Chapter 2
“Um, miss… Maydil… who is that?”
The maid who had been tidying the curtains blinked her innocent eyes and asked at the sudden command.
Winter, whose condition was still poor, immediately felt irritation rise.
Seriously. What have these people even been doing all this time, not knowing her precious favorite?
“May. You don’t know him? The stablemaster’s son who manages Stable No. 3.”
Of course she didn’t know.
In this enormous ducal estate, there was no way anyone would bother memorizing the name of a scrawny kid who hid himself to avoid people’s gazes.
“Stable No. 3… hmm…”
The maid, Cindy, tilted her head, then nudged the side of another maid standing nearby and whispered,
“That trash had a son?”
“Who knows. Ah—are you talking about that filthy brat?”
“…Brat?”
“Yeah. That skinny kid who sometimes cleans Stable No. 3.”
“Oh!”
Only then did Cindy exclaim as if she’d finally remembered.
“But why would miss want him…?”
The maids stopped talking at once. Winter’s expression had grown dangerous.
‘Come to think of it, wasn’t there another kid there besides young master Albert when miss collapsed? Don’t tell me that was the stablemaster’s son…?’
The maids exchanged silent glances.
Albert, the cousin, had been punished with confinement over the incident, but no one had spared a thought for the kid who’d been caught up in the fight.
But miss was different. Wasn’t she famous for being obsessively relentless?
The maids assumed Winter intended to make the pitiful stablemaster’s son even more miserable.
“How long are you going to dawdle there?”
Winter snapped as she watched them whisper.
“Y-Yes! I—I’ll go right away!”
Startled, Cindy hurried out.
After much difficulty, she found Maydillian crouched in a corner of the ducal estate—and soon realized this wasn’t something she could handle alone.
The stablemaster’s son was far too filthy and shabby to bring before the young lady as he was.
“Ugh. If we take him like this, he’ll spread diseases that don’t even exist.”
In the end, the maids dragged a trembling Maydillian along, scrubbed him clean, and dressed him in neat clothes until he finally looked somewhat human.
Cindy couldn’t stop gasping in shock as she washed him.
She’d thought his hair was ash-gray—but it turned out to be silver. That alone was shocking enough.
But worse was the fact that the child didn’t seem entirely sound, either physically or mentally.
“We’re not… cleaning up a corpse today, are we…?”
Worried, Cindy gave the boy several instructions.
“When you go in, greet her politely. Miss is very ill right now and extremely sensitive, so don’t upset her in any way. Got it?”
Of course, Winter was always sensitive—even when she wasn’t sick.
“Y-Yes… yes…”
“And also, miss, um…”
Cindy hesitated, then closed her mouth.
They’d already spent too much time washing him. If they delayed any longer, miss’s meager patience would surely snap.
“…No. Never mind.”
After all, this kid wouldn’t have a conversation with miss beyond a greeting anyway.
If he managed to walk out of that room on his own feet, that would already be a blessing.
With a deep sigh, Cindy led Maydillian to Winter’s door.
“Miss, we’ve brought the boy.”
“Come in!”
Winter’s voice came instantly, as if she’d been waiting.
Both Cindy and Maydillian flinched.
The door opened—like the entrance to hell.
“Y-You summoned me…?”
“Yeah. Hi.”
Winter replied casually, reclining lazily against the sofa.
But her golden eyes were sparkling brightly.
“May, sit here. Everyone else, get out.”
She patted the seat beside her.
Believing a beating was about to happen, the maids fled as if their tails were on fire.
At last, only the two of them remained.
With all the intruders gone, Winter leisurely examined May.
His hair, still not fully dry, was a little long and messy—but damp and soft.
Brushed back, it revealed a smooth, handsome forehead.
The only blemish was the bluish bruise on it.
Seeing Maydillian cowering and unable to meet her gaze, Winter’s expression darkened.
No matter how clean and well-dressed he was now, his condition was still awful.
Countless wounds covered his small body—ones clothes couldn’t fully hide.
At this point in time, Maydillian’s speech was clumsy.
The yellowing and bluish bruises scattered across him weren’t from a single incident, but from sustained violence.
Winter stared at the unhealed cuts and scars, then let out a heavy sigh.
Without realizing it, she reached out.
“Is your forehead o—”
“I—I’m sorry! I was wrong!”
Before she could finish, Maydillian shouted reflexively.
His thin arms flew up to shield his head, trembling violently.
Winter froze, mouth falling open.
“…What?”
“I—I was wrong… I—I shouldn’t have… been in your way… um…”
He babbled incoherently, words tumbling over each other.
At this age, Maydillian’s speech was poor. When he panicked, he stuttered badly.
No one had ever truly spoken with him before.
When the only words you hear your entire life are curses, speaking properly would be a miracle.
“May.”
“I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry… P-Please… I—I made you sick…”
It seemed Maydillian believed Winter’s illness was his fault—and that she’d summoned him to torment him over it.
Not just Maydillian—most people in the estate likely thought the same.
It was easy to assume, because this place was steeped in violence and malice.
Maydillian was already miserable enough.
His trembling body and warped gaze were so pitiful it made one want to look away.
But at least Winter had power.
The power to erase violence and coercion from Maydillian’s life—and guide him down a path paved only with care.
She withdrew her hand and put a little distance between them.
“May.”
“I—I was wrong… I’m sorry… please…”
“May.”
She kept calling his name until he calmed down.
After a while, Maydillian slowly lifted his head.
Their eyes finally met.
For the first time in his life, someone looked at him with warmth and gentleness.
His lips parted slightly in disbelief.
Seeing those wide, startled red eyes, Winter’s smile deepened.
Right now, Maydillian was so small and fragile—like a baby snow rabbit.
Once more, very carefully, Winter extended her hand.
She moved slowly enough that he could follow it with his eyes—since hands raised above his head terrified him.
“May.”
“…Y-Yes.”
Maydillian answered belatedly, staring blankly at her pale hand.
“Do you want to be friends?”
Winter asked with a bright smile.
But Maydillian’s face filled with fear again.
Nobles who approached kindly always ended up beating and trampling him on a whim, using the word “friend” as an excuse.
“I—I understand… th-thank you…”
He nodded repeatedly, face pale.
Winter gave a bitter smile.
She would have to erase all those horrible thoughts in his head—and first teach him what “friend” actually meant.
Then, suddenly, Winter’s expression stiffened.
Her trembling hand clutched at her chest.
“…Ghk.”
“M-Miss?”
Her head spun. A sharp ringing filled her ears.
Her heart pounded violently, echoing through her entire body. A burning heat surged up from her feet.
She staggered—and collapsed forward.
Maydillian caught her instinctively and cried out in shock.
Clenching her teeth against the pain, Winter cursed internally.
She’d barely been out of bed for long.
Her heart couldn’t withstand the rampaging mana.
“M-Miss! Miss…!”
Maydillian tried to lift her, panicked—but his strength failed him.
His arms, thin from chronic hunger, were pathetically weak.
As her consciousness faded, Winter thought,
Looks like we both need to build stamina first.
The young lady had become strange.
That was the talk spreading among the servants of House Vladimir.
After suffering sudden mana overload and receiving a terminal diagnosis, she was now apparently spending time with the stablemaster’s son.
The servants whispered among themselves, baffled by the behavior of an unpredictable ten-year-old.
“Won’t this end in another disaster?”
“Well… she hasn’t caused any real trouble lately, has she?”
“That’s true…”
Not only was there no disaster—Winter had become an exemplary, gentle child like never before.
She ate healthy meals three times a day, took bitter stamina-boosting medicine without complaint, read books, and exercised.
The only odd thing was that she did everything with the stablemaster’s son.
The servants were both pleased—and uneasy.
They couldn’t believe that little devil had truly changed.
“Haah, haah… M-Miss, I—I can’t run anymore…”
Maydillian gasped for breath.
Spending all day talking and moving around with Winter had expanded his vocabulary, improved his pronunciation, and reduced his stuttering.
“What are you talking about, May? Do you have any idea how dangerous muscle loss is?”
Winter scolded him as she ran alongside him.
Her own face was deathly pale, legs shaking, lips turning blue.
