Father was an emperor, and mother was a prostitute.
The latter might be true, but how could I be sure of the former?
Even if my mother sincerely believed it, wasn’t there still a real possibility that she had just been an incredibly bold con artist selling the imperial family’s name?
The proof was in my body.
Specifically, in a certain inherited trait.
But that didn’t matter right now.
I washed myself, put on the clean clothes I could wear only once or twice a year, and waited in the orphanage’s front yard.
Before long, the carriage arrived.
***
“….”
“Wow….”
Gasps of admiration burst from the children.
The black-painted wood, the ornate decorations, the two white horses pulling the carriage—it was a world apart from the gray, brown, and red that made up the entirety of the orphans’ usual surroundings.
And I…
Silently waited for my moment.
The carriage came to a stop.
The coachman dismounted and opened the door, and at that moment, Doloria bowed deeply.
“Welcome, members of the Clyford Count’s household!”
A hand holding a staff emerged from the carriage.
A staff.
A long rod of wood or metal, with a gemstone or other ornament affixed to one end.
A symbol of a mage’s authority, one of the two components that made up a Magicalia.
And following it came a wide-brimmed, pointed wizard’s hat—the other half of a Magicalia.
The emblem at the very center was unmistakably that of the Clyford family.
At last, a mage stepped onto the ground.
Red, red. Hair and eyes both.
Doloria, still bowing low, called out cheerfully.
“You must have had a long journey! Thanks to the support funds from the Count, the children are able to live healthily and happily every day!”
All the children silently swallowed their curses.
But they knew that if they dared voice them aloud, they would be beaten to the brink of death.
That wasn’t a figure of speech—it was the reality.
“…Hmph.”
Despite Doloria’s enthusiastic greeting, the Count’s gaze remained cold, unimpressed.
The mage’s eyes swept over the surroundings before meeting mine.
Or so I thought.
‘So it really is the latter?’
There was nothing remarkable about me as I was now.
With my black hair and black eyes, I looked ordinary, and my bangs fell over my forehead and eyes.
“F-For the Count and your esteemed company, we have prepared some light refreshments inside. Please, if you would do us the honor…”
Doloria bowed once more, but the Count simply let out another “Hmph,” and said, “I have seen enough. We shall take our leave.”
“T-That is… If you could spare just a moment, so the children may have the honor of serving you—”
At the Count’s slight nod, the coachman pulled a pouch of coins from his coat and tossed it at Doloria’s feet.
“This should suffice.”
She scrambled to gather the money, but the Count regarded her coldly before turning back toward the carriage.
That was when I called out.
“Clyford’s Serha!”
A stunned silence fell over the yard.
The coachman, Doloria, even the children—all of them took a moment to comprehend what had just happened.
This was my only chance.
As soon as they recovered from their shock, Doloria would rush at me and clamp my mouth shut.
“I dare to make a humble request! Even the smallest display will do—could you please show us magic!?”
An even greater shock rippled through the space.
‘Asking to see magic?’
Even if someone was a professional in their field, it was rude to suddenly demand that they demonstrate their work.
Telling a singer to perform on the spot, asking a lawyer to recite the criminal code, or ordering a butcher to slaughter a chicken in the yard—at best, you’d get slapped for it.
And this was a mage.
A noble, no less.
“Y-You crazy little—!!”
Doloria’s eyes bulged, the whites showing, as she lunged toward me—
“Silence.”
The Count merely moved his staff, and Doloria froze in place.
No magic was cast.
It was simply the weight of his authority that overwhelmed her.
“…Child. What is your name?”
“I am called Ellie, Serha.”
The coachman’s eyes widened in realization.
The corners of the Count’s lips curled ever so slightly.
“To think there was someone in a place like this who knew the proper honorific for a Court Count.”
This world’s noble titles were similar to those of my previous world, but with a few differences.
One of them was the honorific “Serha,” which did not exist in the other world.
The title of Court Count originated from a position overseeing the sovereign’s secondary palace and its surrounding lands.
In the past, those who held this office were given an official seal as a symbol of their authority.
Now, the title had long since become hereditary rather than an appointed position, and the seals were no longer bestowed.
Still, unlike other counts, a Court Count was properly addressed as “Serha,” not “Your Excellency.”
The Count’s gaze shifted from Doloria to me, scanning us both.
“And it was the recipient who knew it, rather than the one meant to teach it.”
Some of the sharper children grasped the meaning behind his words—he was saying that I had spoken correctly while Doloria had been wrong.
A murmur spread among the children.
Doloria’s eyes filled with red veins, thick tendons bulging on her neck.
But with the Count’s gaze still fixed on me, she dared not open her mouth.
“You wished to see magic, did you? Very well, I shall grant your request.”
The coachman’s eyes widened again.
“However, the one who will perform it shall not be me, but another. Is that still acceptable to you?”
“It is already an overwhelming honor beyond what I deserve.”
“…Hah.”
The Count chuckled and turned toward the carriage.
“Come out, Philia.”
‘Philia?’
Judging by the name, it was a woman.
‘A maid of the Count?’
However, as the woman slowly revealed herself, I realized how fortunate I was not to have spoken that thought out loud.
Red hair, red eyes—just like the Count.
No hat, no staff.
Yet, the short rod she wore at her waist like a dagger was a wand.
An item that only a properly recognized mage was permitted to carry.
Which meant—
“Yes, Father.”
The daughter of Count Clyford was a strikingly beautiful girl with sharp eyes, just like her father.
Her straight hair, flowing down like a tranquil crimson river, and her soft pink lips held a delicate melancholy.
To the orphans, she must have looked like a goddess.
Even I, who possessed memories of both this world and my past life, momentarily lost my composure.
“What kind of magic should I demonstrate?”
“Hmm. Since even the smallest spell would suffice, why not show them something simple?”
Philia’s gaze briefly flickered toward me.
“Understood, Father.”
Her pale fingers grasped the wand.
Her pink lips parted.
“La, Placia.”
At that moment, I felt it.
‘The flow.’
She connected with the energy filling the world, as if plucking a star from the galaxy and swallowing it whole.
And as the energy coursed through Philia’s body, it transformed—becoming hers alone—
“Villatonia.”
—before blooming into existence.
The energy radiated from her.
At the tip of her wand, a flower of flame blossomed.
The children’s eyes, wide and shimmering, reflected the miracle before them.
And I—
‘I understand now.’
My goal was achieved.
‘I have grasped the way to truly use magic.’
I had found a way to shatter the cage that had imprisoned me for so long—and escape.
***
Inside the carriage departing from the orphanage, the Count finally spoke.
“It was real.”
“What do you mean, Father?”
His daughter looked at him inquisitively.
“You’ve heard the stories before, haven’t you, Philia? A swan raised among ducks, or a jewel buried in a filthy lake.”
“…Are you saying that girl seemed like a swan or a jewel to you?”
“Indeed, that’s how she appeared to me.”
The Count suddenly chuckled.
“She might even end up as your junior.”
“At the academy? That would be… rather difficult, wouldn’t it?”
Philia’s response was the logical one.
It was true that, on rare occasions, individuals born outside mage families still possessed mana sensitivity.
Whether they were a mutation or a distant descendant of some long-forgotten mage ancestor, such cases did exist.
Some of them even became fairly competent mages.
However, the academy was not a place where one could simply enter because they had mana sensitivity.
Its purpose was to cultivate individuals who were already excellent mages into something even greater.
Not to elevate the weak to moderate, or the moderate to strong—but to refine the strong into the absolute elite.
That was the academy.
And so, there was essentially only one way to enter.
To be born into a prestigious family, inherit immense magical talent from both parents—who were also mages—and train in magic from the moment one could walk.
Technically, there were other ways to enroll.
But ‘technically’ was all they were.
Because in the academy’s thirty-year history, not a single student had ever entered through those other means.
“Hmm, true.”
The Count nodded, acknowledging that he had merely been speaking in passing.
“Still, she could likely enter Rikeion or Schola.”
These were magical institutions with different purposes—Rikeion refined intermediate mages into advanced ones, while Schola trained those at the beginner level.
“Schola, maybe… but Rikeion? Do you truly believe that girl has such talent, Father?”
“Well, even if she did manage to get in, you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with her.”
The Count scoffed.
“Do you have everything you need for enrollment?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Only ten days remain until the semester begins.”
Their carriage was heading toward the imperial capital—because the academy was located in its outskirts.
“Once your maids arrive, I will return to the territory immediately. If there’s anything you need, speak now.”
“Thank you, Father, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
By then, the rough gem they had encountered at the orphanage had already faded into the back of their minds.
And exactly ten days later, Philia would come to regret that indifference more than anything.
If only she had thought about that gem more seriously while she was still with her father—who had reached heights far beyond her own.
If only she had analyzed it, pondered it, and at the very least, remembered it properly.
Then, she might have avoided the humiliation of that day.
***
“Ellie!!”
Doloria approached.
“How dare you humiliate me in front of nobles?!”
Foaming at the mouth, blood vessels had burst in her eyes, turning the whites completely red.
“Right now! I’m going to kill you for real. No, I’ll make you beg me to do it!”
In one hand, she held a rusty saw.
In the other, a rolling pin—yet she wasn’t gripping it to swing, but as if she meant to shove it somewhere.
It was so grotesque that I let out a bitter laugh.
“You really are a disgusting monster.”
And if it was a monster—
It had to be slain.