A few days later, Saphy was enjoying a rare moment of quiet when a maid appeared at her door, bowing deeply.
"My lady, the Lord requests your presence in his study," she said with a polite smile.
Saphy let out a soft sigh and stretched. "Alright, I'll head there now."
She walked down the polished marble hallway, the faint echo of her footsteps blending with the distant clatter of the castle staff going about their day. When she arrived at her father's study, she pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Inside, her father looked up from a stack of papers, smiling warmly. But her attention was immediately drawn to four middle-aged men, neatly dressed and standing around a large table covered in rolled blueprints and sketches. They were deep in conversation, their voices hushed but urgent. As Saphy stepped in, all four froze mid-sentence, eyes widening slightly at the sight of her.
Seeing her father engrossed in conversation, Saphy hesitated at the doorway. Then, realizing she might be interrupting, she bowed her head slightly and spoke softly,
"Ah—my apologies, Father. I didn't mean to intrude. It seems you're busy. I'll come back another time."
Her gentle tone and graceful composure caught the four men completely off guard.
They had expected the usual: a spoiled noble child, proud of her pedigree and too arrogant to show proper respect. But instead, the young girl before them—barely five years old, dressed simply yet elegantly—bowed with the poise of a seasoned lady. Her every word carried refinement and sincerity beyond her years.
The four men exchanged glances, quietly astonished.
They were royal architects—veterans of countless commissions, from cathedrals to castles. They had met princes, dukes, and noble heirs by the dozen, yet not one had displayed such natural grace.
And this was the girl the King himself had spoken of.
Just a few days earlier, they had received an imperial summons bearing the royal seal. Within those gilded chambers, the King had told them about Sapphire Rosabelle Astley—a prodigious child who had awakened Light Magic during her ceremony, and who, despite being offered the divine title of Saintess, had refused it with flawless reasoning that even the clergy could not contest.
He had then spoken of her compassion—how she had expressed concern for the suffering of the poor and declared her wish to establish a Healing Hall that would offer free treatment to commoners.
The King, deeply moved by her words, had promised that the royal treasury would handle the construction personally.
That was why these architects were here.
Yet even as they stood before her now, the thought still seemed unreal. A five-year-old noble girl, a magic genius, refusing sainthood, and dedicating herself to helping the poor?
Had it been anyone other than the King himself who told them this, they would've assumed someone was playing a very elaborate joke.
But now, seeing her bow so politely, voice calm and eyes clear as morning sky sapphire, they could only think—
So the rumors were true.
Before Saphy could turn to leave, her father's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
She turned back, blinking curiously.
Charles set his quill down and gestured toward the four men standing by the table. "Actually, they're here for you."
"For… me?" Saphy tilted her head, a few strands of silvery-white hair slipping over her shoulder.
Her father nodded with a small smile. "You remember the King's promise during your birthday celebration? He said the crown would provide assistance for the construction of your Healing Hall."
Recognition dawned in her eyes. "Ah… right. So they're the ones in charge?"
"Indeed. They are royal architects," Charles said. "They came to hear your ideas—your requirements, to be precise."
Finally understanding, Saphy straightened her posture and stepped forward. With practiced grace, she pinched the sides of her dress and performed a perfect curtsey. "It's a pleasure to meet you, esteemed sirs."
For a heartbeat, the room was still. Then the four architects hurriedly returned her greeting, bowing in unison.
"And a good day to you as well, My Lady," one of them replied, his tone warm with genuine respect.
Their expressions softened as they looked at her—this small, elegant girl who carried herself with such dignity and poise. Her manners weren't the rehearsed polish of nobility; they were sincere, natural, almost endearing.
One of the men stepped forward with a broad, polite smile.
"My lady, I've heard quite a lot about you from His Majesty," he said. "Your beauty truly radiates like the sun itself."
Saphy blinked, unsure whether to thank him or hide behind her father's desk.
Another man chimed in eagerly, "And your kindness… it truly moved us. To think someone so young would think so deeply about the suffering of others—it's inspiring."
A third added, chest puffed with enthusiasm, "Rest assured, my lady! We will work tirelessly to build the finest Healing Hall this kingdom has ever seen!"
Saphy just stood there, frozen, cheeks flushing faintly. Why are they talking like NPCs from a dating sim?
For a moment, she could only manage a nervous laugh. "Ahaha… um, thank you? I… appreciate the enthusiasm."
Seeing her overwhelmed, one of the older men—his gray hair neatly combed and demeanor calm—took a small step forward and bowed slightly.
"My lady, forgive our forwardness. My name is Nick, chief royal architect. We would be honored to hear your thoughts. Do you have any specific requirements for the Healing Hall's construction?"
Saphy paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. In her mind, fragments of hospitals from her previous life began surfacing—the sterile corridors, the orderly sections, the clean white walls.
"Hmm… let's see," she began slowly. "First of all, make the building white. Inside and out. It should look… clean. Peaceful. Like a place where people can breathe easy."
Nick nodded, his quill already scratching across his notebook.
"And the main hall," Saphy continued, pacing a little, her small hands gesturing animatedly. "Make it big—spacious enough for many patients. I don't want people cramped or waiting outside just because we ran out of room."
The men nodded in unison, scribbling every word.
"Also," she added after a moment's thought, "make a separate section for women. If someone gets hurt in… sensitive areas, I don't want to treat them in front of a bunch of men. It's basic dignity."
That made the architects glance at one another—impressed, even a little humbled. Her reasoning was clear and precise, untainted by childish fancy.
Saphy kept going, her confidence growing. "Add two bathrooms and a shower room near the gate—for the patients. You never know what might happen. Some people will come in covered in blood or dirt. They'll need to clean up before being treated."
One of the younger architects murmured, "Remarkably thoughtful… and practical."
Saphy nodded, pleased. "Also, include a kitchen, a resting room, and proper washrooms at the back. Oh—and don't forget quarters for the maids and sisters who'll be working there. They deserve a place to rest too."
By now, Nick was smiling faintly, impressed by how detailed her vision was.
"Finally," Saphy said, turning toward the sketches on the table, "at the entrance, make the stairs long and wide—but keep each step low. Some patients will be weak or injured; I don't want anyone tripping or falling."
She paused, then snapped her fingers as another thought hit her. "And add a ramp beside it—for stretchers or people who can't walk. We'll need easy access."
For a moment, silence filled the room. The architects had stopped writing, simply staring at her.
In their eyes, this wasn't a five-year-old child. It was a visionary—a mind that thought beyond luxury and design, one that cared deeply about people.
Nick finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with respect. "Understood, my lady. Every word shall be followed to the letter."
Saphy smiled, scratching her cheek awkwardly. "Good! Just… make sure it doesn't look boring, alright?"
The men chuckled softly, bowing again. "We will do our utmost."
Charles leaned back in his chair, watching his daughter with quiet pride. She really is something else, he thought.
Joshua hesitated for a moment, raising a hand politely.
"My lady, forgive me if this sounds ignorant, but… what exactly are stretchers?"
Saphy blinked, momentarily forgetting where she was. Then it hit her—of course, this world had no concept of hospitals or proper medical tools.
"Ah… right," she said, scratching her cheek with a small, sheepish smile. "You wouldn't have those here."
She took a breath and began explaining, her tone growing animated as she gestured with her hands.
"Stretchers are kind of like… a small, portable bed. It's raised a little off the ground and usually has wheels underneath so you can move it easily. Think of it like a serving trolley, but instead of carrying food, it carries a person who's injured or too weak to walk."
She mimed pushing an invisible cart, making the architects exchange puzzled yet intrigued looks.
"It's really helpful," she added earnestly. "If someone's badly hurt, you can just lay them on it and roll them straight to the treatment room. No need to carry them and risk making their injury worse."
The room fell silent for a beat. Then one of the architects finally muttered under his breath, "Genius… absolute genius."
Another adjusted his glasses, eyes wide. "To think something so simple could save so much effort."
Joshua slowly lowered his quill, staring at the small girl before him as though seeing her anew. "My lady… your ideas are far ahead of our time."
Saphy gave a modest shrug. "Not really. I just… like things that make life easier."
Charles chuckled quietly from behind his desk, pride glinting in his eyes. "And yet, that's what separates visionaries from dreamers."
The architects bowed deeply once more, their earlier admiration now tinged with awe.
Outside the window, a soft breeze rustled through the courtyard trees, carrying the faint chime of the chapel bell. Plans had been drawn, ideas exchanged, and with that, the foundation of something new began to take shape.
The Healing Hall—born from the heart of a girl who once knew another world—was no longer just a dream.
It had begun.