Silence settled over the dining hall once more.
Elvadin simply drank his wine in silence, while Serdian, seated across from him, continued eating without a word.
Lucillea picked up her fork again.
At least it doesn't look like May is going to get scolded anymore.
Her appetite had completely vanished.
Still, leaving food this delicious untouched felt like a crime.
Though asking for leftovers to be packed up would probably be weird...
More importantly—
That Serdian guy really doesn't talk at all.
Even after all the commotion earlier, Serdian remained calm, like someone watching a fire burn safely across a river.
Well, I suppose that's better than His Grace over there, who seems to lace every sentence with thorns.
As the atmosphere around the table grew cold and lifeless again, Lucillea found herself thinking of Briola.
Grandma used to tell all kinds of stories during meals...
Their table had never been as luxurious as the Grand Duke's.
But meals with Briola had always been warm.
She would talk about what ingredients went into the stew.
How to prepare them so they became softer.
Which herbs paired best together.
Through Briola, Lucillea had learned that meals weren't simply about filling one's stomach.
At this rate, I can't even tell whether these two get along or not.
A strange sense of anxiety crept into her.
Someone needed to break the ice.
And no matter how she looked at it, that someone seemed to be her.
Ugh... what if I open my mouth again and get crushed for it?
She cautiously glanced between Elvadin and Serdian.
That was when it happened.
Her eyes landed on Serdian's plate.
Oh...
After studying it for a moment, she deliberately gathered all the remaining carrots on her own plate into a neat pile.
Then she let out an exaggerated gasp.
“Wow! You actually eat carrots?!”
“...”
The hand holding Serdian's fork twitched.
He looked at her as though she'd just uttered complete nonsense.
Unfazed, Lucillea turned toward Elvadin instead.
“Actually, carrots are my least favorite vegetable. Grandma always said they're sweet and delicious, but I can never get past that particular smell.”
She continued,
“Even when they're buried inside heavily seasoned stew, I can still taste them. I always end up picking them out.”
Then she added,
“So I just assumed every kid my age hated them too. But Serd—”
Before she could finish, Elvadin glanced at the carrots on her plate and said,
“If you keep being picky, you'll stay that height for the rest of your life.”
“...”
It was clearly meant as advice.
The sort of thing adults often said out of concern.
And yet—
How does he manage to make every single sentence sound so irritating?
Grinding her teeth, Lucillea replied,
“Thank you... for the advice.”
She refused to surrender.
Turning back to Serdian, she beamed.
“But seriously, that's amazing! You didn't leave a single carrot behind!”
“...”
Look at this, Your Grace! Your son even eats his carrots!
As Lucillea practically announced it to the room, a flash of embarrassment crossed Serdian's face.
Only then did Elvadin look at his plate.
And when even Elvadin began staring at it, Serdian's eyes visibly wavered.
Slowly, he shifted his knife and fork as if trying to hide his perfectly clean plate.
Then he spoke cautiously.
“I... don't really dislike any foods.”
Elvadin gave a small nod.
“A commendable attitude.”
As praise followed, Serdian lowered his head slightly.
He almost looked embarrassed.
Then Elvadin added,
“To be honest, I don't particularly like carrots either.”
“Huh?”
Lucillea's eyes widened.
Even Serdian looked surprised enough to turn toward him.
Elvadin stared down at his empty plate.
“When you sit at this table long enough, you begin to think about how many hands contributed to creating a single meal.”
His voice remained calm.
“Eventually, even when something you dislike is served, you choose not to leave it behind.”
Then he looked at Serdian.
“As the heir of this house, your mindset should be the same. You must learn to think first of the effort and sincerity of the people who live in your territory.”
Serdian's expression grew noticeably more serious.
“Yes. I'll remember that, Your Grace.”
After that, the two began discussing matters related to the territory.
Once the conversation started flowing, they spoke more naturally than Lucillea had expected.
Serdian was only thirteen.
Yet his answers to Elvadin's questions were surprisingly precise.
Even behind his blunt tone, his ability to identify the heart of a problem—and explain it logically—was far beyond his age.
Lucillea found herself impressed.
Is this the protagonist's aura?
Maybe he's on his second life too?
Then again—
Whether it's protagonist privilege, genius-level talent, or actual reincarnation...
She only wished he could act like this all the time.
Today, Elvadin had learned that Serdian was a child who didn't complain about food.
And Serdian had learned that his adoptive father hated carrots.
The conversation had been brief.
And incredibly trivial.
Yet despite that, each of them had learned something new about the other.
And I learned that my biological father has a truly annoying way of speaking.
Though admittedly...
The way he'd explained why he always finished his plate had been kind of cool.
Regardless.
Today's discussion had mostly been business-related.
But if conversations like this continued to pile up little by little, the icy northern wind filling the space between them would eventually be pushed away.
Yeah.
For today, this is enough.
Without realizing it, Lucillea watched the two of them with quiet satisfaction.
“Follow me to my office.”
After dinner, Elvadin led Lucillea to his study.
The room felt cold.
A fireplace burned steadily in the corner, yet the chill remained.
It wasn't really a matter of temperature.
The study simply reflected Elvadin himself—cold, disciplined, and imposing.
There wasn't a single unnecessary decoration.
Every piece of furniture sat exactly where it belonged.
Tall bookshelves lined one wall, packed with intimidating-looking volumes.
Along another wall rested several swords that Elvadin regularly used.
The entire room carried an atmosphere that seemed to say:
No mistakes will be tolerated.
Even without being told whose office it was, anyone would have known.
The room was unmistakably Elvadin's.
“Sit there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucillea walked over to the sofa he indicated and carefully sat down.
Elvadin removed his coat and handed it to his aide, Riat, who had entered behind them.
“The documents?”
“They've been prepared.”
Elvadin nodded.
Then he crossed to his desk and picked up a stack of papers.
For a moment, silence filled the room as he reviewed them.
Meanwhile, Lucillea looked around curiously.
Then—
Her eyes accidentally met Riat's.
Eek!
Internally gasping, she immediately looked away.
That man is still terrifying.
Determined not to make eye contact again, she turned her head in the opposite direction.
At that moment, Elvadin finished reading the documents.
Carrying them over, he sat across from her on the sofa.
“You were telling the truth.”
“Huh? About what?”
Lucillea blinked.
Elvadin replied,
“The village chief confessed. He admitted he intentionally removed your name from the list.”
“Oh. That.”
It was what she had told him before.
"If you check, you'll probably find my name wasn't even on the list. I wasn't considered one of the villagers."
Right.
He did say he'd send people back to Mille Village.
Elvadin continued.
“Once the village chief started talking, the others followed. As a result, we were able to confirm that most of what you told us in the carriage was true.”
Most?
Lucillea blinked.
“Most? Not all of it?”
Had she lied about something?
As she tilted her head in confusion, Elvadin answered flatly.
“Your age.”
Gasp!
Lucillea sucked in a sharp breath.