Vol 2 Chapter 10 – Childhood – Spring at Age Twelve ・Part 3

“What’s it to you… Eh? What?”

At my interjection, the long‑lived one looked dumbfounded—it must have been an unexpected reply.

“Then, what’s it to you that our family’s Eliza is a half‑fairy? It doesn’t matter—she’s still our little sister.”

Hearing those sharp words, the long‑lived one started opening and closing her mouth (paku‑paku) before falling silent. I don’t know how many years she’s lived, but this may have been her first response. Regardless, my feelings remain unchanged; after all, the girl tilting her head in perplexity is my little sister.

“…Let me say it once more: Humans never had a tradition of adopting members of other species, did they?”

“Adoption is irrelevant. It’s a matter of bonds.”

“Bonds…” she muttered. Now that I think about it, there was even a note that long‑lived beings are extremely individualistic—once they strike out on their own, they might not exchange letters with their parents for as long as a quarter‑century. Moreover, if they feel no allegiance as nobles, they sometimes won’t even use the family name.

“Erich! Eliza!”

“Ah, Wizard‑sama! Have the children in your household done something outrageous?!”

After a brief silence filled with glares, our parents’ voices came from behind. My mother’s call bounced loudly, and my father’s rough, heavy breathing betrayed that he had dashed over from the house.

“Oh? Our parents?”

After a nod from our side, the wizard turned her head in an annoyed manner and let out a sigh.

“Well then, calm down for a moment. We need to explain this properly.”

Summoned by Margit, my parents—who had come running in a state of frantic confusion—proved hard to persuade. Without my “Silver‑Tongued” talent in Social, I’d have struggled even more, regardless of my past lives.

“…Understood. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

“Eh? Uh—oh, um… I’m Agrippina. From the Dawn School of the Leibniz Faction.”

After my parents finally settled down, the wizard introduced herself with a name whose intonation you don’t often hear around here. I couldn’t quite place it—perhaps she’s one of those Westerners. The whole matter of schools and factions was even more bewildering.

“Right now, I’m with a caravan on fieldwork… and there’s a half‑fairy—uh, um… is this your daughter?”

“Yes, the eldest daughter, Eliza.”

“Ah, well, I already explained it to that child over there…”

Watching my mother take Eliza from me and cradle her tenderly, Agrippina repeated the explanation, though somewhat awkwardly.

Meanwhile, my mother and father appeared both shocked and astonished; not once did they cast a harsh glance at Eliza or let go of their embrace. Only once did my mother, as if fearing Eliza might vanish, hold her even tighter.

“So, do you understand?”

“…Yes.”

My father nodded gravely and paused for a few seconds before gathering Eliza—held close by my mother—in a strong embrace and declaring,

“But this child remains my daughter, our daughter, and the sister of our sons.”

That display was the very picture of a proud, strong father. Indeed, after seven long years of hard work, he had nurtured Eliza with deep affection—and she had grown to love him dearly. My mother, too (having suffered through a difficult pregnancy), overflowed with maternal love.

A foreigner watching this scene with a puzzled expression tilted his head in thought for a while, then scratched the back of his head and furrowed his brows in exasperation.

“How ridiculous… I thought they were persecuted in Seine, but just a different country makes all the difference, huh?”

Evidently, not being from around here, he was troubled by cultural differences in family values. Family dynamics naturally change from country to country—even within the same nation, life in the provinces can differ greatly from life in the capital. His failure to grasp that suggests he either lacks interest in family subtleties or has never experienced them.

“Well, whatever. That aside, the laws remain unchanged.”

Laws, you say? I wondered what she meant as she began discussing a world we knew nothing about.

“I mean, putting the whole family issue aside, have you understood that the child is a half‑fairy?”

“…Yes. Given that she travels with a caravan and has been entrusted by the magistrate with setting off fireworks, there’s no question about her status.”

“Right. So then, when a half‑fairy nears that sensitive period, she awakens a tremendous amount of magical power—so powerful that if left unchecked, it could be dangerous.”

“R‑really, is that true!?”

“I wouldn’t gain anything by lying, you know?”

In fact, since deceiving the common folk about magic carries heavy penalties, Agrippina scoffed as she touched Eliza’s forehead. Then, as if sensing something, she closed her eyes and whistled in admiration.

“Even for a half‑fairy, this child is extraordinary. It seems she has a high‑class fairy lineage. That explains why her family is so enviable. Yes—I think I understand now.”

“Th‑then, what are we supposed to do…?”

She dismissed my father’s question coldly, implying there was nothing we could do.

That old wizard had also said that great power, if it runs amok, can wreak massive havoc. It might be acceptable if just one house burns down, but…

“Which is why creatures like her are managed by the state. In the Empire, that’s the Magic Academy.”

“So, does that mean our daughter will be taken there?”

“Exactly. This is purely a legal matter—there’s nothing that can be done about it.”

Of course, that’s true. This isn’t a problem we can solve simply by bowing our heads in silence. We cherish our little sister, but we simply cannot risk burdening the entire manor with potential ruin. If she were harmed by our recklessness, imagine how Eliza would feel—it’s simply unthinkable.

“But you know, if she’s taken to the Magic Academy, they’ll turn her into a test subject.”

“T‑test subject…!?”

At the sound of that perilous word, my father exclaimed, I swallowed hard, and my mother held Eliza even tighter.

A test subject—literally, someone to be used as experimental material. Even with magic, as long as research institutions exist, not everything is understood. It wouldn’t be surprising if, to probe its depths, inhumane experiments were carried out. In a time when a human life was as fragile as tissue paper, if the law permitted it, anything might be done.

“Test subject—at best, she’d be dissected; at worst… ufu‑fu.”

At the mere mention of dismemberment, my mother nearly fainted. I rushed to support her as her pale face drained of color, while a bewildered Eliza looked on in worry, nearly brought to tears.

…This is the worst; I might have to run away with Eliza.

“But there’s one option.”

“Wh‑what is it?! We’ll do anything! Anything we can, we’ll do it!!”

After leaving us in despair, she proposed a single course of action. This mage—or rather, a woman one might call a witch—is remarkably adept. Dodging my father, who tried to cling to her, Agrippina smiled by bringing her delicately crafted fingers close to her crimson lips.

“That method exists precisely because magic cannot be controlled. If it could be controlled, then that would be ideal.”

“Th‑that’s true, but…”

“And I’m kind enough to offer you a solution: I’ll take that child as my apprentice. That way, she won’t have to be sent to the Magic Academy.”

It was an offer nearly impossible to refuse, and we had no means to explore any alternatives. Refuse, and she would undoubtedly report us to the magistrate—after all, she’d be held accountable if she didn’t.

In the end, we couldn’t refuse.

“If I take her on as my apprentice, I’ll train her properly. That way, she won’t have to do any fieldwork.”

“Ha? What did you just say…?”

My father, who had been pleading, let out an odd sound at that striking remark. Hmm… what exactly did she say?

“Ah, nothing, nothing at all. It just has one drawback… it costs money.”

Agrippina hastily waved both hands as if to dismiss that point and continued.

The explanation that immediately followed was, once again, all about “laws.”

Apparently, the Triple Empire sets a regulated tuition fee for learning magic—just like for weapons or alcohol—to prevent magical technology from spreading recklessly among the commoners. At the Magic Academy’s bureaucratic training institution, it amounts to 30 dracmas a year. Even individuals taking on an apprentice are required to pay 15 dracmas.

It’s an utterly absurd amount. Even if our family’s annual income were generously estimated at 7 dracmas—and considering we had only just expanded our manor after paying a dowry—we wouldn’t be able to scrape together 15 dracmas, no matter how you look at it.

“So, here’s my proposal… that child.”

Just as our desperate calculations wondered if we could muster a year’s worth of funds by selling our belongings, Agrippina pointed her finger at me, shattering our thoughts.

“That child also has excellent magical potential… What do you say? Would you consider taking her on as an indentured apprentice?”

“Indentured apprenticeship…? To a wizard?”

“Right. Well, I just happen to need a good little servant. And if her wages come straight to me, it’s perfectly legal.”

This wizard was really starting to say some astounding things.

It’s true—the Empire does have an indentured apprenticeship system. With parental permission, a child may be placed in a shop or workshop for work; it’s a common path for later-born sons in urban areas. Of course, without a reliable introduction, being taken in is rare, so it isn’t something just anyone can do.

I hadn’t known that this system could apply to mages as well, but the fact that she proposed it means it must be possible. After all, she wouldn’t blatantly defy regulations or cheat by breaking the rules.

“So, what do you say? I want an answer right now.”

Answer? Of course it’s already decided.

In fact, in this situation, how could we possibly have the nerve to refuse?

【Tips】Indentured Apprenticeship System: A system devised to maintain labor mobility while preventing drastic change. A similar system existed in historical Japan, where indentured apprentices often rose to become full-fledged employees. In the Empire, it is one of the few legal means by which minors can work.

Agrippina de Staal is a young long‑lived being—strictly speaking, one among the long‑lived—born in the Kingdom of Seine, a neighboring country to the west of the Triple Empire of Rhine, separated by a group of satellite nations.

She is a noble bearing the title and family name de Staal, and her father—who holds the title of Baron de Fore—governed a considerable domain.

However, despite being a long‑lived individual with a domain, Lord Fore was known for his wanderlust. He would entrust the management of his lands to his household retainers and travel across various countries—to the point where, even when the king summoned him, no one could tell where he was.

It is said he once went as long as twenty years without setting foot in his homeland—a testament to his love for travel. There’s even an anecdote that after a three‑year journey during an internal conflict that toppled a dynasty, he returned and casually remarked, “Huh? The king changed? When did that guy die?”

Naturally, she ended up traveling with her wanderlust‑stricken family, and despite holding a noble title in the kingdom, she spent most of her 150 years away from it.

Then, upon reaching 100 years old—the coming of age for long‑lived beings—she boldly registered with the Empire’s Magic Academy, dismissing her noble status as unimportant. This was because she had grown fond of the Empire’s cuisine and found the climate best suited to her.

Her parents, instead of trying to stop her, simply said, “Well, if you like it, that’s fine,” which is typical parental behavior. After all, long‑lived beings are just that, and judging them by human or other species’ standards is futile.

That said, with such a background, she developed an extremely self‑indulgent personality—either as a backlash against growing up or simply because she decided, “No, I’ve had enough of traveling.”

If her father is like an octopus with its tentacles cut off, then she is like a heavy pickling stone.

Thanks to her remarkably efficient digestive system—which grants her the peculiar trait of “not needing to excrete”—she became a prodigy who spent seven whole years in the vast library of the Magic Academy, reading idly without ever leaving. Moreover, for the last two years she claimed she “memorized the arrangement of the books” and lived motionless on a bed mat she’d brought along.

Of course, the librarians were furious, and after being expelled from the grand library, she was forced to live in an assigned workshop.

However, that did not become the turning point for her to reform her lifestyle. If long‑lived beings were capable of such modest self‑improvement, they would have long since eradicated other species and become the rulers of the world.

After her expulsion from the library, she began a reclusive life in her workshop. It seems that, in the end, reclusiveness is just reclusiveness.

Of course, the Magic Academy is not a forgiving place; whether one is a registered researcher or an instructor holding a professorship, everyone is obligated to attend regular lectures and participate in debates. For the first seven years, thanks to the large donations from Lord Fore and her status as an heir to a foreign noble title, she was given a pass on submitting papers—but when incidents occur, leniency is no longer an option.

Yet, as expected, she did not change her attitude.

She attended lectures using the 《Far Sight》 technique or through a 《Familiar》’s eyes, and for reports and papers she employed the 《Simulated Life》 technique—literally transforming the report into a bird and sending it off. To top it all off, in debates she participated using self‑made parchment that synchronized in real time with her source document—a supreme display of indolence.

It was truly unprecedented.

Indeed, it was not uncommon for students or researchers who couldn’t attend in person to use 《Far Sight》 or a 《Familiar》 to listen in. This was tolerated, since without it those with primary jobs or who earned tuition through side gigs would be inconvenienced.

However, the astute professors never anticipated that a fool relying on such shortcuts for everything would appear. Among long‑lived beings, she was surely the first to squander so much time in laziness and self‑indulgence.

No matter how much she was admonished, it remained technically legal. Time passed without any breakthrough until, unsurprisingly, the head of her faction—fed up with her prolonged indolence—finally exploded in anger.

He personally visited her room (which had been secured with a quarantine spell via 《Spatial Transition》—almost treated as lost technology) and ordered her to conduct fieldwork.

Despite her stubborn resistance—refusing to join the caravan as a traveling mage—she eventually had no choice but to yield when the threat of expulsion from her faction was mentioned. After all, researchers not belonging to a faction are practically expelled from the Magic Academy.

One cannot simply go out for a brief jaunt and call it a day. How much time had passed during that fieldwork, from which one was not allowed to return without the faction leader’s permission?

Weary and exhausted from the long journey, Agrippina nonetheless gained one insight.

She recalled something mentioned in that interminably long pre‑departure lecture: if, by some miracle, one managed to acquire an apprentice during a long journey, one would have no choice but to return. However, the strict leader would not accept just any random apprentice snagged during reclusion.

Something was needed—a justification for her to assume responsibility and, as a master, to legally secure a seat at the Magic Academy.

And today, conveniently, she found someone who had no choice but to become her apprentice.

Money was never an issue. Being of noble birth, she received regular remittances from her proper family, and she had amassed a good sum from her paper royalties. Yet, she remained an excellent mage—only her humanity had, so to speak, fermented.

Thus, having secured a means to boldly return to her reclusive ways, she was extremely satisfied. How delightful it was to return to the Magic Academy—and her beloved workshop—in a lawful and proper manner.

Moreover, the prospect of even acquiring a handy little servant further elevated her mood…

【Tips】The Magic Academy has three classes: the “Auditors” (students in the training program), the “Researchers” (those provided with a workshop), and the “Professors” who guide them. Generally, Auditors and Researchers belong to a faction established by a Professor; through that professor’s recommendation, they are granted access to research materials and funds. All of this is managed by a council of professors, with the Triple Empire rarely interfering directly in internal personnel or finances.