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The Everheart Marquess’ Mansion in the south.

The residence was as busy as usual, especially with servants bustling about, carrying out their duties as best as they could.

Some were cleaning every reachable corner, using their hands or aided by magical cleaning tools to sweep away dust from high places and narrow gaps.

Others were preparing food and setting out what would be served for that morning’s breakfast.

The gardeners were busy trimming even the tiniest patches of grass to keep the grounds neat and level.

Mr. Belus, the stable master, let out another sad sigh as he looked at one of the horse stalls that had stood empty for weeks now. “Ah, young master… when will you return…” he murmured inwardly.

Since the incident of the Everheart family’s youngest “running away” from home, aside from the head of the household’s furious outrage over his son’s reckless behavior, daily life at the mansion had carried on as normal.

The master of the house, Marquess Everheart himself, was currently in his office, diligently reviewing the pile of reports stacked before him.

Territory security reports.

Business reports from the Everheart family enterprises.

Partnership proposals from potential business allies.

And various other documents, neatly organized by urgency, placed on the opposite side of his desk.

Knock. Knock.

A knock sounded at the door.

Marquess Everheart, who had been frowning in concentration at what he was reading, lifted his head toward the sound.

“Father, it’s me, Alaric.”

It was his eldest son.

“Oh, come in.”

With permission granted, the one who had knocked slowly pushed open the massive door, twice his height, his slightly lighter brown hair appearing first.

He peeked at his father through the opening, half of his body still outside.

“What is it? Has something happened?”

“No, but it’s…”

Marquess Everheart raised an eyebrow, puzzled at his son’s hesitation.

“Step inside first, then tell me what you came to report.”

“Ah, yes.”

Reluctantly, Alaric entered and stood before his father. The wide desk remained between them, both a divider and a distance.

“Well then, my son, what is it? Nothing went wrong when you inspected the wheat fields set to be harvested soon, did it?”

“No, father. But this…”

Alaric lifted his hand, previously hidden, and revealed a letter, holding it out toward Marquess Everheart.

Why was his son so hesitant over just a letter?

“This… it’s from Kael.”

The moment Marquess Everheart heard his youngest’s name, the pen he had been gripping tightly slipped from his fingers and struck the desk with a thud. The copper nib was slightly dented, whether from the impact or from how eagerly the Marquess suddenly wanted to see news of his son.

The boy was far past the age of childish rebellion, yet for some reason he still chose to act this way.

And his horse… oh, heavens… the Marquess felt his blood pressure rising again at the thought of his beloved steed, dragged into Kael’s flight.

“Good Lord! That boy! Hand it here, quickly!”

“But-”

Before Alaric could finish what he wanted to say, the letter was already out of his hands, unfolded in front of the Marquess.

His head throbbed immediately.

This one letter was giving him more of a headache than the mountain of documents he had been working through earlier, even though that pile was many times thicker.

Marquess Everheart pounded his chest lightly and exhaled.

The letter was indeed about Kael, though not written by the boy himself.

There was some relief, at least Kael wasn’t living in some unknown wilderness, in a place with neither known location nor condition.

But was this really what one could call running away?

Whatever the case, what mattered most was that his son was safe.

Not that it was entirely unexpected; after all, Kael had always been a bit different since childhood.

As he remembered those younger days, when the boy had been endearingly cute, the Marquess felt his blood pressure, which had nearly spiked, settle again.

Hah, whose child was this? 

Once so adorable… but now, grown up, every one of his actions threatened to send Marquess Everheart to the family doctor every other week.

The letter was a report from the caretaker of the cottage that had once been gifted to Kael.

He wrote that, during his routine visit to tend the place, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he thought a trespasser had broken in.

The gate was unlocked, the front door wide open.

Though his heart pounded faster with each step, driven by growing fear, the caretaker forced himself to peek inside.

There was a young man sitting there, unpacking items from storage crates originally kept in the warehouse.

He said he almost struck the man from behind, believing him to be a thief, after all, the goods in the warehouse were quite valuable, even if they were mostly just dining ware and household supplies.

Fortunately, the young man turned around. Seeing a face that so closely resembled that of the master who employed him, Kael’s father, the caretaker let out a breath of relief. He had nearly lost his job had he struck that brown-haired head…

Marquess Everheart chuckled, imagining the look on his youngest son’s face at that moment.

Ahem.

He cleared his throat and schooled his expression back into composure.

Alaric still stood before him, waiting for his father to finish reading.

“Well then, at least now we know where your little brother is. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

Alaric nodded. 

Still, curiosity tugged at him. Though he had been the one to deliver the letter, he hadn’t read a word of it himself, since it had been addressed to his father.

“But father, do you think Kael left because of what he overheard that day? That wanting to live independently was just a cover…?”

“Oh? Do you truly think so?”

Marquess Everheart tapped his fingers against the desk, wondering if his son’s suspicion might in fact be true.

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