FEFR 27

Chapter 27

Ranze stood frozen, not even blinking.
The person standing before her felt strangely unfamiliar.

She had known Lennart for years—perhaps he was the one she was closest to. And yet, the words he had just spoken felt awkward, foreign.
There had always been unspoken boundaries between them, areas left undisturbed out of mutual understanding.
But now, she was someone who existed outside of what once was. Naturally, Lennart could no longer be the person she remembered.

Ranze wrapped her arms around her knees again.
She couldn’t tell if her face was hot or if her hands were simply cold.

“…This kind of thing is best said face to face.”

Interpreting her silence as rejection, Lennart offered his advice.

“You’re sisters. It’s okay to be honest.”

It struck him as oddly amusing that he was the one saying that.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a real conversation with his own sister.

Ranze lifted her forehead from her hand and looked at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Meeting her clear, trusting eyes, Lennart extended his hand.

Ranze stood, brushed herself off, took his hand briefly—then took the lead, just like before.
This time, Lennart followed without hesitation.

Erna was trembling with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment.

She was scared of what Ranze might be thinking, and deeply ashamed of having cried in front of someone she barely knew—especially Lennart.

She lay down in her room, then got up to sit in the outer chamber, pacing in circles for a while.
Eventually, there was a knock at the door.

She jumped, and perhaps sensing her panic, a gentle apology came through the door.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you by coming unannounced.”

It was Ranze’s voice. Erna hurried to open the door.

Ranze stood there, her expression a little stiff. Still calm as ever, but Lennart, standing behind her, looked visibly more tense.

Erna stepped aside naturally, making room for them to come in.

Ranze entered with long strides, while Lennart lingered in the doorway.

“Um, about earlier…”

“Erna. Do you remember what we talked about in the attic before we got on the train?”

Erna’s face flushed at the sudden question.

“I snapped at you.”

Her youthful face, made younger still by her choppy bangs, reddened like an apple.
Ranze let out a soft chuckle, thinking it was much better than the pale, tear-streaked look from earlier.

And she realized then—she didn’t dislike this young elder sister of hers.

Before, she’d simply treated Erna with kindness and pity, having never truly sorted out her feelings one way or another.

But now… she thought she might actually come to like Erna as a person.

Seeing Ranze’s expression brighten, Erna relaxed a little too, waiting for her to continue with timid hope.

“I told you it wasn’t your fault, didn’t I?”

Ranze took both of Erna’s hands and held her gaze.

“What Ludia did… it can’t be undone. Holding on to blame only wastes time. I don’t want to ruin the life I’ve lived by resenting her, or by hating you.”

Erna remembered her earlier shame—but couldn’t stop the weight from rising beneath her eyes.

Her relief was mirrored in Ranze’s face.
This time, Ranze wasn’t unsettled by Erna’s tears.

“So stop worrying about how I feel. Let’s just… be comfortable around each other.”

The sisters embraced lightly.

The warm scene let Lennart relax a little, too, watching silently from the side.

Erna suddenly remembered he was there. Stepping out of Ranze’s arms, she turned toward him with a sheepish smile.

“But… Your Highness, if I may ask—why are you here…?”

“Oh, my senior told me.”
Ranze answered before Lennart could, tone casual.
“He said you were worried, and that I should just be honest about how I feel.”

Erna blinked, surprised that Lennart had gone to talk to her about it. She raised her still-warm face and offered a shy thanks.

“Thank you for caring. Because of you, I think Ranze and I can get along much better from now on…”

Yet she didn’t finish the sentence with confidence.

Her words trailed off when she realized Lennart wasn’t even listening.

“I don’t need a thank-you.”

He replied, but it felt perfunctory. His eyes weren’t on her—they were fixed entirely on Ranze.

His expression was difficult to read. Troubled, perhaps. Or deep in thought.
But behind it all, there was the faintest hint of a smile.

Erna snapped out of her daze.

Whipping her head around, she saw Ranze smiling brightly, her expression completely blank of any particular thought.

And Lennart… was still looking only at her.

A chill ran through Erna’s spine.

“…Ranze.”

“Hmm?”

“You still owe me for butchering my bangs. I expect compensation, alright?”

Ranze looked instantly guilty and shifted her gaze nervously.

“Well, reattaching them is beyond me…”

“Then help me study starting tomorrow. No running off to play.”

“But you said you don’t understand my explanations.”

“You’re a genius, aren’t you? That means even that can be fixed—with a little effort.”

Lennart remained clueless about why Erna insisted on studying with Ranze, why her tea invitations had suddenly stopped, or why her glances had grown colder.

But he had no time to figure it out—he had to leave the estate sooner than expected.

On the first day of May, with the sea behind them sparkling more vividly than ever, they headed to the station with Petra.

Count Swanheld was in the worst period of his life.

Despite his long years and grown grandchildren, never had he experienced a stretch of time so utterly dreadful.

Sure, he had his share of failures and heartbreaks in his youth—but those had been personal. Overall, his life had been smooth, uneventful.

But now? He couldn’t sleep for fear that the worst was yet to come—and the year wasn’t even half over.

That fear was not without basis.

He looked at the letters on the table.

One was a report from a private investigator.
The other was a letter from the headmaster of the Imperial Mage Academy—a man who was both a relative and an acquaintance of his son.

Both letters had arrived within days of each other.
Both addressed the same issue, despite being written in different places.

“Simone?!”

His faith that his granddaughters wouldn’t dare venture that far had been betrayed.
They had gone all the way to the western frontier—and made contact with Petra, the confirmed heir of the Simone estate. They were now en route to the capital.

What’s more, the headmaster relayed news that among the applicants for this June’s entrance exam were two girls carrying letters of recommendation… signed by Count Simone.

Officially, that shouldn’t have been possible—but he had included copies of their documents and ID photos just the same.

Their last names, though slightly different in spelling, unmistakably read “Baer.”
And in the regulation photo—faces clearly, formally captured—there they were. Ranze and Erna. Undeniably.

Despite being runaways, they had made no effort to conceal their identities.

There were too many things the Count could not wrap his head around. His headache showed no signs of stopping.

Why had the girls run away together, only to suddenly aim for the Mage Academy?

Why had Petra Simone, instead of returning them, chosen to help them forge new identities and write them recommendations?

Even if Ranze and Petra were sixth cousins, surely the right thing to do was return them to their family?

Still, he couldn’t waste time brooding forever.

Now that he spent less time in the capital, his schedule was always packed when he visited.
Today alone, he had an appointment with Chairman Baden.

“Lord Hesser, you look unwell. Is something troubling you?”

The Chairman, oddly warm today, opened the conversation.

“I’m the same as always,” the Count replied tersely.

He had never considered Baden a close associate—certainly not someone he’d confide in.
He batted the question away.

But the Chairman didn’t seem convinced.

“I see. That’s a relief.”

Of course, he wasn’t about to let it go. He kept his pleasant smile, guiding the conversation with practiced skill.

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now—Prince Lennart’s whereabouts have been discovered.
He never returned to school after winter break, nor did he go back to his estate. His Majesty was quite concerned.”

Half of that was nonsense.
The Emperor was not the sort to worry over a missing nephew.
More likely, he suspected treason—or secretly hoped the boy had died.

Still, Baden wore a serene smile as he lit a cigarette, acting as if he genuinely believed what he was saying.

The Count stared at him with clear displeasure. But his irritation was swiftly replaced by alarm at the next remark.

“Do you know where he was? The west.
And—believe it or not—he’s returning to the capital with none other than Count Simone.”

It sounded casual, like small talk. But in the context of Baden’s earlier mention of “troubles,” it felt chilling.

The only major “trouble” the Count currently had was the runaway granddaughters.
And they had been staying with Petra Simone.

He realized immediately: this situation, whether by coincidence or not, could easily be twisted into something far more serious.

The Chairman—and by extension, the Emperor—clearly already knew.

There was no hiding a disappearance that had lasted since the beginning of the year.
And with Petra Simone naming student candidates for the first time in a decade, there was no way people wouldn’t take interest.

Instead of calling it out directly, Baden moved the conversation forward.

“Of course, His Majesty would never suspect that Swanheld is placing hope in a disgraced prince. This must all be coincidence… But young people—who can say what goes on between them?”

He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray.

“And if they become cadets, they’ll continue to see each other.
That wouldn’t be pleasant—for anyone.”