“Hmm.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Of course. I just got a little emotional for a moment.”
Ash frowned.
Was this person even listening?
Cecil blinked, as if surprised that being treated with respect by his teacher was so unusual.
“When have I ever been mean… well, I have been, but are you really listening to me?!”
Ash felt sad.
His eyes and nose were bright red as he glared, and Cecil looked at him as if finding him cute.
“Of course. When you attend class, you only listen half-heartedly, get caught doing something else every time, and constantly bother me with miscellaneous requests unrelated to the lesson, disrupting my research… But if I didn’t love my student, why would I keep wasting my time on you?”
“Wasting time?!”
“My time is like gold, yet I continue teaching a student who’s inefficient. If I were trying to cultivate a successor, I wouldn’t be doing this. Isn’t it usually called a waste to invest in something that obviously won’t yield good results? Maybe the meaning of the word changed while I was immersed in research…”
“It hasn’t changed.”
Ash wasn’t asking for a vocabulary lecture!
“Was he always like this?”
Whether all wizards became like this or if Cecil Moore had just gone a little crazy from living too long, he was definitely not a normal person.
Still, he had several advantages other wizards didn’t: for one, he could actually hold a conversation, he wasn’t violent, and he wasn’t conducting research that could destroy the world.
Ash often wondered if this really counted as a “conversation.”
If this was a conversation, what were the other wizards saying out loud?
Were they just making animal noises?
“It was worth coming here. Well, since it’s been a while, I figured you’d be glad to see me. You greeted me like a puppy wagging its tail, so I also feel like my visit was worth it.”
“Wagging its tail…?!”
“Oh, of course you’re much cuter than a dog. It’s less annoying since I don’t have to keep you by my side all day.”
“Less annoying?!”
Ash stopped crying.
This was shocking.
This was really who he was.
After Ash’s mother passed away and Owen came to the castle, whenever Ash was sad or angry and couldn’t control himself, Cecil would come back and say things like, “You’re cuter throwing a tantrum than swallowing a test,” and his tears would stop.
Thanks to that, Ash found strength again…
At the very least, his teacher never changed how he treated Ash—no matter what.
Unlike the father who placed all his hopes in the alpha heir.
Unlike the servants who became confused about whose orders to follow.
Unlike the flattering teachers who left Ash without a second thought.
That certainty brought Ash comfort.
Besides, this person had no interest in Owen.
Ash’s father had wanted to teach Owen magic as part of his education.
Naturally, he’d asked the renowned wizard Cecil Moore to instruct him.
“He doesn’t have time for him.”
“What?… Ah, you’ve misunderstood. Even if that kid’s the heir, he’s smart and calm—he’s the future ruler of this duchy. Ash is, well, someone you’d treasure like the apple of your eye, but… he doesn’t necessarily need to learn magic.”
“Ah, but most humans are dumb and won’t understand the truth even if you teach them, so whether I teach him or someone else, it’s no different than teaching a rock.”
“You’re saying my son is a rock?!”
That conversation ended with the Duke throwing Cecil out.
Ash heard the details later.
It did sound like something Cecil would say.
The most amazing thing was that he still had his head afterward.
But what mattered to Ash wasn’t that.
What mattered was that Cecil Moore, the greatest wizard in the Duchy of Mills, was Ash’s very own teacher.
***
Ash’s other “teachers” had all gone to teach Owen.
From his room, Ash could hear how much they admired their new student.
How intelligent Owen was.
How humble and respectful he was despite his brilliance.
How talented he was in everything.
His father was very pleased and even held a party to boast about his adopted son.
Ash reluctantly attended because of his father, sulking the entire time.
The party was held by the lake within the duchy.
The spring sunlight was beautiful.
Ladies in gowns chirped like birds, gentlemen smoked cigars, musicians played pleasant tunes.
Everyone was having a good time—
And the star of the party was Owen.
All the teachers who had abandoned Ash gathered around him, praising his cleverness.
They asked him questions about the current political situation using obscure poetry and historical references.
Ash couldn’t understand half of it.
Owen answered each one with clarity and grace, speaking with downcast eyes when necessary, thoughtful and mature far beyond his age.
The crowd admired him.
Ash watched, disinterested.
While the teachers smiled and clapped around Owen, Ash suddenly felt hungry.
He passed the time munching on cookies.
People said the young master was a genius.
A blessing to the Duke’s family.
His father, drunk on celebratory wine, happily dragged Ash into a folk dance.
His rough cheek scraped against Ash’s.
Ash’s face turned red. He was annoyed.
Everyone laughed—
Even the “teachers.”
Even his father.
“To the wise young master and the lovely little master—cheers!”
Taking advantage of his father’s drunkenness, Ash slipped away from the party.
The massive castle felt empty.
Most servants had gone to the lake to assist with the festivities.
Ash wandered until he reached the glass garden his mother had loved.
Thanks to the new gardener, the place looked just like it did when she was alive.
In the center were a table and three chairs.
One had been his mother’s.
The one to the left was Ash’s.
Ash flopped into his chair.
Just then, something swooshed through the open door.
A splendid bird landed on the third chair—
And transformed into a human.
“There you are. The party must’ve been boring. Normally you’d insist on staying until dawn.”
His teacher looked half-asleep.
Ash threw himself into his arms and cried.
“I haven’t lost everything.”
There was something Owen hadn’t taken from him.
His very own teacher.
That third chair in the garden belonged to his teacher.
Back when his mother was alive, the three of them would sit here for tea.
His mother often laughed during those times.
It was a happy memory.
Ash clung to his teacher tightly, afraid he’d disappear.
Surprisingly, the man seemed to understand human emotion.
He gently stroked Ash’s hair.
Had he not done that, Ash might’ve only cried a little.
But the warmth of those fingers made him sob harder.
Later, hearing “Ash is cute when he acts spoiled” made the tears dry quickly…
Realizing that this was just how Cecil always was, Ash’s shock faded.
“No, that’s not it! I’m telling you, I’m hurt!”
Ash lifted his chin, trying to show his sad face.
“I see. You do look like that.”
“Why do you think Tyl acts like that?!”
“You don’t know anything, so why do you care so much?”
Cecil’s voice was drowsy and gentle.
He brushed a finger over Ash’s cheek—
The tear marks disappeared.
His dirtied sleeve cleaned itself.
Ash was left speechless.
“What else do I need to know?!”
“It’s been a while. Shouldn’t a disciple ask their teacher some questions? About magic, or how their teacher’s been lately?”
“Huh? Well, of course I’m curious!”
“Oh, so you are sulking. People get more childish as they grow older.”
Ash blinked, then smiled.
“How have you been, teacher?”
“I’ve been working on some interesting research. Improving the reagents I was developing. Been quite busy. I only just heard about the Duke’s death.”
“Still letting your letters pile up?
You don’t make magic to read them,
You don’t wash or sleep,
And you don’t make anything easier on yourself?”
“It’s not that I can’t make that kind of magic— I just don’t want to. If I read them, I have to reply, don’t I?”
“You knew that much common sense?!”
Ash was honestly shocked.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.