CHAPTER 03…………………………………….
By now, it was almost a blur, but having grown up in a world without magic or rigid social hierarchies, this world was difficult for me to adapt to.
I was happy to be born with a silver spoon…
But what use was that? Just eight years after being reborn, I was declared a Non-magical. The following ten years were so despairing that I thought it would have been better to die quickly and be reborn again.
The only thing that kept me tethered to this life was the brief memories I had of my mother.
In my two lifetimes, she was the first mother I’d ever known: fair-skinned, with beautiful golden hair and golden eyes, and delicate, almost fairy-like features.
A high-ranking magician, she spent most of her time in the underground laboratory researching magic. Whenever I visited, she would greet me with a bright smile.
“My daughter, you must have been lonely. Come here.”
Wrapped in her warm embrace, she always showed me magic.
“Look at this, El. Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was a private little fireworks show just for me. Tiny, firefly-like shards of colored light danced around me as if teasing me, occasionally bursting like fireworks or forming strange, whimsical shapes.
It was truly a magical sight.
“Mom, I love magic so much!”
That was my first impression of magic.
I eagerly counted the days until the moment I could awaken my own magical power, dreaming of becoming a magician just like her.
But that dream shattered the year I turned eight, the age at which every citizen of the empire undergoes their first magical power inspection.
The awakening of magical power is a ritual that opens the first channel between the heart—the core—and mana, transforming the natural power of mana into usable magical energy.
It was supposed to be a simple ritual, taking less than five minutes. After that, I would have been a magician.
But during the ritual, I felt a sharp pain in my heart and fainted. Though I managed to awaken a trace of power, I was deemed incapable of storing magic.
After that, only a faint, unusable residue of magic remained in my core, and I was labeled Non-magical.
“My child is a Non-magical? Preposterous! That incompetent thing could not be my bloodline!”
From that day onward, my father, who had never been particularly affectionate, became a frightening man, raining abuse and violence upon me. My mother withdrew into her underground laboratory, almost as if obsessed.
From the research notes I had secretly glimpsed, words like “Non-magical,” “magic circles,” “perpetual implementation,” “amplification,” “mana,” “sealing,” and “anchoring” were strewn across the pages—terms I couldn’t begin to understand at the time.
Yet I could tell that she was researching how to make it possible for me to use magic.
“Don’t worry, El. Mother will succeed.”
She always said that.
I believed that one day, I would become a magician and be happy with her. She was an extraordinary magician, after all.
…Once, I dreamed of such a future.
At thirteen, on a winter day when snow fell heavily, my mother passed away.
Before I could even come to terms with that reality, a woman I had never seen before came into the Yveris mansion, claiming to be married to my father, bringing with her a daughter only two years younger than me.
“So you’re that woman’s daughter.”
I clearly remember the cold, teal-colored glare of the stranger’s eyes at the icy mansion entrance.
Unlike me, my half-sister was already a fairly talented magician—something rare in the Yveris bloodline, which generally had weak magical aptitude.
She even resembled my father perfectly, which meant my status instantly sank below that of the household servants.
From the moment I opened my eyes, I was forced to do menial chores until my hands blistered. I had to serve my stepmother and Cosette, and I wasn’t even allowed to eat at the same table.
I couldn’t participate in social activities, barely ever went outside, and was beaten daily for trivial reasons.
Six years passed this way.
I lived in the Yveris mansion like a ghost, clinging to the faint hope left behind in memories of my mother.
“…Ugh.”
I sat on the floor, staring helplessly at the door Cosette had gone through. Slowly, I rose unsteadily. This was no time to linger.
I have to get the jewelry box back.
If I left it, it would surely be discarded or sold, just like before.
I wiped my sore eyes with my worn sleeve and stepped out.
Walking down the second-floor corridor where Cosette’s room was, I could feel the household staff’s sharp gazes. No one spoke, but their stares felt like silent scolding.
It’s okay. They’re just looking.
Cosette would definitely be in her room; she took at least six hours to dress, always meticulous about her appearance.
At that moment, I heard a sharp tsk.
“What are you doing here?”
“…Father?”
Looking up at the familiar voice, I saw my father, Count Yveris, dressed in his traveling clothes, coming up the stairs as if he had just returned.
“You’ve come back.”
I greeted him lightly, but, as always, he didn’t respond. My shoulders involuntarily shrank in the brief silence.
He scanned me from head to toe, frowned in displeasure, and walked straight into his study. Though silent, his commanding presence urged me to follow.
I quietly trailed behind.
He handed his gloves and hat to the butler and loosened his cravat, sighing in frustration.
“I hear you caused another commotion? I specifically told you to behave as if dead.”
Though it had been nearly three months since we last faced each other, his first words were merciless.
Seeing the butler’s cold glare as we exited the study, I realized he had reported everything about Cosette’s recent mischief.
The staff never openly helped me but never protected me either. They were usually bystanders, sometimes collaborators with the family, and occasionally pushed me into corners like this.
“Cosette went after Mother’s belongings recklessly…”
“Tsk. There’s nothing valuable among that woman’s things. Don’t make a fuss.”
That woman.
He didn’t even finish his sentence before dismissing it coldly. The way he referred to my late mother—his former wife—was far too cold.
I forced myself to suppress the lump in my throat and steadied my breathing.
It’s fine. I knew this.
Children are sensitive to their parents’ feelings. I already knew my father did not love my mother.
He collapsed into his chair, habitually opened a cigar box, and picked one out.
Click.
Lighting the tip with a small flame from his finger, he muttered, “Rek Mine.” Soon, acrid smoke filled the room, making it harder to breathe.
He continued:
“Last time you threw a tantrum over some useless scrap of cloth… Tsk. Even if you’re a stupid Non-magical, surely you have some sense of being an older sister?”
Stupid Non-magical.
“Know your place, sister.”
I briefly recalled Cosette’s mocking face and bit my lip. My reply came half on impulse.
“Attacking your sister with ‘Bai Rek Sha’? And even if so, using magic against someone who can’t defend herself…”
“‘Bai Rek Sha’?”
I flinched mid-sentence. My father’s green eyes flashed. For a brief moment, I thought he might actually get angry at Cosette—but it was a false hope.
“Repeat that. You said ‘Bai Rek Sha’?”
He leapt from his chair, grabbing both my arms across the desk. His eyes glistened with excitement.
“Isn’t that a fourth-tier spell? She used a fourth-tier spell?”
“Ugh… It hurts, Father.”
“Don’t exaggerate! Did Cosette really use a fourth-tier spell?”
“…Yes.”
He froze briefly at my words, then a grin spread across his face. Leaning back with his forehead in his hand, he burst into loud, almost maniacal laughter.
“Ha, haha! That’s my daughter! If you’re my blood, you should be able to use fourth-tier magic by seventeen!”
“…Father.”
Watching his reaction, I was lost for words.
Cosette had an unusual talent for offensive magic—and I was always her test subject. Whether she reached second-tier, first revealed her third-tier spell, or today discovered she could use a fourth-tier spell—I bore the brunt of her progress.
Every time her skills improved, I was seriously injured. I’d had holes in my legs, nearly lost an eye, and suffered concussions that left me unconscious for days. Had the family doctor not taken pity, I would have died outright.
Creak.
I felt the fragile glass floor of “blood ties” beneath me cracking.
“Father.”
I forced a bitter smile at a man who clearly wasn’t going to listen.
“I was the victim of that spell.”
My trembling words ended with a clench of teeth.
It was my last desperate plea.
I wanted to ask: Aren’t I your daughter too?
That you ignored and dismissed me because you couldn’t face the wife and daughter you didn’t love?
That you didn’t acknowledge me because I wasn’t a proper magician?
But still, I am your daughter, aren’t I?
That was my minimal hope.
“What? And what of that?”
He looked at me as if I were speaking nonsense. There was nothing resembling any feeling for Cosette within him.
Still.
Unchanging.
My shoulder throbbed from where Cosette had stepped on it. Was the sweat on my body from the injury—or…
“Tsk. Can’t even congratulate your sister for her success. Still, your mother was useful, yet somehow such a parasite was born.”
He clicked his tongue in disgust.
I thought once I became a magician, he would finally acknowledge me…
He was my first father in life, and the last remaining blood relative I had, so perhaps I had unconsciously held onto that hope.
But now, it seemed I had to accept the truth.
Crack.
The chilling sound of the glass floor rapidly fracturing echoed.
“You barely awakened your magical power, but if you tried to store it, your heart would explode.”
The magic doctor had said this during my first magical inspection at eight.
A magician channels magic through the heart. But mine was too weak; the moment I stored power, my heart would burst like a balloon.
A daughter too weak to be a magician.
The Yveris family was weak in magic compared to other noble families. My father was obsessively focused on improving magical power.
So, from the very start, I could never truly be his daughter. I never was.
Not for a single day.
The hands I had clenched for so long fell to my sides.
“Still, I suppose it’s fortunate that you’re at least of some use. Isn’t that right?”
“…What?”
“Your marriage partner has been decided.”
Clang!
The glass floor finally shattered into pieces.
