Chapter 4.
The Less Tiny One and the Even Tinier One (2)
I won’t live very long anyway.
Cyril Valentin de Tesar, the six-year-old heir, thought this as he rode in the carriage headed for the Casinel territory.
The child stared out the window with lifeless eyes, as bleak as his thoughts. His gaze followed the ducal castle as it grew farther away, completely devoid of emotion.
That was hardly strange.
Even the ducal domain he had lived in his entire life—though “entire life” only amounted to six years—felt unfamiliar to him.
He had never once left the castle grounds. Not for an outing. Not even once.
While lying in bed coughing, Cyril had always wondered about the outside world.
If only I could go out just once. Even just to look around a little….
But now that he was outside, his expectations quickly turned into disappointment.
The outside world was far more unimpressive than he had imagined.
The bare winter trees were as scrawny as he was himself, and no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in scarves and cloaks, the wind cutting through them was cold.
More than anything—
They’ve given up on me.
Once that thought took hold, all anticipation for life vanished, and Cyril could no longer feel anything.
They’ve finally given up on me.
When his father told him to go somewhere far away and return with the dignity befitting an heir.
When his mother told him to regain his health.
When he heard those words in the cold, rigid tone typical of northerners, only one thought came to his mind.
In the end, they…
Have abandoned me.
What hope could possibly take root in a life that had been cast aside?
Cyril, who had lived surrounded by pity and sighs for as long as he could remember, told himself it was probably for the best, yet he could not stop his eyes from burning.
He would slowly die in Casinel, that distant land in the southeast. Just like always, he would waste away, groaning in illness until the end.
And one day, he would be forgotten. A new heir would be born—one healthy enough to satisfy his parents.
By then, I will—
Cyril tore his gaze from the window and buried his face in his knees.
His thoughts spiraled further and further into darkness.
＊ ＊ ＊
His first impression of Casinel was, to be honest, not good.
Compared to the ducal domain, it was smaller, and everything looked a little inferior compared to what Cyril had known all his life.
When one is always confined to a room, certain things naturally become familiar.
In Cyril’s case, that familiarity was his home.
Even without knowing the exact meaning of “classic” or “refined,” he had naturally developed the eye to recognize it.
And through that lens, the Casinel county looked shabby.
The old-fashioned castle and the visibly worn interior were enough to make a delicately raised young master feel aversion.
An ordinary six-year-old might have burst into tears out of fear and unfamiliarity.
But Cyril was a pessimistic six-year-old, so he thought instead—
So this is where I die….
Just as despair was settling in, Count Casinel appeared.
The middle-aged count, with his large build, looked down at Cyril with tiger-like eyes and spoke.
“We’ve been expecting you, Young Master. From today onward, you’ll be staying here in Casinel.”
“…Thank you for having me.”
Pessimistic yet well-mannered, Cyril replied calmly.
“Dad, is that him?”
That was when a small voice popped out.
Cyril quietly shifted his eyes at the sound, unable to see who it belonged to, and only then noticed a girl standing behind the count.
A girl with vivid red hair hanging loose, like the roses he had once seen in books, blinked her large eyes.
Cyril thought she, too, looked like something out of a book.
She resembled the fairy from the picture books his nanny used to show him.
“Adriana, mind your manners with the young master.”
“Wow, he’s really tiny!”
The count’s somewhat fierce expression instantly softened into that of a gentle father. Even his scolding voice was mild.
But Cyril paid less attention to that dramatic shift than to the words directed at him.
Really tiny!
Unless Cyril had already lost his eyesight, the girl was clearly pointing at him.
Really tiny!
Not just “small,” not even “kind of small.”
Even those would have been unpleasant—but she had said “tiny,” exaggeratedly so.
Cyril clenched his mouth shut.
He wanted to retort, but hesitated, afraid he would end up sounding just as childish as she did.
Still, in the end, the temptation of not wanting to lose won out.
“…You’re small too.”
“I’m a kid, so of course I’m small.”
The girl—called Adriana—answered as if stating the obvious.
Each time she blinked, her eyelashes fluttered. Even that looked fairy-like.
Cyril’s gaze was briefly drawn to the motion before he spoke again.
“I’m a kid too. Just like you.”
“That’s true. But you’re smaller than me.”
Which meant—tiny.
That unspoken addition was fatal.
Cyril was left speechless.
He had already admitted he was a kid, yet the conclusion was still that he was “tiny.”
It was true—Cyril was a child, and painfully enough, it was also true that he was smaller than the girl.
But being right didn’t mean it had to feel good.
“…I’ll grow soon.”
“If you grow, I’ll grow too.”
“I’ll grow bigger than you.”
“But I’m bigger right now. So I’ll be bigger later too.”
Behind them, the physician who had been standing quietly failed to suppress a laugh, letting out a “kh.”
The servants of the Casinel household behind the count wore similar expressions. Even the corners of the count’s mouth twitched with amusement.
The only two not laughing were the two six-year-olds, both dead serious.
“…This is annoying.”
Feeling like he’d become the butt of a joke, Cyril muttered under his breath.
Whether they hadn’t heard him or simply found his sulking cute, the adults continued to laugh.
“You’re annoyed because I’m bigger?”
The girl, who had somehow caught his words perfectly, asked with an innocent face—delivering the finishing blow.
So annoying.
Cyril let out a short, frustrated breath.
I’ll grow taller than her.
And so, the heir of the ducal house who, just an hour ago, had been thinking about dying, made a firm vow in that moment to grow tall.
＊ ＊ ＊
“Young Master, you’ll continue taking your medicine three times a day, just like before. Once the weather improves a bit more, it would be good for you to live with the windows open. Unlike the ducal domain, winters here aren’t very long, so you won’t have to wait too long.”
Jerome, Cyril’s attending physician, adjusted his slipping glasses and smiled gently.
His warm gaze settled on Cyril, who sat sulking, staring down at his blanket.
Since encountering the young lady of the count’s household, the sensitive young master had been in that state the entire time.
Now and then, he even bit down on his lower lip with his neat front teeth, as if chewing it.
This is a good thing.
Watching his small lord get angry, Jerome thought calmly.
To live, a person needs willpower. But Cyril, already frail, had lacked even that.
More than that, he lacked many things a human should naturally have—interest, motivation, desire.
Having lived his entire life battling illness, always with doctors nearby, it was hardly surprising.
This was the first time Cyril had shown such a specific emotion toward another person.
Of course, irritation and temper tantrums were common due to his illness, but today’s feeling was different.
People need to feel provoked sometimes…
Rivalry.
Jerome was certain that today, Cyril had learned that most basic of emotions.
And that made him genuinely glad.
“Young Master, your lips won’t run away if you bite them like that.”
“Leave me alone.”
“But as a physician, I can’t help worrying about the possibility of bleeding.”
With a sigh, Cyril released his lip.
Jerome smiled quietly at the sight.
Cyril was sensitive and picky, but he listened well—a fundamentally gentle child.
Had he grown up healthy, he would have more than enough warmth to share with the cold northern lands.
Watching him, Jerome was reminded of someone else.
A small child who might, perhaps, have been saved.
That was why Jerome cherished Cyril all the more.
He imagined a day when Cyril would run around full of energy.
Knock.
The sound that broke his hazy thoughts came shortly afterward.
Jerome stood up from his seat in place of Cyril, who was still staring at the blanket.
Knock.
The small knocking sound came again after a pause. It was an adorably polite sound.
Without much difficulty, Jerome could guess the identity of the visitor, despite there being no introduction or request for entry.
“It seems you have a guest. We should end today’s examination here.”
Picking up his bag, Jerome quietly opened the door.
Cyril, the room’s owner, frowned, but Jerome ignored it. After seeing the guest, Cyril would forget all about him anyway.
“Well, what an honored guest we have.”
Jerome greeted the visitor—who was even more adorable than the knock—with warmth.
“Me?”
The little guest pointed at herself with doll-like fingers and asked.
“Of course.”
Swish.
At the same time as Jerome’s reply, a sound came from behind as someone pulled the blanket all the way over their head.
He clearly didn’t want to see her.
Jerome smiled with his eyes and stepped aside, inviting the guest in. Then, deliberately loud enough to be heard, he announced—
“Young Master, Mademoiselle Casinel has come to see you.”
Swish.
At those words, the blanket slid back down.
Jerome finally burst out laughing.
