And so, in the end, I was going to Porca Academy.
The whole scene replayed itself in my head like a rewound reel.
*'Father~ Mati is such a gifted child.'*
*'Ofilienne.'*
The man who had cut me off with a curt "Call me Family Head" — that same man turned into something else entirely in front of my sister.
His expression stayed cold as ever, but his eyes were practically dripping honey.
Being an adopted son is a miserable business.
*'And Matyos is a Moretti. Father. Has there ever been a Moretti ancestor who did not attend the Academy?'*
*'….'*
*'There is one, of course. Thunder Lord Drash de la Moretti. But his potential was so extraordinary that the Academy's mold simply couldn't contain him. That is why no one could fault him for it.'*
*'….'*
*'But what about Mati?'*
Sister placed both hands on my shoulders.
*'Mati is no Thunder Lord. This child needs to graduate from the Academy. Otherwise, it will leave a stain on our family's reputation.'*
*'…I see.'*
*'And most importantly—'*
She paused there, deliberately.
It was a habit of hers — letting the other person fill in the ending themselves.
Ofilienne curved her brow ever so slightly, conjuring an expression of gentle sorrow.
*'I get lonely.'*
And with that, she pinched and kneaded my cheeks like I was a doll.
The Family Head watched, said nothing, and nodded.
That face — !
The decision was already made. Written all over him.
Oh, for the love of—
*'Mati.'*
*'…Yes?'*
A bad feeling grazed me. And it felt like the kind that wouldn't be wrong.
*'Go to the Academy.'*
*'But—'*
*'This discussion is over.'*
*'Hooray!'*
Damn it all.
Father had been right on the verge of coming around. I'd nearly had it — a life in the capital, rich with culture and comfort. A dream existence, practically within reach.
And Sister had upended every last bit of it.
*'I shouldn't have brought her along…'*
I'd thought she'd be useful. Instead of useful, she'd sprinkled ash over a perfectly cooked meal — and then flipped the whole table over.
*'I can't just let this go without saying something.*
No matter how frightening she was, some things needed to be said.
I stomped off, fuming, toward where Sister would be.
At this hour, she always practiced shooting outdoors.
"Sister!"
A gentle breeze swept across the hillside.
Sister stood beneath a parasol held by a servant. Dressed in an elegant dark grey gown, she looked like something out of a painting.
"What is it, Mati?"
She smiled lightly and accepted a loaded musket from the servant. She was wearing long black gloves.
She took aim at a distant target.
The long barrel turned quietly toward its mark.
She glanced at me, then returned her gaze to the target.
"What on earth did you just—"
BANG!!!
A thunderous crack, and smoke curled upward.
Ofilienne handed the musket back to the servant.
A servant standing beside the target waved a flag — a hit. Eight points.
Ofilienne settled into her chair with a satisfied expression, took a sip of coffee, and looked at me.
"What was that?"
"…What was that just now?"
"Just now?"
"You promised."
At my words, Sister rested her chin in her hand as if thinking it over.
"A promise. …Hmm, did we make a promise?"
"…."
"If you have any proof that we made a promise, do bring it to me. A contract bearing my signature or seal, preferably."
"…So that's how you want to play this?"
Ofilienne crossed her long legs and looked up at her younger brother.
His pale face had gone red, and those doe-like eyes were brimming with resentment. His small fists trembled.
*'He really is angry.'*
Understandably so.
The picture he'd been painting up until moments ago had been torn apart rather neatly.
She thought it through carefully.
What was Matyos's game?
Abandoning the Academy. That was tantamount to withdrawing from politics entirely.
The connections one forged at the Academy were indispensable tools for anyone with political ambitions. To give those up was to march onto a battlefield completely naked.
*'But you don't need any of that, do you.'*
Moretti was not a central noble house.
A closed, insular family rooted in the empire's periphery.
Nominally the Emperor's vassals, but in practice, nearly independent lords.
Which meant ties to the central nobility mattered very little.
*'Rather than confronting me head-on, staying in the domain and winning over the retainers and elders… that's actually a clever idea.'*
A rather shrewd choice.
Which was precisely why she liked it even less.
The corner of Ofilienne's mouth curled upward, slowly.
It was a smile, but not a happy one.
*The Matyos I knew wouldn't have done this. He was more innocent than this.*
That she had to feel this way about Matyos, of all people — it made her heart ache.
"You've grown quite cunning, haven't you. My little brother."
"…Hm?"
Matyos wore the blank expression of someone who had no idea what she was talking about.
To think that such a scheme was hiding behind that harmless face…
If she hadn't already seen through his intentions, even she might have been fooled by that performance.
But the scheme had been cut off.
Matyos would be going to the Academy with her. That was settled now. Whatever maneuvering he'd planned to do here while she was away — finished.
And above all else.
*'I intend to leave the domain.'*
Those words kept echoing in her ears.
*Leave.*
*This place.*
*Beyond her sight.*
Ofilienne found it almost funny.
*Leave? Go where?*
*That, I cannot allow.*
"I'll be going now."
Matyos said it in a carefully controlled voice and turned to leave.
At that moment, Ofilienne sprang up from her chair and wrapped her arms around him from behind in a playful embrace.
She pressed her cheek against his soft one.
Just a year ago, she used to do this all the time.
Back then, Matyos would say he didn't like it — but he'd laugh anyway, bright and helpless.
Now it was nothing but a distant memory.
"Don't be like that~ Come with your sister. I already told my friends you were coming, before the break."
"Ugh…."
Matyos groaned as though he couldn't breathe — because she had locked her arms around his chest and stomach and was squeezing.
It wasn't even that tight.
If anything, it was too natural. The ease of something done a thousand times before.
That was what made it more unsettling.
Matyos was turning seventeen this year — nearly old enough to be called an adult — but he was still on the shorter side. There was a full head's difference between them, and naturally, Matyos was the smaller one. So when Ofilienne held him, he was simply swallowed up.
"…I'm going now."
Matyos wriggled his way free.
Being in the arms of a villainess gave him goosebumps.
*'…I need to escape this wretched household, and soon.'*
My comfortable noble life had gone sideways. Digging in my heels and refusing to go to the Academy at this point would only send Father into a towering rage. A towering rage from the Family Head was something to be avoided at all costs. Without that, there was no noble life — or anything else.
The Academy seemed unavoidable.
*'The Academy, huh…'*
I turned the main story over in my mind.
The Academy was not simply a safe place.
Dangerous incidents lurked around every corner.
There was no shortage of events where characters ended up dead in droves.
And there was no guarantee I wouldn't get swept up in them.
*'Still — Sister really is keeping tabs on me, isn't she.'*
Ofilienne trusted no one.
Not close friends, not Father, not professors, not her fiancé.
To her, people were tools. Nothing more, nothing less.
Recalling the atrocities she committed throughout the story, I felt a chill run through me for no particular reason.
For someone like her, a declaration as significant as abandoning the Academy was more than enough to trigger her paranoia.
*'Maybe I moved too hastily…'*
It was infuriating, really.
Even if I said again, *'I have no intention of becoming Family Head,'* she'd just write it off as nonsense.
So for now — fall back.
"Leaving already?"
"We've said everything there is to say."
"Don't be like that — want to try shooting? It's a new model developed by the imperial court, apparently. It has rifling now, so it's actually worth using."
Ofilienne stroked the musket she'd taken from the servant.
"I'll give it a try."
"Here you go."
I took the musket.
It was heavier than expected — I nearly dropped it.
"You really should exercise more. You're a boy and you're shorter than me *and* weaker?"
"…."
Ignoring her jab, I tried to bring it to my shoulder.
Now what?
It was nothing like a modern rifle.
"Ha. It seems the young master doesn't know the first thing about this."
Her servant laughed with a thin, knowing smile. Then he shrugged toward Ofilienne, as if seeking her agreement.
"My lady. Would someone like the young master really be able to shoot properly? He's always struck me as more suited to a writing brush."
There was a subtle contempt woven into his tone.
I was used to it, so I ignored it.
But Sister's neck turned stiffly, like a doll's.
Her smile was still in place, but something about it had gone cold.
"Is that so?"
"He couldn't even manage swordsmanship — didn't he give up the sword rather quickly?"
"That's true enough."
"Ha ha ha."
"But why are *you* saying it?"
"Ha ha… Pardon?"
"What is your position here?"
"…I am one who serves the Moretti."
"And Matyos's family name?"
"…Moretti."
"And yet?"
He'd been walked that far — there was no way he could miss the point now.
"I — I apologize."
The servant wiped the smile from his face and bowed at the waist.
"Watch your tongue. He is *my* brother, not yours. Do you understand?"
Under her reprimand, the servant couldn't lift his head. He sweated profusely and apologized over and over.
I watched Ofilienne with cold, flat eyes.
In short: *only I get to torment him.* That's what she was saying.
What a vicious woman.
"…I'm sorry. I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do. Well, regardless… Mati. Let's have you try a shot."
Ofilienne came around behind me and guided my grip on the musket.
Her silver-grey hair drifted in the breeze and brushed against my neck. It tickled.
I settled into position and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
"Shame. You missed."
The target was still.
Ofilienne patted my shoulder consolingly.
"Try again. At least hit it once."
"I'll try."
Ofilienne gave a nod, and the servant handed over a loaded musket.
I took my stance.
Turned my body slightly to the side, left hand supporting the stock from below.
Cheek to the stock.
Aimed. Drew a full breath into my lungs and held it.
Skill.
[Superior Marksmanship]
Back in my past life, I'd been a sharpshooter in the military. And I seemed to have good eyes — a natural feel for this sort of thing.
I'd gotten a proper sense of it now. This time, I was confident.
Sister steadied my posture from behind.
Everything in place, I pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The target gave a faint shudder.
Ofilienne narrowed her eyes.
Dead center. Ten points.
*'Ten points at this distance?'*
She was genuinely surprised.
That was a distance she herself found difficult.
The servants were equally taken aback.
Matyos had always been hopeless at anything physical. Swordsmanship, obviously — but even archery left him complaining of muscle soreness after a single shot.
He had never once trained in marksmanship.
And yet, on his very second attempt, a perfect score.
*'Luck?'*
She was still thinking that when Matyos shrugged and passed the musket back to the servant.
"…Just luck. I wouldn't have hit it without Sister's help."
"Ha ha. Is that so?"
Ofilienne smiled faintly.
That settled it.
*Luck?* The posture and the breathing had been far too composed to dismiss as luck. She'd been right there, steadying him — she'd felt it clearly.
This was no accident.
"Well then, I'll head off. I need to start preparing for the Academy."
Matyos left as if fleeing.
Ofilienne held his retreating figure in her grey eyes. Until he disappeared over the crest of the hill.