“Doctor O’Malley, are you here?”
As expected, the place my father carried me to was the clinic inside the mansion. The physicians in this world were similar to herbal doctors in that they brewed and ground herbs into medicine, yet some also possessed a mysterious power called “healing,” making them somewhat like the priests I had seen in novels. The moment we stepped into the small building, the strong scent of herbs filled the air so completely that anyone could tell it was a clinic.
“Doctor O’Malley!”
As the smell suggested, Doctor O’Malley, the Lombardi family’s personal physician, belonged to the former type.
“Lord Gallahan, what brings you here?”
A tall man who looked to be in his late forties stepped out from a research room deeper inside. He had a plain and gentle appearance.
“Florentia is hurt. Could you take a look at her?”
At my father’s words, Doctor O’Malley turned his gaze to me. A child brought to a physician would usually be crying, yet I simply stared back at him blankly, which seemed to puzzle him.
“Oh dear, how did this happen?”
But as he sat me down and examined my wounds, his brows furrowed. The injury was worse than he had expected.
“I fell.”
I gave the universal excuse that worked for almost any suspicious injury.
“The scraped knee may leave a scar.”
Coincidentally, it was the same spot where I had once fallen and gotten hurt on my birthday. I had hoped to grow without scars, but it seemed I ended up with something similar anyway. Still, nothing was broken, so while I simply nodded, my father’s expression darkened.
“……”
It must have pained him to think his daughter would be left with a scar. His large hand rested heavily on my head as he stroked it. Doctor O’Malley watched the two of us with a pleased expression for a moment before taking out a strange potion and applying it to my wound.
“Is there anywhere else that hurts, young lady?”
It felt a little awkward to be addressed so formally after such a long time.
That’s right. Before my father passed away, this was how things used to be.
I extended my left arm, which had been bothering me more than my knee.
“Here……”
“Oh dear.”
Seeing my swollen wrist, the doctor clicked his tongue.
“Who did this, Tia?”
My father asked in a low, angry voice. He likely meant which of the two—Beleśak or Astaliu—had caused it, and seemed ready to confront their parents.
But I answered in the same tone as before.
“I fell.”
“Tia……”
My father called my name with concern, but I pretended not to hear.
“Ahem. Judging by the swelling, it doesn’t seem broken, but you’ll need to be careful for a while.”
In the end, my wrist was wrapped tightly in thick bandages. I was told I could remove them while bathing but had to rewrap them afterward, and that Doctor O’Malley would visit me every few days.
Then came the worst part.
I had to drink bitter medicine every day for an entire month.
Even as an adult, I had always hated bitter foods and teas, so this was the worst prescription imaginable. Just thinking about it made my mouth taste bitter. As I stood there holding the medicine packets with a displeased expression, my father turned to the doctor.
“Doctor, may I speak with my daughter for a moment? Could you give us some privacy?”
“Of course. I’ll be in the research room. Call me if you need anything.”
The doctor returned to his lab, leaving just the two of us.
Since this was his space, it would have been more proper for us to step outside if we had something to discuss. But the way my father so naturally asked the doctor to leave reminded me again that he was the son of the head of the family.
“Tia.”
My father knelt on one knee to meet my eye level as I sat in the chair. Seeing his green eyes—identical to mine—made my chest ache and yet feel full at the same time.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He was talking about Beleśak and Astaliu. He had known they bullied me, but today was the first time he learned about the humiliating things they said. It must have been a shock.
Back then, I had been too afraid of Beleśak’s threats to ever seek help from adults.
In the end, my father never learned the truth before he died. At the time, I thought that was fortunate.
Now, looking back, it was simply foolish.
“They said they’d hit me more if I told.”
“…Those brats!”
My father sprang to his feet, ready to march off and punish them immediately. But I grabbed his sleeve.
“It’s okay. I hit them a lot today, so they won’t say things like that again.”
If they do, I’ll just hit them again.
My calm response left him momentarily speechless before he let out a helpless laugh and sat back down.
“Tia, may I ask you one thing?”
“What is it?”
“Why did you act differently today?”
He seemed to want to understand what had changed in me. From a parent’s perspective, it was natural to wonder what their child was thinking.
“Because I realized that enduring it wouldn’t make them stop.”
As a child, I had believed that if I just endured it, it would eventually end. And while the bullying from Beleśak and Astaliu did lessen with age, it never truly ended. It simply changed form.
“So from now on, I won’t endure it. I’ll fight back, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll tell the adults and cry. So you don’t need to worry.”
I hugged my father once as he looked at me with sad eyes. He froze in surprise for a moment before gently patting my back.
“But Tia, why are you suddenly calling me ‘Father’? I’d prefer it if you called me ‘Dad’ like before……”
Ah, right. I used to call him Dad.
His eyes softened with a hint of disappointment at the distance he felt.
After all this time, after being reunited with him, was that really too much to give?
“Dad!”
I snuggled deeper into his arms.
“Let’s live happily together for a long, long time!”
“Haha! Of course, Tia.”
He didn’t understand the true meaning behind my words.
And he never would.
Because this time, I wouldn’t let him go so helplessly.
I would protect him. And this Lombardi family too.
The head’s office.
Rulac rubbed his white brows as he looked at a book lying on his desk.
People of the South.
He had ordered another copy from the library after seeing the one Florentia had. He wondered if perhaps he had misremembered its contents.
The book was a scholarly study, published about ten years ago, on a mysterious tribe discovered at the southern edge of the empire. Living deep in the forest with a highly closed culture, the author described them as possessing a mysterious power called “magic.” It was said to be an ability passed down strictly through bloodlines, something that could not be taught to outsiders.
Flipping through a few pages, Rulac closed the book.
The contents were not what mattered.
What troubled him was why his seven-year-old granddaughter had been reading a difficult academic text meant for adults—not even a literary work, but a scholarly one.
Knock, knock.
At the sound, a man with long blond hair neatly tied back and wearing glasses entered. It was Clerivan, a scholar Rulac had supported since the early days of establishing his scholarship system. He now oversaw the family’s finances and the education of the Lombardi children.
“You called for me, my lord?”
“Have a seat.”
As soon as Clerivan sat down, Rulac slid the book toward him.
“What is this?”
“It’s the book my granddaughter was reading today.”
“Your granddaughter… do you mean Lady Larane?”
Larane was Bieze’s eldest daughter and Beleśak’s older sister by two years.
“That’s remarkable. Reading something like this at eleven…”
“Not Larane.”
“Then who?”
“Florentia.”
Clerivan frowned, wondering if this was a joke.
“I am not joking.”
“But Lady Florentia is still…”
“Seven.”
Like Rulac had done, Clerivan flipped through the book and spoke skeptically.
“Perhaps she simply liked the cover?”
The deep green cover, like the forest of the southern people, might have appealed to a child.
“At seven, most children can barely read a few storybooks.”
“That is generally true.”
“Then are you saying Lady Florentia is not ordinary?”
“That is what I called you here to find out.”
“In that case…”
“From now on, include Florentia in the lessons with the other children.”
Clerivan held classes once a week for the Lombardi children deemed capable of keeping up, regardless of age. Currently, only Bieze’s two children and the eleven-year-old twin sons of Shanet—the eldest and only daughter of Rulac—attended.
“Lady Florentia is too young. A seven-year-old would struggle not only to understand the lessons but even to sit still for that long.”
“That is also generally true.”
Sensing something meaningful in Rulac’s tone, Clerivan narrowed his eyes.
“What exactly are you trying to confirm, my lord?”
“Well…”
Rulac tapped his thick finger against the desk.
“Florentia’s mother was a wandering woman who drifted into this city. She was beautiful, but had no other remarkable qualities.”
Her face had faded from memory, but her striking green eyes remained vivid.
“That’s why I didn’t pay much attention to Florentia. But after seeing her today…”
He recalled his granddaughter—covered in wounds, hair in disarray, yet not shedding a single tear as she spoke her mind clearly.
“Perhaps there is one among them who has strongly inherited my blood.”
And as he remembered her sitting atop Beleśak, fiercely swinging that book despite the size difference, a rare, amused smile spread across Rulac’s wrinkled face.
