OTKL 16

Chapter : 16

The First Lesson

“Pascal, how have you been?

As for me…”

Alferil’s pen, which had been gliding along in slanted cursive heavy with ink, suddenly came to a stop. She was afraid of ruining the fine stationery she had received from Terenzio’s study.

She had rarely written letters before. Exchanging news while separated from Pascal was unfamiliar to her as well.

“…As for me, a great many things have happened in the meantime.”

Still, unfamiliar things couldn’t remain unfamiliar forever. The sharp nib moved again without hesitation.

“The young master is a good man. Life here is very different from what I expected, but all the more enjoyable for it. The way you taught me to set mousetraps turned out to be surprisingly useful. You could even say that Sant Caleum regaining its former dignity is half thanks to you.

I’ve decided to learn the piano from him. Can you believe it? Sometimes it feels strange, as if the young master doesn’t realize that I’m a serf. Or perhaps I’m the one forgetting that he’s a noble.

I never once expected to meet such a kind master in my lifetime. That’s why, all the more, I must not forget my proper place—why I came here in the first place.

I worry about Father’s health, and I wonder how you and your brothers are doing. I wish you were here with me.”

I miss you—.
The final words she had meant to add were pressed down by the tip of her pen and left unwritten.

Even between friends, there were lines that should not be crossed. And Pascal, clumsy with letters, would inevitably hear this letter read aloud by someone else.

She could only hope that Pascal’s older brother, who had learned to read on his own while working as a tailor, would someday have enough leisure to read it to him.

Flutter, flutter. After carefully drying the ink with a gentle motion, Alferil folded the letter a few times and sealed the envelope with red wax. Holding the neat envelope in her hand, she gazed out the dim window, deep in thought.

A week earlier, the day after she had returned with the flowers, servants summoned by the young master’s orders filled the mansion. It wasn’t truly crowded, but to Alferil’s eyes it seemed so.

It hadn’t been long since she had left the always-bustling Grand Duke’s residence, and the presence of people in the once-empty Sant Caleum felt strangely out of place.

Both the man and Alferil were reluctant to show their faces to strangers, and so they ended up more or less shut away in the same room all day. Perhaps because of that, whatever lingering emotions remained from the previous night quickly faded.

At first, Alferil had awkwardly fidgeted as she returned the man’s coat, but she soon focused on the tasks given to her.

In this place, where emptiness felt more familiar, Terenzio Heron was simply lonely. She knew it. She knew that all of this time would eventually be defined as nothing more than a lonely noble’s diversion.

“Have we met before, after all?”

How could it matter? Wherever and however their first meeting had begun, he would have been the young master, and she a serf.

He was a weak and hollow man. It would be foolish for someone like her—who was not even truly hurting—to get caught up in his idle emotions. She knew that too.

No matter how things turned out, she would one day have to leave again. And so, whatever this ticklish feeling was, she had to bury it before it truly began, if she wanted to avoid being hurt.

When she opened the door after reaffirming that resolve, the first sight before her was shocking. In the center of the room stood an elegant mahogany desk and chair she hadn’t seen on her last visit.

She let out a brief, impressed sigh—then gasped again at the pile of papers stacked beside it, and once more at the indecipherable writing scrawled across them.

What would the score of a genius who grasped and shook the world look like? Would just one glance summon a vision of rapturous melodies drifting before her eyes…?

That hopeful fantasy shattered completely.

It seemed the sobbing complaints left behind by the record company staff had not been an exaggeration. Alferil spent the entire morning trying to make sense of the chaotic handwriting and the rules behind the scribbled notes, before finally taking a short breather.

Terenzio, wearing thin gold-rimmed glasses crookedly atop his straight nose, scratched away with a fountain pen, moving back and forth between the piano and the small table beside it as he worked on the score.

His expression was cool, without even the hint of a smile. Whenever he held the paper close, as if his eyesight troubled him, he would press his furrowed brow and adjust his glasses—something that inexplicably caught Alferil’s attention.

“Young master.”

Terenzio, who had been bent over, slowly brushed back his disheveled hair and responded to her call. Pressing her suddenly restless fingertips into the chair, Alferil spoke.

“Your glasses frame is crooked. If you keep wearing them like that, your headaches will get worse.”

“Is it that noticeable? I haven’t had time to get a new pair.”

He immediately took them off, narrowing his brows as he turned the tilted frame this way and that. Seeing how oddly helpless he looked, Alferil rose from her seat.

“If you bend this arm slightly the other way… I think that would fix it.”

“It’ll break.”

“That’s why you need to relax. Just a moment.”

She stepped closer and took the glasses from Terenzio’s hand. With careful attention, she found the imbalance and delicately adjusted it.

So focused was Alferil on fixing the expensive frame without damaging it that she didn’t notice Terenzio’s eyes fixed steadily on her hands.

“All right. Now if we find a cord to secure it—”

“Small.”

Drawn unconsciously, Terenzio slowly released the glasses and instead grasped her hand, which looked especially pale in the sunlight.

“And yet there’s a strange sense of balance. Your nails are neat, and your bones feel sturdy.”

“Y-young master.”

As his gaze lifted from her hand to her face, his dull gray eyes wavered. Seeing Alferil blinking, her ears gradually turning red, he stammered an apology—rare for him.

“Ah, um… I’m sorry.”

“…”

“…May I hold your hand?”

The question came far too late. After hesitating, Alferil nodded, and only then did their hands touch again—briefly, before parting. With a gaze that seemed to drip with lingering regret, Terenzio asked once more,

“Have you ever thought about playing the piano? You seem quite talented.”

“I’m not sure. I took lessons for about seven years, but… I suppose I didn’t really have the talent.”

The man, who had been holding her gaze the entire time, lowered his head and let out a quiet snort of laughter. With the motion, his hand brushed against hers again. Alferil held her breath, afraid he might hear her throat tremble.

“If you lack talent, then who could possibly have it? What was the name of that fellow who taught you?”

“I remember that the second son of the Evergreen Count’s family gave lessons about once a week.”

“A name I’ve never even heard. If there was a problem, it was with that boy, not you.”

All her attention was fixed on her fingers, twitching on the edge of contact. When her hand brushed against the firm joints of his fingers once more, Alferil flinched and pulled back.

Unlike her, Terenzio seemed unaffected, murmuring calmly,

“Isn’t it difficult to copy a score of a piece you’ve never played?”

Unsure whether it was a question or mere musing, Alferil simply looked at him. After blinking thoughtfully, his sunken eyes lifted to her again.

“What if I were to teach you the piano myself?”

“…Pardon?”

“Would you still refuse? A few hours after work would be enough.”

His casual tone carried something shocking. Alferil froze, stunned in a different way than before. It was so impulsive. Did he even understand what his offer meant?

Terenzio Heron was the pianist who represented Triverar. Rumor had it that he had even refused requests to teach distant members of the royal family.

If it became known that such a man had taken on a serf—someone not even considered human among the nobility—as his student, the ridicule would be obvious. Thinking instinctively of the harm it could bring him, Alferil shook her head hurriedly.

“N-no, I—”

“If that choice is based on considering those around you, then stop, Alfe.”

As if reading her thoughts, Terenzio cut her off and added,

“Think only of how you feel. That is all that matters to me.”

The tremor in his low voice filled the room. It felt as though her own hands vibrated in response.

“I…”

Alferil frowned slightly, starting to speak before trailing off. Her long eyelashes fluttered as if gauging his reaction. Only after he gently urged her—“Go on”—did her lips move again.

“If I learn the piano… would I be of more help to you, young master?”

“…”

“If so, then I want to learn. Very much.”

Before the man could answer, her voice rang out, firm as stone. Terenzio’s lips slowly curved upward, and soon a playful tone slipped from him.

“Then go and work. You’ll need to earn your tuition.”

That day, Alferil completed three scores before returning to her room. For a moment, the excessive excitement frightened her—then her breath grew short again. Every step down the corridor was light with anticipation.

The happiness she could gain by giving up something she couldn’t even define was this sweet.