even the family head’s son could not command lightly.
Why would someone like him come to see my father?
“The matter I’ve come for concerns not Lord Gallahan, but Miss Firentia.”
Huh? Me?
I drew on every ounce of patience I had to avoid looking at him.
“You’ve come… to see Firentia?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
I could feel the gaze of my father and Clerivan on me. My temples tingled slightly, but I continued flipping my book as if reading.
“Then it must be about your lessons.”
Lessons? What lessons?
Unlike my still-confused self, my father nodded slightly.
“It’s not confirmed yet. I’ve come to have a brief discussion with Miss Firentia today.”
“I-I see.”
Even after understanding why Clerivan had come, my father looked quite flustered, clearing his throat a couple of times before calling me over.
“Tia, come here.”
“Yes, Father.”
I approached with the innocent, clueless expression of a child who had been reading. After a brief hesitation about where to sit, I climbed onto my father’s lap.
I was only seven. Any real seven-year-old would stick as close as possible to their father in the presence of a stranger.
As expected, my father lifted me onto his lap.
A brief silence followed. Specifically, it was just Clerivan and I staring at each other without speaking. He had come to talk to me, yet he said nothing, and I simply stared back. As a seven-year-old, I didn’t know if I had met him before, so I couldn’t make the first move.
“…Indeed.”
After a moment, he muttered something incomprehensible with a strange look in his eyes, slightly bowing his head as if to greet me first.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Firentia. I am Clerivan Pellet.”
Good. I haven’t met him before.
I breathed a silent sigh of relief and bowed respectfully.
“Hello. I’m Firentia Lombardi.”
Trying to make a good impression on a future head of the family, I bowed so deeply that I nearly lost my balance. Big-headed children really are awkward.
“Lord Gallahan, may I speak with Miss Firentia alone for a moment?”
Though phrased as a question, it wasn’t really seeking my father’s consent. In other words—he was telling me to leave.
“Tia, Mr. Clerivan has a few questions for you. Your father will step out for a moment, so answer politely. Understood?”
My father explained kindly, stroking my head.
“…Yes.”
I had expected this, but being alone with Clerivan made me a little nervous. His sharp gaze, inspecting me as if I were under an experiment, was overwhelming.
Once my father’s door closed, Clerivan stood up, fetched something, and returned. It was the book I had just been “reading,” People of the South.
“Do you know what I do in the Lombardi family?”
If I did, I wouldn’t be this nervous.
What had ‘that’ Clerivan Pellet done in his younger days? I shook my head vigorously.
“I am responsible for teaching the young heirs who will one day lead the Lombardi family.”
Ah! Lessons!
Finally, I understood the conversation between my father and Clerivan. I had also received lessons from an education officer for a brief time when I was around nine.
But that teacher wasn’t Clerivan. Had he been assigned elsewhere before that?
In any case, the ‘lessons’ Clerivan referred to were a sort of heir training—a formal first evaluation for the children of Lombardi.
According to the education officer’s plan, the children of the family were gathered and taught together. On the surface, it might sound like light home education, but it was far from that.
It could even be cruel. First, there was no fixed age for starting lessons. Any child deemed ready could participate, regardless of age, revealing the skill level of each child.
Second, there was no fixed age for leaving the lessons. One day, the child would simply be told, “You need not attend anymore.”
That had been my experience. Though not a graduation, it was a deprivation of my right to continue attending.
Finally, each lesson’s evaluation was reported directly to Grandfather. In short, Clerivan Pellet now acted as a direct line between me and Grandfather.
And coming here separately meant…
Grandfather sent him.
I barely restrained a laugh imagining Grandfather’s face lighting up when he saw me staring so intently.
Seeing me, expressionless but alert, Clerivan frowned slightly, perhaps displeased, and placed the book in front of me.
“I hear you’re reading this book.”
“Yes, I started yesterday.”
“I see. What is it about?”
It felt like he was testing whether I could actually read it.
I was glad I had read some of it last night. I paused thoughtfully, then answered.
“I’ve only read a little, but it’s about some fascinating people living in the southern forests of the Empire. This book tells their story.”
Clerivan seemed a little taken aback. He probably thought I was carrying a toy-like book around.
Understandable. A seven-year-old reading a book that could bore adults was certainly suspicious.
I smiled at him, signaling, ask me anything.
“What is the author’s name?”
“It says ‘Rophili’ on the cover.”
“What about Chapter One?”
“Rophili talks about how he heard the rumors about the southern people.”
“Hmm……”
Clerivan was at a loss for words at my smooth answer. I chuckled quietly at his reaction and innocently asked:
“Did you come to read this book? Should I lend it to you?”
I handed the thick green-covered book to Clerivan.
“I’m curious about the rest, but I can read it later.”
“Ahem. It’s not that. I’ve already read it, so you may continue.”
“Ah, that’s a relief!”
I hugged the book tightly, pretending to be delighted.
To see the cold man’s eyes wobble like that was strangely satisfying.
The brief fluster passed. Returning to his usual stern expression, Clerivan asked another question.
“Rophili heard three main rumors. He…”
“Wait, Mr. Clerivan.”
“…Yes?”
“You’re wrong.”
I smiled, curling the corners of my lips.
“Rophili isn’t ‘he.’ It’s ‘she.’”
“Huh?”
“If you check the preface, it says. Full name is Abane Rophili. She’s a female scholar.”
“Wh-what…?”
Clerivan flipped the book, hurriedly reading the preface.
Ah, this is fun.
I added one more jab at his confusion.
“You said you’d read it, but you must have skimmed it.”
His shoulders twitched and his ears turned red. I had to bite my cheek to hold back laughter.
A brief silence followed. Clerivan, wearing a slightly vexed expression, snapped the book shut with a thunk, then leaned back, trying to appear imposing.
“It will be difficult to keep up with the lessons at first.”
“I’ll get to learn a lot of new things!”
I nodded brightly as if welcoming the challenge.
“Your age won’t earn you special treatment. You’ll attend lessons with cousins older than you.”
“That sounds fun!”
The darker the night, the brighter the moon appears.
Beside them, I’d look even smarter!
Clerivan sighed softly, watching me wiggle my short legs in excitement, seeming to give up, and said:
“…And call me teacher, not uncle.”
Finally, permission!
Before Clerivan could change his mind, I answered loudly.
“Yes, Teacher!”
Seven years old, attending ‘lessons’!
Perhaps the fastest in Lombardi history.
I wondered how Clerivan would report today’s events to Grandfather.
The thought made me even happier, and I gave Clerivan a bright smile.
