A winter chill swept through the air, cold and biting.
Crack!
A harsh, sharp sound rang out through the ornate yet frigid parlor.
Sharp. Merciless. Decisive.
"Next."
The man who had struck the blow spoke in a solemn voice, as though this were simply routine—utterly unmoved.
A boy stepped forward: silver hair threaded through with strands of black, a composed expression, and pale blue eyes.
"Gelberin."
"Yes."
"A report came from the Mage Tower. I hear your paper was rejected once."
The man murmured flatly as he began wiping his hand with a handkerchief.
"I apologize."
The man said nothing more.
He simply stepped toward the boy named Gelberin, twisted his body, and struck his cheek again—hard.
Gelberin's head snapped to the side, and blood began to trickle where his lip had split.
"Pathetic."
"…"
The man—blue banners flanking either side of him, eyes like cold steel.
This was how Rokgard Pailless, Family Head of House Pailless, began his day.
His hair had gone pale and his face was lined with age, but he had once served as a Court Mage to the imperial family, and his authority within the household was absolute.
No one dared say a word against him for it.
Some even considered his coldness the very essence of House Pailless—something to be taken for granted.
"Next."
As Gelberin withdrew, a girl stepped forward.
Silver hair. Blue eyes.
The child whose bearing most resembled Rokgard's own approached with careful steps and stood before him.
"Elline."
"Yes, Father."
"I heard. You placed third on the written entrance examination."
"…"
His own reflection—Elline.
Even her hair, which had once taken after her mother, had been dyed silver, making her a perfect image of House Pailless.
Yet Rokgard had no intention of lowering his standards for that reason.
If anything, it made him hold her to an even stricter measure.
"I apologize."
Rokgard strode toward her and stopped directly in front of her. The difference in their heights was nearly twofold.
Smack!
A sharp crack split the air, and the silver-haired girl crumpled to the floor.
"Both your brothers entered at the top of their class, and you place third on a written exam?"
Elline struggled to her feet. Against her pale skin, the swollen red mark on her cheek was already darkening into a bruise.
"It seems I've been too lenient in teaching you the weight of this family's name, Elline."
He took another heavy step toward her—
"That's enough."
The one who stopped him was the mistress of the house, standing behind him. Cleonoa.
"This is none of your concern."
Cleonoa stepped forward calmly and looked down at Elline as she spoke.
"The practical examination is in two days. If she shows up with unnecessary bruising and people start talking, what do you intend to do about it?"
"…Tch."
Rokgard clicked his tongue and swept his gaze over his three children.
"Remember this. The name of the family that stands before you, and the responsibility you owe it. Do not satisfy me—satisfy the family. Understood?"
It was a declaration too chilling to come from a father, yet no one could argue against it.
"Dismissed. My head aches."
Rokgard waved a hand, and the three children bowed their heads and filed out of the parlor.
Once outside, the three of them walked away in silence—not exchanging a glance, not a single word—each going their separate way.
* * *
Her head ached.
Her left cheek throbbed, and she could taste blood.
*Dismissed.*
Her father's voice—one she had grown used to by now.
The voice that judged, suppressed, and raged kept circling in her mind.
She didn't think she had ever been loved.
From the moment she was born, being scolded and watched over had simply been her life.
"…"
She looked in the mirror.
The swollen cheek had turned a deep, ugly purple, the burst blood vessels pulsing beneath the skin in a grotesque pattern.
Perhaps because her skin was so pale, the red stood out all the more starkly.
She slowly traced her fingers over it, and the sting made her flinch.
*It hurts.*
The door opened carefully, and Elline instinctively flinched, turning her head.
But there was only one person who would come to her room at this hour.
The figure lit by the flickering light was a woman—graceful, with braided black hair that lent her an elegant air.
Her mother. Cleonoa.
"…Mother."
"Come here."
At her firm words, Elline walked toward her, and Cleonoa gently placed her hand against her daughter's cheek.
The ointment had a thick, faintly sweet smell.
"…"
Elline trembled at the warmth of the touch, but no tears came.
They had long since dried up.
"Elline."
"Yes, Mother."
"Are you all right?"
"…"
She didn't answer.
What did *all right* even mean here?
Her body?
The exam in two days?
Or her feelings about her father?
Elline looked up carefully, and on Cleonoa's ice-cold face she caught the faint trace of a gentle smile.
Even so, Elline couldn't speak.
Because she didn't know.
She didn't know her own feelings.
From the time she was small, everything about her had been decided for her.
What she wore. When she bathed. When she slept. All of it.
Controlled by her father, Rokgard. Controlled by the family.
Silence settled over the room, and Cleonoa softly stroked her cheek.
"…I hope you'll do what you want to do."
To have to say these words to her own daughter—a daughter who had somewhere along the way lost her smile and gone blank—filled Cleonoa with both guilt and a quiet, rising grief.
"If you go to the academy, you'll be living in the dormitories for three years, won't you?"
"Yes."
"Think about it."
Cleonoa said it even knowing how hollow the words were.
Years of control.
Whether three years of independence, coming now, would be enough for her to find anything—that, she couldn't say.
*…*
Elline had never once thought about who she might be without the name of House Pailless.
"Rest well, and do your best on the exam in two days."
Cleonoa left, and silence reclaimed the room. Elline lay down quietly.
She gazed up at the ceiling—always so still—and slowly closed her eyes.
Savoring the only moment she could ever truly call her own.
Two days later, she made her way to the academy for the practical examination—the second part of the entrance test.
Winter was brutal.
All the more so for an academy perched high in the mountains.
"Your name?"
"…Elline Pailless."
"Why are you wearing a mask?"
"I received prior permission."
Rokgard, unwilling to let his failings show, had forced her to wear a mask.
And so she had come—her left cheek still throbbing—wearing a mask that didn't quite fit her face.
A few eyes drifted toward her as she entered with her hair covered and her face hidden, but they lost interest quickly and looked away.
"…"
Inside the hall, noise pressed in from all sides.
The sound of students filing in. Chatter. The low murmur of incantations being rehearsed.
It was loud.
Perhaps because her cheek still hurt and her body was trembling—the students' murmuring felt sharper than usual, grating against her nerves.
Cold winter air. Her head rang, and a chill crept through her bones.
She would have to wait a long time, so she found a corner, sat down, and quietly began to read.
If she failed to place first on this exam as well, he probably wouldn't hit her.
But he would lock her in the dark and make her read again.
That punishment—solitary confinement—was its own particular horror.
…
Elline adjusted the mask that kept slipping out of place and pulled her coat tighter around herself.
Sitting in the corner to avoid the noise, she felt the cold bite even more keenly.
It was the same feeling she always had in the Pailless estate.
Cold. Bleak. Indifferent.
*…*
A familiar sensation she had always known—yet her body still trembled, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Thud.
Footsteps approached, drawing closer.
"Is this seat taken?"
She turned her head. A boy stood there.
Dark hair with a faint warm brown undertone, tied back loosely.
"Sorry, it's too loud over there. Is this seat free?"
Elline said nothing, but the boy sat down beside her as naturally as if she had answered.
"…"
"You're even wearing a mask. Interesting—is that part of a concept or something?"
*Be quiet.*
Elline shifted slightly away. The boy moved closer again.
Finding his behavior baffling, Elline turned to look at him—and found him staring directly at her.
"…Wow, you're working through something hard."
More precisely, he was staring at the book she was reading.
"That's impressive. You're already solving problems like this?"
*Problems like this.*
A set of magical formulas she had worked through countless times—yet this boy was looking at her with genuine admiration, as though he couldn't make heads or tails of it.
Elline, of course, said nothing.
"Right, well. If you don't want to talk, that's fine."
When she kept not answering, the boy shrugged and leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and appeared to fall asleep.
The ease of someone who didn't particularly care whether he passed or not.
A type she had never encountered before.
*…*
The boy who had sat down beside her without warning was, perhaps, an annoyance—a nuisance. But he had gone quiet, as though drifting off to sleep.
His steady breathing, and the way his body blocked the draft that had been cutting through—somehow, the cold seemed to ease a little.
It wasn't bad.
Time passed, and some of the students began to rise from their seats.
The exam would be starting soon—but Elline was likely scheduled near the end, so her turn wasn't coming yet.
She paid it no mind and focused on her book.
And then—
"…Mmph."
The boy beside her stirred and opened his eyes.
He stretched lightly, rolling his shoulders and loosening his limbs.
"Thanks to you, I slept well. Appreciate it."
An unexpected thing to say.
*…?*
Elline looked up at him, not quite understanding.
What was there to be grateful for?
The boy, unbothered, pulled his hand from his pocket and held something out to her.
"Here."
A small, glowing sphere.
A soft vermilion light shimmered gently within it.
A cheap Heating Artifact, the kind used for warmth.
Something she had never touched before.
"I warmed it up with my mana. It should be pretty warm. You were shivering."
Elline didn't respond.
"Is the silent-monk thing part of the concept too?"
When she still didn't answer, the boy tossed it toward her. Elline caught it on reflex, and warmth spread from her hand through her entire body.
She turned the artifact over in her fingers.
"I'm heading in for my exam now, so if you don't need it, keep it."
"…"
"Good luck on yours. Or—well, if you're already solving problems that hard, I guess you'll be fine."
The boy glanced at her book with a playful grin and offered his encouragement.
"Support magic applicants! Please gather at the front of the hall!"
"Hm… I'm a little nervous."
He gave a casual wave and jogged off toward the crowd.
"…"
Elline watched his retreating figure for a long moment before finally looking down at the Heating Artifact in her hand.
She closed her fingers around it, and warmth seeped into her again.
*...*
When she looked up, the boy had already disappeared into the crowd.
Elline pushed aside the faint ripple that had stirred somewhere inside her and returned to her book.
She thought it was simply a chance encounter.
But she would see that boy again—twice more, after that.