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The tower's spiral staircase had one thousand, seven hundred, and thirty steps.
Allen walked one thousand, seven hundred, and thirty paces.
He descended the winding stairs, crossed the landing, then looked down.
Before his feet lay one hundred and thirty-two wooden steps.
He paused, silently observing them for a moment.
Just as he prepared to step down—
Faint, elusive notes once again trickled down the tower's inner walls.
Still cheerful.
Yet their meaning was entirely different from before.
Allen raised his head and looked up.
The Ironheart was still watching him.
But now, it was clearly reflected in Allen's pupils.
No longer distant.
What should have been impossible for Allen to perceive, according to Sauros' judgment—
Was unmistakably the sound of laughter.
Unrestrained and triumphant.
Beside the Ironheart, another figure stood beneath the Boreas family crest.
Sauros.
He stood at the tower's peak, gently wiping the dust from the slightly tarnished emblem.
Why had three sons—those "exceptionally outstanding" ones Philip had mentioned in the original story—been chosen to compete for the next family head?
Why would a traditional, iron-willed patriarch like Sauros, who ruled with absolute authority, not simply appoint the most capable heir instead of playing political games with "fair competition"?
The answer was simple.
He was dissatisfied with all three.
But among mediocrity, one still had to rise. So he threw them into the capital's cesspool, letting them fight freely. The last one standing would be the most suitable candidate.
Not because James was the most outstanding.
Only because he was the least unsuitable.
This was also the root of Sauros' later decision to abandon wealth and rebuild the territory after the Great Teleportation—only to be betrayed by James.
This father had never truly acknowledged James.
And James knew it all too well.
Thus, in the original timeline—
Three years.
The three years of Allen's tutelage.
James never once returned to Fittoa to visit Sauros.
Not a single time.
And Sauros, in turn, never relinquished his seat to him.
He wanted to witness the First Prince's ascension himself.
To ensure the Boreas family's stability in this generation.
Boreas.
What place was there for fatherly affection and filial piety?
But now—
Amid Sauros' laughter—
The long-dormant Ironheart had spread its wings once more.
Boreas.
The one hundred and thirty-fourth step.
The next family head had already been decided.
His name—
Allen Boreas Greyrat.
Allen calmly gazed at Sauros' figure atop the tower.
Then he lowered his head, turned, and stepped forward.
His foot landed firmly on the one hundred and thirty-second step.
This was the path he had always intended to walk.
He needed no one's permission.
———
By the time Allen exited the tower, the sun had risen. His meeting with Sauros had not been particularly long, nor too brief.
Logically, at least the snow outside the tower should have been cleared by now.
Yet the world before him remained a blanket of white, marked only by his own footprints. The scattered maids who had been sweeping earlier had all vanished.
Allen raised an eyebrow.
In his line of sight—
Only two maids stood beneath a nearby tree, poised in perfect, submissive postures.
Leer, clad in a damp maid uniform (with certain omissions), smiling with practiced allure.
And Alifa, blushing furiously, clutching a broom, her eyes fixed on her own feet.
Allen's lips twitched in amusement.
Not a single one in this family is easy to deal with.
Even the maids had factions?
Placing their bets this early?
Leer, studying Allen's expression, brightened and performed an elegant curtsy—
Though certain movements made it far more dynamic than intended.
Alifa, meanwhile, remained lost in thought, staring at the snow.
Until Leer yanked her rabbit tail.
Her ears shot upright, and she jolted into a flustered bow—though lacking Leer's… enthusiasm.
It had to be said, every detail was meticulously chosen.
Based on a year of Leer's observations of Allen's preferences, no doubt. As for the more violent tastes, those were likely borrowed from Sauros.
After all, grandfather and grandson shared more than just blood.
With a single glance, Allen strode forward.
The snow crunched underfoot as he stopped before the two.
"Aren't your backs tired, bent like that?"
Leer straightened, her cat-like eyes glinting with mischief.
"Not at all, Master Allen."
Silence lingered.
Then Leer noticed Allen's gaze shifting slightly—
And turned her head.
Beside her, Alifa was still bowing deeply, her expression one of pure, blissful submission.
Leer's smile stiffened.
With a swift, graceful motion, she kicked Alifa's calf.
The force sent the rabbit girl stumbling—
And she dropped to her knees before Allen.
Then, as if waking from a dream, she gasped:
"N-Not tired! Master Allen!"
Her words were coherent, but she made no move to rise.
As if this was exactly where she wanted to be.
Allen: "..."
"Get up. If you keep kneeling, I'll cut you down."
"Ah! A-Ah! Y-Yes! I—"
"S-Sorry! My legs are a bit… weak."
Allen: "..."
Leer watched Alifa's struggle to stand, and even as the seasoned head maid of Boreas, she couldn't help a flicker of admiration.
This level of sensitivity… Where was this talent before?
She helped Alifa up, then glanced at Allen and bowed again.
"I'll take my leave now. Lady Hilda's meal preparations still need attention."
Allen was about to nod when a thought struck him.
"Who handles the correspondence addressed to Boreas?"
Leer blinked, then glanced at Alifa—still dazed and flushed.
"Previously, it was me. Now, it's Alifa, Master Allen."
Another subtle kick.
Alifa lurched forward—
But at the last moment, froze just inches from Allen, her hands trembling mid-air.
She snatched them back, rubbing them nervously.
Master Allen's body… must not be touched without permission.
"Y-Yes! It's me!"
Leer chuckled, her tail swaying as she sauntered away.
Allen stared blankly at Alifa's penitent expression.
He was beyond exasperation at this point.
"If any letters arrive for me, deliver them to me immediately. Without delay."
"U-Understood! Master Allen's orders! I'll obey!"
Silence stretched.
Alifa, still not given permission to raise her head, fidgeted.
…Surely moving just my eyes is fine? I'm not lifting my head.
She peeked upward.
Allen was gazing at a nearby tree branch, its snow-laden tip unmelted.
He seemed to be waiting for something.
Alifa hesitated, then whispered:
"Master Allen… are you waiting for something?"
Allen's eyes remained fixed on the branch.
"A response."
"A… response?"
Alifa followed his gaze.
The branch swayed gently in the winter breeze.
Snow tumbled down.
Sunlight spilled over them.
A spring wind whispered past.
New buds sprouted.
By the time their eyes refocused—
The snow outside the tower had vanished.
So too had the glasses Allen always wore.
Yet he still watched the branch.
His voice, rippling through time, vibrated in the air.
"Today."
"Did any letters come?"
Amid the endless cycle of questions about correspondence—
A month slipped by unnoticed.
Spring had arrived.
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