Extra Story 8: A Letter from My Mother (1/2)

[To my dearest mother

The weather here was so frigid in recent days and most parts of our dormitory have been covered in ice. Because of it, His Highness' clothes are getting thicker and I was spending my days practicing to control my magic so that he won't feel cold because of me.

This year, I was able to choose Advanced Practical Magic as my elective course. For your information, Advanced Practical Magic can only be taken by those who have achieved excellent grades in the two subjects of Basic Magic and Practical Magic. However, I am very honored to have been recommended by my teacher and able to take the course successfully. I will devote myself day by day to eventually become a person who will not embarrass Marquis Highon as his successor.

Speaking of which, the Serendia School Festival season is approaching. I'm aware you're so busy, but I wish you could visit by. Marquis Highon also said that he would provide us with a carriage. Since this will be my last school festival. I will try my best to help His Highness, the student council president, in his wonderful leadership, in the hope you can enjoy the school festival as well.

Please take care of yourself, since the weather is getting colder lately. Also, I received chocolate made with the latest technology the other day. It tastes very good and warms you up when you melt it in milk. I have included the package in the letter so you can try it out yourself.

From your son.]

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There was a carriage pulling away from Serendia Academy, which was celebrating its school festival. The carriage was not ornately decorated, but it was well-made and carried the flag of  Marquis Highon, one of the most prestigious noble families in the kingdom. In such a carriage, Myra Wayne sat with a shrinking body.

Myra was an ordinary woman in her mid-thirties. Her appearance which belonged to a commoner was hardly adequate to fit into this magnificent carriage. She was aware of this, so she sat hunched over, trying to reduce her presence in the carriage as much as possible.

The carriage was comfortable to ride in. It was incomparable to the cheap carriages on the streets. Even so, Myra couldn't help but feel her face tense.

Sitting across from Myra was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a mustache—A man of much higher status than Myra—Marquis Highon. To Myra, the fact that they were even now riding in the same carriage was hard to believe.

Marquis Highon opened his mouth while playing with his mustache as Myra looked at him with trepidation.

”To be honest, I never thought you'd ask me to bring you to attend the school festival… I didn't mean to imply that you'd be a nuisance.”

Marquis stopped Myra, who reflexively tried to apologize, with a wave of his hand.

Myra has a habit of saying, ”I am sorry, I am sorry,” regardless of whether she is at fault or not. Her habit came from her late husband who would abuse her and raise his hand whenever he didn't like her. That's why Myra's gaze is always hovering around her feet, and if she looks up once in a while, she will unconsciously see someone else's face.

Even so, while Myra was looking at the complexion of him, Marquis continued his words with his blue eyes slightly down.

”I see you're having difficulty dealing with Cyril.”

The Marquis' words struck her heart really hard. Myra's face contorted into tears, and she covered her face with her hands.

”…yeah, that's right. That boy was just too… much like his father.”

Myra's late husband might have shared the blood of the Highon family, but it didn't mean its prestige would be shared down to him. And yet, he insisted that he was a member of that noble family… As a result, he became isolated from his surroundings, lost his job, and ended up drowning in alcohol before his death. And Myra herself has always been unable to stand having a son who looks so much like her late husband.

”Every time he proudly told me that he received the highest grade in school, I felt afraid he would end up like his father.”

Perhaps, Cyril just wanted her compliment ever since he was young. He wanted her to praise him ‘Well done, you did a great job.' However, Myra was unable to say even such a commonplace compliment. She had a feeling that if she complimented him, he would grow up and become a proud person like his father.

”…I'm not expecting him to have a good grade. I just want him to be normal like the others… ”

But Cyril was a brilliant and hardworking person. He kept striving, believing that if he worked harder, his mother would surely praise him. Eventually, Marquis Highon recognized his achievement, offered him financial support and adoption. At that time Cyril must have thought, ‘I'm sure my mother will praise me for this.'

However, Myra pushed Cyril away.

——I knew it, you really are from a noble family.

Myra still can't forget the hurt look on Cyril's face when she said those words to him.

”Lord Marquis, you asked me why did I ask you to bring me to the school festival when I have been stubbornly refusing to see Cyril? The truth is, I was planning to see his face for the last time today, and never see him again after.”

Myra knew what kind of life her son was leading because she received letters from Cyril every month.